15. Christian
Christian
T he chill bit into my skin as I stepped outside.
The sky held onto its darkness, stubbornly refusing to surrender to dawn.
My breath formed clouds, the only warmth in the cold morning air.
I stretched, muscles stiff from sleep and yesterday's tension.
The world was silent, save for the crunch of frost beneath my feet.
I started at a slow jog, letting the rhythm of my steps clear my mind.
It had been a good night; no bad dreams to shake me awake, no haunting memories of old missions.
Instead, I dreamed of Claire. Her lips, the way they tasted, how her touch had a warmth that seemed to melt the ice around my heart.
Pushing harder, I increased my pace, the cold air burning my lungs.
Each stride took me further from the thoughts of her, yet they clung stubbornly to my mind.
Her kindness was disarming, and it scared me more than any enemy ever had.
With them, I knew what to expect. I knew where I stood.
But her? I didn't know shit. She was an enigma wrapped in warmth and understanding.
Rounding a corner, I noticed Christmas lights strung along the houses, their colors muted in the pre-dawn gloom. In a few days, it would be Christmas. A time for joy and family—concepts that felt foreign now. I pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythm of my feet against the pavement.
For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to kiss her again, to let her warmth envelop me.
But then I sped up again. I couldn’t afford distractions; not now. The run served as a reminder of discipline, of control over my own emotions and actions.
By the time I circled back to my starting point, sweat trickled down my back despite the cold. The sky had lightened slightly, promising a new day but revealing little else.
Another day in this small town where her presence loomed larger than I'd like to admit.
I paused outside the inn, breathing heavily but feeling more centered. Maybe this place could be more than just another stop on my journey. Maybe she could be more than just a fleeting connection.
But those were thoughts for another time. For now, I needed a shower and some breakfast.
I stepped into the inn, my breath still visible in the cold air.
The warmth inside welcomed me, and I took a moment to savor it before heading to my room.
The shower was a quick, efficient affair—years of military training left no room for lingering under hot water.
I scrubbed off the remnants of my morning run, letting the steam work its magic on my stiff muscles.
After dressing in fresh clothes, I made my way downstairs, drawn by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon. The inn’s dining area was modest but cozy, with a few guests scattered around small tables.
Claire moved gracefully between them, her smile bright even in the early morning. I grabbed a cup of coffee and found a seat near the window. The warmth of the mug seeped into my hands as I sipped, listening to the murmur of conversations around me.
“I read about that mission in Hong Kong,” a guest said at a nearby table. The voice cut through the hum of breakfast chatter.
“Really? I didn’t think anyone here would know about that,” Claire replied.
“It was quite an article,” the guest continued. “Heroism like that isn’t something you forget easily.”
I froze mid-sip, my senses on high alert. My name wasn’t mentioned yet, but the subject matter was too close for comfort. Keeping my head down, I listened intently.
“It’s not every day you hear about someone saving lives under such extreme conditions,” the guest added.
“Sounds like quite a story,” Claire said, her voice laced with genuine curiosity.
“It was more than a story—it was extraordinary,” the guest insisted. “Christian Cross, former SAS soldier, took on impossible odds and saved those hostages. And I hear he's here. In this inn. Is it true?"
My grip tightened on the coffee cup as Claire responded.
“That does sound incredible,” she said thoughtfully. “But even if it were, it's not my place to say one way or the other."
“That’s the mystery, isn’t it?” the guest replied. “People like him don’t just vanish without reason.”
My heart pounded as I risked a glance at Claire. She met my eyes briefly before turning back to her conversation partner.
“Well, everyone needs a place to escape now and then,” she said with a shrug.
“True enough,” the guest agreed.
I forced myself to relax and focus on breakfast. The conversation continued around me, but I tuned it out, focusing instead on the task at hand—eating quickly and getting out of there before any more recognition could occur.
I couldn’t shake it. The conversation replayed in my head, over and over, each word striking like a hammer. I knew what I did in Hong Kong was right. No regrets about the decisions I made. Lives were saved; that’s what mattered. But still, there was this gnawing sense of shame I couldn't place.
As I finished my breakfast, I watched Claire move through the room.
How many conversations like this had she had?
How often did people come in here, recognize my face or hear whispers of my past?
Did she protect me each time? Keep my secrets without me asking?
What did she know? Did she look into it? What did she think of me?
