Chapter Five
March
I’d stepped out to get some air, feeling as if the walls were pressing in on me. Rain poured and I watched the lightning flash in the distance. As I stared out at the trees around the property, a slight movement caught my attention. Squinting, I watched the shadows and saw it again. It was too small to be a human. What the hell was out there?
Stepping out into the deluge, I approached whatever was moving around, low to the ground. When I got closer, I realized it was a baby animal. No, not just any animal… a kitten. Large eyes stared at me as the pitiful creature opened its mouth and let out a silent meow. Its legs were mired in the mud, and I gently extracted it.
The small creature shivered in my palm as I cradled it close to my chest. Hurrying inside, I took it straight to my room and started a warm shower. I knew it was risky, since the water might make it panic, but I had to get it cleaned up -- and warm. I’d have used the sink, but I worried the heavier stream of water might scare it even more. At least the shower would be more like rain.
“It’s all right, little one.” Once the water was the right temperature, I quickly rinsed the mud from its fur. It eventually stopped shaking, so I wrapped it in a towel and wondered what the hell I was going to do with it.
I opened the footlocker at the end of my bed and pulled out everything but a blanket. Spreading it across the bottom, I set the kitten down and went to the kitchen to figure something out for it. Never having had a pet before, I didn’t know what it could or couldn’t eat, didn’t have a clue how old it was, or anything else. But leaving it in the storm had been out of the question.
Raiding the fridge, I found some leftover baked chicken and sliced off small pieces, then shredded it. As tiny as it was, I wasn’t even sure if it would eat regular food. Did it need formula like a baby?
“What the hell are you doing?” Hatter asked, eying the small amount of shredded meat I’d placed on a paper towel.
“Found a kitten. Clearly, I’m not leaving to go get cat stuff in this storm, so I thought I’d give it some chicken.”
Hatter arched a brow and grunted. “Fine. You’ll need to give it water too. But if that thing escapes your room and starts shitting everywhere, you’re cleaning the clubhouse.”
I didn’t think it could escape the footlocker, so I wasn’t worried about that. Although, now that he’d mentioned it shitting… fuck. I noticed a stack of Amazon boxes in the corner of the kitchen, probably courtesy of Eliza and Jo, and grabbed the smallest one, then I shredded some paper towel into the bottom. Hatter handed me the lid off an empty peanut butter jar.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“Water,” he said. “If it’s small, I doubt it can drink out of one of our bowls. And judging by the size of the makeshift litter box you just made, it’s fucking small as hell.”
I nodded. “Yep.”
I gathered up everything and took it to my room. The kitten cried pitifully from inside the footlocker. I put the litter box in one corner and the food and water on the other side. At first, it just stared at me. Then its nose started to twitch, and it stumbled a bit before finding the chicken.
Satisfied it wouldn’t starve to death overnight, I went into the bathroom to clean up. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do with the little cat, but I’d figure it out tomorrow. For now, it was safe and would have a full belly. That would be enough.
I left the little critter to settle in and grabbed a beer before taking a seat in the common room. Tweedle came over and claimed the spot beside me.
“So, what was that earlier?” he asked.
“Found a kitten outside. Couldn’t leave it there to die.” I shrugged. I didn’t understand why everyone was making a big deal out of it. They would have done the same.
Tweedle took a swallow of his beer and watched me. “Never took you for the type to have a cat.”
“Didn’t say I was keeping it.”
Tweedle snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re going to what… abandon it at a shelter? Not likely. Whether you admit it or not, that cat is yours now.”
Fucking hell. I had a feeling he was right. Just what I needed. There was enough on my plate already.
* * *
Word had spread fast about the little furball in my room. To everyone except Violet. She’d been absent all day, and I was worried about her.
I pushed open the door to Vi’s room, the silence hanging heavy. There she was, perched on the edge of the bed, a lone figure drowning in thought. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, a stark contrast against the pale sheets.
“March.” Vi’s voice broke through the stillness. The depth of sadness in her whiskey-colored eyes snagged me, held me captive. She patted the space beside her, an unspoken plea etched into her features.
