Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Dare
It should’ve been a celebration, not a funeral. A celebration of her life. Her strength. Her trials and triumphs. Not a funeral.
How do I say goodbye to her? To you?
The door to the gym banged against the wall. I didn’t care. My vision saw nothing but red. Nothing but the tears in her eyes until my bare fist connected with the punching bag suspended from the ceiling.
I punched the bag over and over again. Each hit— each thud— resonated with the too-familiar sound of Athena’s apology on her lips.
I’m sorry.
I was the asshole. The angry, blind asshole. And she was the one apologizing.
Again and again, I hit the bag, sending the weight wobbling and spinning as unsteadily as I was. I didn’t feel it when my knuckles broke open, but I saw it. The blood slashing the fabric. Finally. Every strike after that meant I was hitting myself—the real villain.
After everything…to assume the account belonged to GrowTech…to assume she’d been paid by them and then lied to us about it…I hadn’t just made an ass of myself. I’d proven why, after all this time—all these years—I didn’t deserve any more from life than the bare minimum. And definitely not something as good as her.
I continued to swing, blind to anything and everything except the torture of my own mind, until my foot slid on something, throwing me to the side and almost taking me to the ground.
“What the…” I stilled, staring at the mess on the floor.
Her letters.
I’d completely forgotten they were in my pocket. The way I was beating on the bag had sent them onto the floor. Dirt and blood now scuffing the envelopes.
“Shit.” I grabbed a towel from the rack, and the rest of the room with its racks of weights, wall of mirrors, and handful of other lifting equipment came into focus.
I blotted my knuckles, staring at the mess I’d made. I hadn’t thought I could make this any worse, but the dirtied, torn letters proved me wrong.
Crouching, I started to gather them up. Some were bent. Others ripped. I shouldn’t look—I had no right to. I shouldn’t have even taken them. And now…I sat back on the floor, staring at the gentle curve of my name as it stretched over the front of one envelope.
But she’d written them to me.
Something clawed inside my chest like a beast against a cage. Something that fought for freedom, ripping my breaths into a ragged rhythm and tearing down the speed of my pulse.
Carefully, I organized the stack back in order by date like I’d found them. But when I reached the last one—which was the first one—my fingers fumbled and then acted in spite of my restraint. I slid one letter out and unfolded it, my gaze greedy for the contents—for more punishment.
I don’t know why I’m still writing to you. I know I’m not going to send this, but I can’t stop myself. Writing to you is the only thing…the only thing that can stay the same as before, and I’m just not ready for everything to change.
I just need to hold on to you—onto this for a little longer.
Air started to burn inside my lungs, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling it overwhelm me. She’d kept writing as though it were a diary—her diary that she’d still wanted to share with me.
I folded it back up and returned it to the envelope. Every few days, it looked like she’d written, a few dozen before the time between them grew longer. That was where I pulled out another one and slid out the letter from inside.
I met someone. He’s funny and outgoing. He gets me out of this…tomb of grief it feels like I’ve been living in. He’s a little wild, but I think I need it. Like adrenaline to bring me back to life.
He’s there for me. He’s…there.
Brandon. Fuck. I reached for the last one. I wanted to read what made her stop writing. I wanted to read the point where she realized I never deserved this treatment—this grace—and finally gave me her anger instead.
I still think of you when I look at the stars. Like my very own constellation of wishes and hopes and dreams for a long, long time. But now, I have to see them—and you—as you are.
A distant illusion. A memory. A ghost .
We see the light of a star long after the star itself has died. For too long now, I’ve looked for you; I’ve held onto your light. And now, it’s time to accept you’re not really there—here. I need to live my life, Darius. Not continue to wish on a world that’s nothing more than a galaxy of ghosts.
The letter fell from my fingers, the pain of her words making the whole of me ache. Like there was too much hurt to be contained in my bones.
I had to apologize.
Not for what happened then, but for how I acted today. She deserved the truth about how I’d failed. Why I was broken. Why I lashed out.
It was the least she deserved.
Unfortunately, it was the most I could give… it was all I had to give .
“Athena?” I rapped my knuckles on the door.
No response.
I waited another second and then tipped my ear closer. “Athena, it’s Dare.” Who the fuck else would it be? “Can we talk?”
Still no response.
Even angry, she’d at least answer me. My eyes shut as I knocked again, and the memory of her crumbling on the bathroom floor flashed in my mind.
“I’m coming in.” Within seconds, I pushed through the door and barreled into the bedroom. “Athena?” She wasn’t there. Not in the bathroom either. “Athena! ”
Where the hell— I stopped short, a flicker of white catching my eye outside.
She couldn’t be outside. Shouldn’t be. It wasn’t safe.
I pushed open the door. “Athena.” Her name rode out on my exhale of relief, seeing her standing only a few feet in front of the cabin; her head had been tipped back until she heard me.
“Dare.” The shadows weren’t enough to hide the way her cheeks colored. She wrapped her arms over her front, cinching the long T-shirt at her middle and riding it higher on her bare thighs.
Dammit .
My cock hardened, the ends of my piercings snagging on my clothes, and I had to adjust myself immediately. Something she mercifully couldn’t see.
“What are you doing out here?” I grunted and took a step toward her, approaching like she was a wounded animal and I was the predator who’d mistaken her for prey.
Her lips parted and then shut again. She wasn’t sure.
“I just wanted some fresh air.”
“You shouldn’t be outside without…” Me, I wanted to say, but instead went with, “Anyone.”
I hated how her face fell, but it was the truth.
“Nine heel-toes,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Nine heel-toes,” she repeated and then began to count, “One. Two.” With each number, she positioned her steps heel to toe, and I understood what she meant. “Three. Four.”