The idea made me uncomfortable. Not because of her actions, but because of the burden it placed on her. It wasn't fair to drag her into my past, into the mess I was trying to escape. Yet here she was, navigating it with grace.
And if she had looked it up…
Then what?
I couldn't blame her, but it felt like a violation. Even if it wasn't a secret.
She approached my table with a pot of coffee, interrupting my racing thoughts. “Need a refill?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah, thanks.” I pushed my cup toward her.
She poured slowly, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.
“Look,” she began, her voice low so only I could hear, “you don’t owe anyone explanations. Not even me.”
“I know,” I replied, not meeting her gaze.
“But if you ever want to talk about it...” she let the offer hang in the air.
I looked up at her then, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes. “I appreciate that,” I said simply.
She nodded and moved on to the next table. As much as I wanted to confide in her, something held me back. Maybe it was pride or fear—fear that once I started talking about it, I'd never be able to stop.
And to put a burden like that on her?
Hell, my own country didn't want to hear about it. They didn't want anyone to know about it.
I finished my coffee and stood up to leave. Claire glanced over at me from across the room but didn’t say anything.
Stepping outside, the cold air hit me like a wall. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. The shame still clung to me like a shadow. Why did it linger? Why couldn't I just let it go?
The street was empty as I started walking again. Each step brought me no closer to answers but further from the inn and its warmth.
The past had a way of haunting you no matter how far you ran or how well you hid. And Hong Kong was no different.
The woodpile stood in the corner of the yard. The ax lay nearby, its handle worn smooth from countless grips. I picked it up, feeling its familiar weight in my hands. There was something comforting about the simplicity of chopping wood. No room for thoughts, just action.
I set a log on the chopping block, raised the ax, and brought it down with a satisfying thud. The log split cleanly in two, and I moved on to the next one. Each swing of the ax was a release, each split log a small victory over my racing mind.
Claire's face kept creeping into my thoughts, her eyes full of understanding that I didn't deserve. Her touch lingered on my skin, a warmth I couldn't afford to let in. With every chop, I tried to sever those feelings, to cut them away like the wood beneath my blade.
I couldn't kiss her again.
The realization hit me like a blow to the gut. I couldn't drag her into my world, filled with shadows and secrets. My country didn't want me—an outcast with too much blood on his hands. That wasn't something I could put on her shoulders.
I split another log, the force of my swing driven by frustration. She deserved better than what I could offer. Better than a man haunted by his past and running from it at every turn.
The ax bit into the wood again and again, each strike echoing in the quiet morning air. The physical exertion helped focus my mind, but it couldn't silence the doubts completely.
I thought about the conversations we'd had—the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn't paying attention. There was something in her gaze that made me want to believe in second chances, but I knew better. Second chances were a luxury men like me couldn't afford.
The logs piled up around me as I worked through my thoughts. Sweat trickled down my back despite the cold air.
The ax bit into the wood, each strike a desperate attempt to keep my thoughts at bay. I couldn't afford to think about Claire, about the warmth of her smile or the softness in her eyes. I needed the rhythm, the repetition, the distraction.
"There you are," a familiar voice broke through my concentration. "Here, I brought you coffee."
I turned to look at her, and my heart squeezed with want. Claire stood there, her hair catching the morning light like a halo. She looked like a goddess—those wide, expressive eyes and gentle features that seemed almost ethereal in their beauty, curves hidden under a winter coat.
All I wanted was to sweep her into my arms and kiss her until I couldn't remember any of it—the past, the pain, the reasons why I had to keep my distance. To feel her warmth, to claim some of it as if I had any right to it at all.
She held out the steaming mug. "I thought you might need this."
"I'm good," I replied brusquely, trying to keep my voice steady.
I dropped the ax and stepped around her, each step heavy with unspoken words.
I hated doing it.
God, I sounded like an asshole.
I was an asshole.
But if I didn't do this now, I wasn't going to do it at all.
I needed to rip the bandage off. I needed to stop this before I couldn't, and dammit, I didn't want to.
"Christian?" she called after me. "Are you okay?"
Fuck, her voice.
That uncertainty.
It wasn't her fault.
None of it was.
I stopped walking but didn't turn around. The words hung in the air between us, heavy and full of unspoken truths.
This was it. If I didn't do it now, I knew I wasn't going to. It was for her own good. I was doing this for her.
"You should stay away from me, Claire," I said finally.
I didn't wait for her response. I walked back into the inn, leaving her standing out in the cold.