“Sit with me?”
Stepping forward felt like wading through molasses, each step heavier than the last. I took my place beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“Missed you today. Seems like you’ve been holed up in here all day. I got worried,” I said.
I hovered at the edge of indecision, muscles coiled tight. The room felt smaller, walls closing in with the ghosts of a past I struggled to keep caged. Ben’s face flashed behind my eyelids, always there, a specter that knew no rest. It felt wrong, being here with Violet. At the same time, if I’d kept tabs on her, maybe something awful wouldn’t have happened to her.
“March?” Vi’s tentative voice pulled me back to the present.
“Sorry.” I exhaled a shaky breath. My hands rested on my thighs, fingers digging into the denim as if I could anchor myself in the now.
She turned toward me, her delicate features shadowed by grief. “It’s been hard,” she started, the words catching like burrs in her throat. “Since… since Ben left us.”
“Vi…” I wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap with touch, but fear rooted me in place. I didn’t have the right to console her, to touch her.
“Every day, it’s like walking through a fog. I keep thinking he’ll just come strolling in, you know? That smile of his lighting up the room.” Her voice trembled, the laughter that should’ve accompanied the memory was absent, stolen by sorrow.
“Sounds like Ben,” I murmured.
“Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier.” She drew in a ragged breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But they’re not the ones waking up to the emptiness where he used to be. It’s been years, and it still hurts just as much today as it did when I first found out he was gone.”
Her pain echoed mine, a mirror reflecting an ache so deep it hollowed out the soul. I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, the sting a welcome distraction from the void that threatened to swallow me whole.
“Doesn’t feel like it gets easier, does it?” I knew how she felt, except I had a large dose of guilt added to my suffering. I’d been right there. Watched him fall. What if I could have stopped it from happening? I’d asked myself that a million times.
“No, it doesn’t.” Her gaze met mine.
“Every night, it’s just darkness,” Vi whispered. “Did you ever get over it?”
There was a plea in her eyes, searching for an answer I wasn’t sure I had. Did she want me to move past it? Or was she hoping I’d dwell in the past, live buried in pain, for the rest of my life?
“Over it?” The question hung heavy, a challenge to my composure.
“His death. The pain.” She held her breath.
“Never.” The word was final, a sentence passed down without appeal. “It’s always there. Like a shadow.”
A sigh had her shoulders slumping. “I thought so. You know it’s not your fault. He wouldn’t have blamed you, and neither do I.” Her hand fluttered near mine, not touching, just existing in the space between.
“Isn’t it?” The question was for me more than her. Regret bled into my tone.
“Ben made his choice.” Her words were gentle, but they cut through me, stark and true. “No one forced him to enlist. He did that all on his own, and he knew the risks.”
“Choices…” Yeah, no one had made him join, but would he have considered it if I hadn’t already signed my papers? He’d wanted to go with me, to see foreign lands.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides, knuckles whitening with the strain. The muscles along my jaw tensed. Violet reached out her hand, hesitating for just a moment before resting it gently on my arm. It was a touch meant to soothe, to heal. The warmth of her skin bled through the fabric of my shirt, seeping into the cold recesses of my guarded heart.
“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers light but insistent against the muscle coiled tight beneath them. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?” The words were a growl, born from a place of raw pain I seldom let anyone see.
“Talk to me,” she urged, her grip tightening ever so slightly, grounding me. “Please.”
Her plea didn’t need volume to resonate. It carried the weight of shared grief, a bridge spanning the gap between us. I looked down at our arms, at the stark contrast of her delicate fingers wrapped around the bulk of my forearm. In that simple gesture, she offered more than comfort -- she offered a chance at absolution. And for the first time, I considered taking it.
Raising my gaze to meet hers, I braced for the storm. The accusation. The anger. Ben’s ghost hovered between us. If he’d lived, this would have probably been his room. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that.
But Vi’s eyes… they didn’t carry the tempest I expected. They were calm pools reflecting not the past but the here and now. In them, I saw something that unnerved me more than rage ever could: understanding. And beneath that, a well of forgiveness so deep it threatened to wash away the fortress I’d built around myself.
