Chapter 14 #4
Dane heard a faint thump and raised his head to look at the stage, frowning at the man standing in the wings.
He’d thought everyone had gone home. Narrowing his eyes, he watched the still proud figure highlighted by a thin silvery glow.
The festival bunting stretching across the stage fluttered, even though there wasn’t a breath of wind.
Dane didn’t need the dark wool coat, the epaulettes, the red sash, and the knee-high boots to tell him that the man was a soldier; he saw it in his upright posture, the hardness in his carved-from-granite face, the eyes that had seen and done too much.
Dane rubbed his eyes and tried to convince himself it was a trick of the light—fog rolling off the lake, unexpectedly having to treat Tad, too much stress, and not enough sleep.
Having this hard conversation with Wren.
Should he ask Wren if she could see the man, too?
He started to, then saw the apparition shake his head.
Right. Okay then. They’d keep his presence just between them.
“Carry on, Dane,” Wren prompted.
The soldier didn’t blink, didn’t fade, but simply tipped his head as if he were as interested in Dane’s answer as she was.
“I’ve spent my time in H-Town feeling guilty because I wasn’t out there treating people, like I was neglecting my duty. And I’ve also felt quietly terrified that I’ve lost my edge.”
Dane expected Wren to instantly reassure him, but instead, she simply sat there, silently listening as he laid his pain at her feet. It took a while for her to speak.
“Let me get this straight… Do you really think that stepping back from the field showed that you were weak? That your exhaustion was a failure?”
“My father is a three-star general, and I come from a family of soldiers going back four generations. I’m the one who broke the mold, the continuous line of Trafford service.
I’m already a massive failure in my father’s eyes.
He wasn’t happy when, after a brief stint, I chose not to be a soldier, and he’s sure not happy that I’ve been on an extended vacation. ”
Trafford men are not fragile.
“With all due respect, your father sounds like a dick,” Wren told him. She half turned to face him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ghost stiffen, affronted. By what? Wren dissing his high-ranking father? Yet, he stayed there, as if needing to hear more.
Weird. This town was so fucking weird.
“Dane, have you considered the idea that burnout is your body yanking on the emergency brake to protect you? That your mind and body couldn’t cope anymore, and it needed you to step back and reassess?
You’re a smart guy, you know that you can’t look after other people unless you take care of yourself first.”
Intellectually, he did; he was still struggling to make sense of it emotionally. “To my father, strength is control.” He thought he’d let go of everything his father believed, but, obviously, the General’s mindset shaped him more than he wanted to admit.
Wren softly swore. “I think your father is confusing stoicism with virtue. Duty with ego.” Wren ran her hand up and down his arm.
“I spent many years convincing myself that all I needed to do was work, to serve … in my way.”
“And you think that leaving your post to take care of yourself is weak, that you should feel guilty for that?” There was no judgment in Wren’s voice, so he jerked his head in a quick, sharp nod. On the stage, the soldier shifted, and Dane felt his attention sharpen.
Wren placed her forehead against his bicep, then kissed it before she pulled back.
“Dane, you’re not weak, nor should you feel guilty.
You’ve seen so much, worked so hard, and I know you’ve saved so many lives.
You’re allowed to retreat, to take some time for yourself, to rebuild.
” She bit her lip, as if wondering if she should say whatever else was on her mind.
“Can I remind you that there will always be people for you to save? But only you can save yourself, and that’s what you’re doing by retreating.
You are worth saving as much as they are. ”
She sent him a soft smile. “You run toward danger, but you run from emotional risk.” She tried to smile. “And that’s not a criticism, I do the same thing.”
She hugged his arm, and he gripped her thigh, anchoring himself with her presence. What a night. He was emotionally and physically whipped. But treating Tad had made something click into place. He didn’t freeze, and he’d done what he needed to do. And yeah, maybe he was ready to go back to work.
Dane looked at the stage and frowned. The soldier was gone, the bunting now undisturbed.
He and Wren were fully alone; no ghosts were eavesdropping on their conversation.
He rested his chin on her head, enjoying her feminine scent, her warmth.
Wren saw him clearly—not as a disaster surgeon, nor as a hero, and definitely not as a man who had to sell his soul for his job.
She just saw him, flawed and off-balance.
Terror and freedom flooded his system, each vying for dominance.
Wren gently pulled away and bumped her shoulder against his. “We’ve got so much more to talk about, to walk through, but that’s enough for now, Dane. Let’s go home.”
Home. It was a word he was starting to associate with her.
And, strangely, the notion didn’t scare him.