Chapter 6 - Cole #2
Of all the questions I expected, this wasn't one. It hits too close to where it all began to unravel. I consider shutting it down, telling her it's none of her business. But something in her expression—open, genuinely curious without judgment—makes me hesitate.
"It's complicated," I say finally, lowering myself into the chair across from her.
"We've got time." She gestures to the window where snow still falls heavily. "Unless you have somewhere else to be."
The small joke, delivered with a self-deprecating smile, eases some of the tension in my chest. "Guess not."
I stare into the fire for a long moment, gathering my thoughts. It's been years since I've told this story to anyone. Not since the military therapists and the review board.
"I was on my fourth tour," I begin, my voice low. "Afghanistan. Special Forces team leader. We were good. Damn good. The kind of unit they sent in when things were already hell."
I pause, watching the flames dance in the fireplace, memories I've tried to bury rising to the surface.
"There was an operation... high-value target in a village near the Pakistan border. Intel said he'd be there with minimal security. Should have been clean." My jaw tightens. "Intel was wrong."
Ruby sits quietly, not pushing, just waiting for me to continue at my own pace. It's strange how easy it is to talk to her, this woman I barely know.
"We walked into an ambush. Lost two men in the first thirty seconds.
The rest of us were pinned down, taking fire from positions we hadn't been briefed on.
" I can still hear it. The deafening crack of gunfire, the shouted commands, the screams of my men.
"My second-in-command, Jackson, took a hit. Bad one. Femoral artery."
I swallow hard, my hands unconsciously clenching into fists. "I got to him, applied a tourniquet, called for evac. But we were surrounded, the LZ was too hot for the helicopter to land. Command said to hold position until they could clear a path."
Ruby's eyes never leave my face, witnessing my confession without interrupting.
"Jackson was dying. I knew it. He knew it. And I had a choice to make." My voice grows harder. "Stay put and watch him bleed out or try something desperate."
"What did you do?" she asks softly.
"I left two men with Jackson and took the rest on a flanking maneuver to clear the LZ. It was a bad call tactically. Dividing our forces when we were already outnumbered. But I couldn't just sit there and watch him die."
The fire pops and hisses, filling the silence as I gather myself.
"We cleared the LZ. Got the helicopter in. But while we were gone, the position where I left Jackson was overrun." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "By the time we fought our way back, they were all dead. Jackson, Martinez, Cohen. And not quick deaths either."
I meet her eyes directly now, letting her see the darkness I usually keep hidden. "I made a call based on emotion, not tactical reality. And three good men died because of it."
"That's why you left?" she asks, her voice still gentle. "Because of what happened that day?"
I give a harsh laugh. "No. That's just the beginning. After that... something broke in me. I became reckless. Took risks I shouldn't have. The brass noticed, of course. They pulled me from field operations, stuck me behind a desk at Fort Benning."
I stand, too restless to remain seated, and move to the window. Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the world in white silence.
"I couldn't handle it. The routine, the paperwork, the fucking normality of it all when I still had the blood of my men on my hands. Started drinking. Fighting. Got into it with my CO one night at the officers' club."
I turn back to her. "They gave me a choice. Medical discharge or court-martial. I took the discharge."
"That still doesn't explain why you're up here," she says, still watching me. "Lots of veterans struggle when they come home. They don't all isolate themselves in the mountains."
She's right, of course. What I've told her is just the surface, the acceptable version of events. Not the whole truth.
"After I got out, I moved back to my hometown. Tried to start over. Got a job as a security consultant." My voice drops lower. "There was a woman. Sarah. First serious relationship since before my deployments."
I can see understanding dawning in Ruby's eyes, but she doesn't interrupt.
"Things were good, for a while. Then the nightmares started. Bad ones. I'd wake up screaming, fighting invisible enemies. One night—" I have to stop, breathe through the memory. "One night I woke up with my hands around her throat."
Ruby's sharp intake of breath is the only sound in the room.
"I came to my senses before I... before I really hurt her. But the look in her eyes..." I close my own, unable to escape the memory of Sarah's terror. "She was afraid of me. As she should have been."
"Cole—"
"That's when I knew I needed to get away from people. I couldn't trust myself. Still can't." I look at her directly. "So now you know. That's why I'm up here. Because I'm dangerous."
I expect disgust, fear, maybe pity. Instead, she looks at me with something like compassion.
"You had PTSD," she says. "You still do. That's not the same as being dangerous. Not if you're getting help, working through it."
"There's no 'working through' what I am," I say flatly. "Some things can't be fixed."
"I don't believe that," she counters, her voice firm. "And I don't think you really do either. Otherwise why tell me any of this? Why let me stay here?"
Her question hits a nerve I didn't know was exposed. Why did I tell her? Why am I letting her break through walls I've spent eight years building?
"Because you're leaving tomorrow," I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. "Because it doesn't matter what you know about me. You'll go back to your life, and I'll stay here in mine."
She flinches slightly at my tone, and I immediately regret it. This is exactly what I'm talking about: the darkness in me that lashes out, that can't be controlled.
"I'm sorry," I say, running a hand through my hair. "That wasn't... I shouldn't have snapped at you."
"It's okay," she says, but I can see I've hurt her. "You're right. I'll be gone tomorrow, and you can go back to... whatever this is." She gestures around the cabin.
Silence falls between us.
I've fucked this up, like I fuck up everything eventually. It's better this way, I tell myself. Better that she sees this side of me now, before...
Before what? Before I do something stupid like touch her? Like give in to the hunger that's been growing since the moment I found her in the snow?
I need to redirect, to get us back on safer ground. "I'm going to make some hot cocoa," I say abruptly. "You want some?"
She looks surprised by the sudden change in topic but nods. "Yes, please."
I move to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. As I heat milk on the stove, I call over my shoulder, "I made some lemon biscuits yesterday, before you arrived. They go well with the cocoa."
"You bake?" There's a hint of a smile in her voice.
"Not much else to do up here in winter," I say, feeling some of the tension dissipate. "Gets old eating the same things all the time."
I bring over two mugs of cocoa and a plate of the lemon biscuits, setting them on the coffee table.
"Thank you," she says, taking a sip. "This is delicious."
"Just powdered cocoa and milk," I mumble, uncomfortable with the praise.
"And the biscuits are amazing," she adds after taking a bite. "You're full of surprises, Cole Davidson."
I settle back in my chair, watching her enjoy the simple treats. Despite the heaviness of our conversation, despite the painful memories I've just dredged up, there's something peaceful about this moment. Something I haven't felt in longer than I can remember.
Tomorrow she'll leave. Tomorrow I'll return to my solitude, to the life I've chosen as penance for my sins. But for now, for this brief moment in time, I allow myself to simply be here with her, sharing cocoa and biscuits while the snow falls outside.
It's more than I deserve. And somehow, still not enough.