Her touch, still resting on my arm, ignited a firestorm of sensation that blistered through my defenses. A warmth that had no place in the cold order of my life spread from the point of contact, sending shockwaves through my system. My heart kicked against my chest, a caged beast desperate for release.
“Your pain,” she started, her tone threading through the chaos of my thoughts, “it’s mine too.”
The words landed, heavy and true. We were allies in sorrow, bound by a history that both united and divided us. The world outside faded. It all slipped away until there was nothing but the weight of her hand on my arm and the silent promise that lingered in her touch.
My eyes refused to break away from her. She wasn’t that little girl anymore, the one who used to tag along behind me and Ben, eyes wide with hero worship. That girl was gone, stripped away by time and tragedy. The woman who had taken her place mesmerized me. She was vulnerable, yes. But she had a strength that radiated from her. She shone brilliantly, like the sun. It hurt to look too long, but you couldn’t help it. You just had to see the light.
“Are you okay?” The concern etched in her features was for me. Me, who should be the rock, the protector.
“Fine,” I lied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil. “You know, when my mind is chaotic, or I start feeling suffocated, I go for a ride. No idea if you’ve ever been on a motorcycle, but we can give it a try sometime. If you want to.”
She smiled a little. “I think I’d like that.”
Her fingers brushed against mine, a whisper of contact that sent another shockwave through me. She was strength wrapped in softness, a paradox.
What could I say? That I wanted her? That she shouldn’t be touching me like this? I glanced at her hand where it still touched. I couldn’t bring myself to put my thoughts into words, too scared she’d move away.
I wanted her. Gods, I wanted her in ways I never thought I’d want anything again. But this was Vi -- Ben’s sister, the girl I should have protected.
We were silent, communicating through the tension that crackled between us. Every breath, every heartbeat, felt like a declaration. And I was a man who didn’t know how to read the signs. What did she want from me? And was it something I was even able to give her?
I took a deep breath, the air heavy. “There’s guilt eating me alive. You say it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t help but wonder if I’d done something differently, I could have changed what happened.”
Her body stilled, the bed creaking under our combined weight. Her whiskey eyes widened, brimming with a silent question, waiting.
“Ben was my brother in all but blood,” I continued. “And I --”
“March, you don’t have to,” she pleaded softly, her hand finding mine.
“Need to. You should know.” My fingers wrapped around hers, squeezing until the truth spilled out of me. “I couldn’t save him. And now… seeing you here, needing me -- it’s like facing a ghost. He would have wanted me to keep an eye on you. Instead, I ran because I felt so fucking guilty. He died right beside me. What if I’d been standing there instead? What if I’d noticed the sniper in time?”
“Stop.” There was steel in her voice now. “You’re not to blame for Ben. And I’m not a ghost -- I’m right here.”
“You’re becoming more to me than Ben’s little sister. And I don’t know if I can -- should -- let that happen.”
“You’re more to me too. More than Ben’s friend. Always have been.”
“Always?” Did she really mean that?
“Always,” she confirmed, and in her eyes, I saw the reflection of my own heart laid bare.
The air between us thickened as we sat side by side. Her hand was still in mine, warmth seeping into my calloused skin. The room shrank around us. Vi shifted, her leg brushing against mine. Electricity sparked. My heart raced, betraying the calm I fought to maintain. She was here. Not a ghost, but flesh and bone -- flesh and bone that could be broken. Or cherished. And that’s what I wanted to do. Cherish her.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“Forward,” I said. “Together.”
“Can we?” Doubt shadowed her features, lines of worry etching into her forehead.
“Have to try.” I squeezed her hand. “If you’re willing, that is.”
She gave a little nod, and some of the tension inside me eased. Even though we were now on the same page, I still felt a little lost. Not in a million years had I ever pictured this scenario.
“Scared?” she asked.
“Terrified,” I admitted.
“Me too,” she confessed, leaning into me.
Our silence returned, but now it felt different -- charged with possibility.