Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
SLOANE
I’m the one who breaks first.
I shove at his chest—harder than I need to—and sit up, breath catching. “Sit.”
He doesn’t move.
But his mind’s working as if there’s something left undone.
Rain still pounds the roof, loud enough to rattle the walls, but it’s nothing compared to the silence stretching between us.
“Your arm,” I say, sharper now. “Let me see it.”
His gaze lingers a second too long before he finally shifts, pushing himself up against the edge of the cot. Blood has soaked through his sleeve, dark and steady.
“It’s nothing.”
“Stop saying that.” I reach for him anyway, fingers closing around his wrist before he can pull back. “You’re bleeding through everything.”
He goes still under my touch, clearly not used to this.
Then, he jumps to his feet, muddy boots clomping across the cabin floor. “Have to act now, or we’ll lose it.” His eyes lock on mine. “Don’t you dare follow me this time.”
He doesn’t know how stubborn I am. Or maybe I don’t realize how foolhardy he is.
All I know is it takes me a moment to follow him back outside… because I can’t believe my eyes. That he’d go out there after the Jeep in this.
“Rhys!” I scream, grabbing his upper arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
“We’ll lose it for good,” he says, trying to shrug away from me, “if I don’t go now.”
“You’ll lose your life,” I counter, gripping him more tightly.
“Let go of me.” He wheels back around, screaming. Our chests collide with only icy torrents of rain between us.
“No.” The wind is a howl. I can barely hear my voice over it.
The sky claps again. I jump at the burst of white light.
“I won’t let you risk your life,” I say, shaking my head. “That stupid Jeep isn’t worth it.”
“Not letting you down is worth it,” he hollers, and that’s when I see it—the regret behind his eyes. He’s said more than he meant to. Again.
My breath catches, voice raw. “Don’t go back out there.”
His jaw tightens, eyes darkening.
“Not like this.”
My entire body shivers, teeth chattering.
His hand comes up, palming my cheek. It’s the first warmth I’ve felt since we clung to each other on the rope. I don’t pull away.
“I’m not what you think I am.”
I cover his hand with my own. “Don’t go back out there.”
His head lowers, hand leaving my cheek.
“I’m not asking again.”
I shift to his side, tugging his arm around me. We walk inside together, leaning into each other just to stay upright.
I make him sit on the chair, following his directions and pulling out a first-aid kit. I rifle through it—cotton, gauze, antiseptic, antibiotic cream—lining everything up on the counter before grabbing a bowl of hot water and a towel.
“Sit still,” I order.
“I am.”
“Not like that.” I take his arm before he can pull it back, dragging it into the light. The sleeve is soaked through, mud and blood worked into the fabric.
“You’re going to make this worse,” I mutter.
“Already did that.”
I don’t answer. I just reach for the scissors.
“You’re going to need stitches,” I say as I cut back his sleeve.
He grunts.
I work in silence—too close—breathing in sandalwood and old leather. I can feel the heat of his body next to mine, fingers working gently not to make it worse.
He doesn’t grimace or make a sound. His face is stone, unmoving. But he won’t look me in the eye, like a man who’s failed.
And my mind keeps churning through what he said outside on the line. That they didn’t leave Phoenix. He left them.
My shoulders tense when I pour the antiseptic over his gash. It’s deep and ragged. Too deep. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding. But he doesn’t make a noise or breathe.
I butterfly the cut closed. It takes too long. Then I cover it in fresh gauze and tape. His eyes cast to the side, staring toward the cold hearth when I dip a second towel and swipe the mud from his other arm.
“What are you doing?” he grits between clenched teeth.
“Taking care of you.”
His breath comes out sharp, and his shoulders tighten some more. But he doesn’t pull away or say another word.
The storm grows more distant, receding as I wipe the warm cloth over his neck and face, not looking at him.
Just working.
“I remember you from the funeral,” he says softer.
I don’t remember anything. Just the floor giving out beneath me.
I unbutton his shirt, and he stops breathing. I move anyway, toweling over his shoulders and chest. My fingers drift higher—and that’s when I see the numbers again.
He looks down at my hand poised on his arm. “Coordinates,” he says, voice dropping. “Where everything changed forever.”
“What you said outside—”
He lifts his head, finally looking at me. “Yeah.”
I open my mouth, then shut it, breathing for a long moment. The storm is like a memory now, evening sunlight piercing through the window.
His eyes flick to it. I’m half afraid he’ll use it as an excuse to leave.
My heart races as I admit, “I thought that might be it.”
“Sloane.” His hand comes up, gripping my wrist, thumb rubbing the pulse point. “I never wanted to take that from you… the memory of your brother.”
“But he changed after…” My voice trails off. After what, I don’t know. “I felt the shift, too.”
He nods once.
My forehead knits. “Tell me what else you know.”
“Not much,” he murmurs.
“I’m stronger than you think,” I counter.
“I don’t doubt that,” he says, thumb stilling. “But why choose something that’ll keep you up at night?”
“Because it’s true,” I say, pressing my lips together.
The words come slow after that, each one weighted, filled with too much meaning for me to grasp in one hearing.
“He was working something off-books.” Rhys stares at his hands like he’ll find the answers there. “Above my pay grade.”
It’s what I didn’t want to hear. And what I suspected. Because this man doesn’t fit the other narrative. But the changes in my brother, the details missing from his record, do.
“There’s more,” I whisper.
He nods, eyes conflicted. “There’s always more.”
“Rhys.”
He gives me a rueful look, then casts his gaze to the floor. “That’s all I’ve got.”
A tear slides past my lower lashes. I bite my bottom lip, working to get my voice under control.
“And the scar?” My hand stills. This isn’t from one bad day.
“You’re not here for me.”
I don’t argue. Just wait.
Slowly, tentatively, my fingers drift to the thin, silvery lines. I follow them with my fingertips down his face, his neck, onto his chest and the First Recon ink over his heart. His eyes close, his breath stalling.
“The Jeep,” he says. He stays perfectly still.
“Not now.”
“But it’s all I’ve got for you.” His eyes narrow.
I’m close enough to feel his warm breath on my face. But an ocean exists between us. One of unspoken things neither of us can bridge.
I don’t have the words. My hands rest on his bare shoulders. “Your story lines up with what the record was pointing to… the gaps in it.”
He nods once. “He said the needs of the many outweighed ours.”
The corners of my mouth tip down, and Rhys’s eyes fill with regret. “So the ends justified the means.”
Rhys says nothing. He doesn’t have to.