She’d counted the exact number of steps from the door to where she stood, so she knew how to get back.
“Five. Six?—”
I grabbed her shoulders before she crashed into me, and the way she tensed was like a knife to my chest and no less than what I deserved .
She retreated from my hold and then turned away from me. And the knife in my chest twisted.
I balled my fists at my side, doing my best to stop the urge to reach for her again. I needed her forgiveness, but I had no right to want anything more.
“Athena—”
Her head tipped toward the night sky. “I was imagining a meteor shower.”
“No meteors tonight.”
“Stars?”
I let myself glance upward, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and the sky that was salted with sparkling stars—constellations she couldn’t see. A galaxy of ghosts.
“Yeah, they’re out.”
Her shoulders rose with a deep inhale, but when she exhaled, they trembled. “Did you know we still see the light of a star even after it’s died?” Her voice softened. “I like to think that’s how it is with people we’ve lost. That by remembering them, we still see their light.”
Jesus. The air let out of my chest with a whoosh. It had been two decades for her, too. Two decades since she’d described those constellations as something that needed to be buried.
“And what if they’re just here to haunt us?” I rumbled, not sure why. Avoiding the apology and the truth that came along with it.
“Maybe,” she murmured and then shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she had the audacity to apologize again—like I wasn’t the one about to get on my knees. “The darkness…” She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. “It gets overwhelming sometimes. Like it’s impossible to find the light.”
Before I could stop myself or consider just doing what I came here to do, I moved behind her and set a hand on the side of her arm, her skin so warm under mine.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“How do you know?” she whispered back brokenly. “What if I never see them again?”
I gritted my teeth. Dammit. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I knew it was wrong. From the moment I lifted my other hand to when my fingertip landed on the flat of her shoulder blade, I knew what I was doing went against every goddamn thing I’d come here for.
To apologize. To create distance.
I pressed my finger into her back, creating a path of dots in its wake.
“Dare…”
“The Big Dipper is in front of us,” I said, mapping out the stars of the constellation. “The handle and then the spoon.”
She realized what I was doing and started to relax, the tension in her muscles melting as I traced through all the dots I’d just marked.
“And then the little dipper.” I outlined the similar but smaller image on her left shoulder blade, ignoring the goose bumps that rose on her arm.
The woods shrouded us in a kind of bubble, leaving nothing but the rustles of leaves, the buzz of fireflies, and the electric crackle of attraction threading through the air around us.
“And straight above us…” I slid my finger to the center of her back, along her spine, feeling her shiver. I wished I could blame a chill in the air, but there was nothing but warmth around us…and fire inside us. “Is Orion’s belt.”
Slowly, I plotted the warrior in the center of her back, hearing the slight catch of her breath each time my finger moved lower, dotting his infamous belt right where the strap of her bra would be…if she were wearing one.
“How do you know it’s going to be okay?”
My finger moved with infinite slowness, connecting the dots, because I didn’t want to stop touching her.
“Because I’m going to make it okay.”
“You’re going to bring my sight back?” She let out a shaky laugh, and I used it as an excuse to pause, letting my finger wade up and down along a single inch of her spine.
“I’m going to make it so you can see.”
I couldn’t promise a medical miracle, but I could promise this: to give her stars in the darkest of nights. And an apology—and the truth—for dragging her into the shadows that haunted me.
I finished the last leg of Orion and let my hand fall to my side. “Athena.”
She turned, her hand landing flat in the center of my chest, her fingers curling and crawling up my shirt, higher to my neck.
My jaw locked when she cupped it. I never should’ve let her touch my face, but the feel of her soft hand on me…damn, I was a strong man. Brave. Courageous. Whatever the hell other words they used to describe a man riddled with the scars of a soldier and haunted by heroism. But so help me, God, just her hand on my face was enough to bring me to my knees.
“We need to talk—I need to talk to you about earlier.” If I didn’t say it now, I never would.
“I understand how it looked—why you were angry.”
“Dammit. Don’t do that.” That same anger surged.
“Do what? Be understanding? You saved my life, protected me, cared for me, and to think I betrayed you?—”
“Stop,” I hissed and pulled her hand off me. I couldn’t stand her touch. Not now. Not after how I’d treated her earlier. Not knowing the truth I had to tell her. I couldn’t bear the reminder of her unfailing tenderness in the face of my cruelty. “Don’t make this okay—don’t make how I treated you okay because it’s not. There was no excuse for how I acted.”
Her chin notched up. “I disagree.”
Of course, she did. Of course, this bold, beautiful, and merciful woman had the forgiveness of a saint.
“You thought I lied to you—betrayed you.”
“No, Athena…it had nothing to do with you,” I rasped and heaved in a breath, my lungs feeling like all the air in the world wasn’t enough to keep me from drowning in guilt.
“I don’t understand.” She crossed her arms again, and the dim light that oozed out from the cabin captured the hard peaks of her nipples against the fabric. I swore I could even see their dusty pink color through the white shirt, but maybe that was my memory overlaying reality.
“My anger…it wasn’t at you. Or because of you.” The tension built in my bones, every word turning them more brittle, ready to crack under the weight of the truth.
“Then who was it for?” Her brows drew together.
“Me.”
“Why?”
My chest constricted, and it felt like I was trying to speak for the very first time. And maybe, after all this time, I was. Avoiding physical contact wasn’t the only kind of abstinence I’d engaged in since we’d come home; I’d also abstained from this story. This memory.
Like sex, I thought if I never spoke about what happened, it would suffocate out the guilt. It hadn’t. Instead, it packed it tight inside me, like C-4 into a stick of dynamite. Harmless until lit. Until now. Until Athena.
“Because the last time a woman betrayed me, it cost the life of one of my best friends.”