Chapter 9 Two Lane Highway, New Mexico—Just past The Refuge #3
“Okay. But I’m only going to speak on a generic level.
” Henley stayed calm, her gaze annoyingly patient.
“You don’t have to be me to see that Specs is somewhere between grief and blaming herself, but she’s processing, and she doesn’t want to be in that space.
She’s letting people in—Jupiter, mostly—but she hasn’t closed herself off.
You should be less worried about her and more worried about the person staring back at you in the mirror. ”
Lark’s jaw tensed. “Specs needs this more than I do. I’ve been at this part of the job longer, and I’ve learned to compartmentalize.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re better at coping.”
“I’ve managed all these years just fine.” A breath hitched in Lark’s throat. Everything was so close to surface. It was like a massive wave right before it crested and crashedonto the shore.
Henley leaned forward. “Tell me, Lark. Are you asking me all this because you want to wind down the clock and avoid speaking about yourself? Or is this because you’re worried that Specs is somehow going to become you?
” Henley waved a hand at the other rocker.
“Because the thing is, she’s just newer at dealing with this level of broken.
And broken and can be healed. Even if it’s been years. ”
Lark blinked, throat suddenly thick as the wave of emotion began to break. “Is that what we are now? Broken toys left out in the sun too long?”
Henley didn’t smile. “No. I think you’re a woman who learned too early how to survive in a world that’s taught you life’s not fair and going to come for you no matter what. And now, surviving is all you know how to do.”
Lark looked back out toward the hills. “I’m still standing.”
“That’s not the same thing as living.”
Lark turned toward her. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I don’t think you are either, or you wouldn’t be here… talking.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time. The porch boards creaked under Henley’s slow rocking. Lark rubbed her fingers together, feeling the dryness of her skin from years of neglect.
“Where are we supposed to start?” Lark eased into the other chair with a long sigh, as if that breath was the ocean as it rolled onto the shore. An exhale of years of exhaustion. Years of running on fumes. Dodging bullets. Avoiding attachments.
“I’d like to know a little about you,” Henley said.
“Kawan has always spoken highly of you. But I don’t know anything about you other than being tough as nails, a badass at your job, and the kind of person who keeps going when others would have packed up and gone home.
” Henely shifted in her chair. “All good traits. Traits I personally admire. I also know those are the very things that have protected you. But they’ve also hindered you from actually dealing with some of the things you’ve experienced. They’ve made you hyper-focused.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about me.” Lark chuckled.
“Okay. Tell me something I don’t know.”
Lark stared at Jupiter’s cabin. The porch was empty now. Just a faint flicker of a shadow in the window. “I don’t remember them,” Lark said, voice barely a whisper.
“Who?”
“My parents.” Lark let the words hang there. “I don’t remember their voices. Or their faces. Just that… when I woke up in that house the morning after their accident, I was alone. And then it was one foster home after another. Nobody stuck.”
Henley’s voice was soft. “Why do you think that is?”
Lark shrugged. “They all wanted babies. Not a five-year-old tomboy with skinned knees and a foul mouth.”
Henley didn’t bite. “You think that’s why?”
Lark hesitated. “They didn’t want a girl who asked questions. Or one who didn’t like dolls. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t see what I saw.”
“What did you see?”
“Too many broken promises to count,” Lark said softly. “First foster family told me they would protect me. Six months later, I was gone. The next one kept their fridge locked. I wasn’t allowed to eat unless it was mealtime. That was fun.”
“And the one after that?”
“The policeman who found me after my parents died helped set me up in another one. He said they were good people. They weren’t bad people, but two things happened.” Lark’s voice tightened. “That cop said he’d always come check on me. That he was going to make sure I was okay.”
Henley’s voice was barely audible. “Did he?”
“No. One day, he just stopped showing up. A few months later, I moved to another foster home, and then at fifteen I went to a group home where I stayed until I aged out of the system.” She'd stopped waiting for him after the first month.
Stopped making excuses for him after the second.
By the third, she'd figured out that people left. Always. “I learned not to count on people. Not to get too comfortable. And honestly, looking back, I’m glad. Those life lessons were hard. But I ended up in the Army because of it, and I took to that life like a fly to shit.”
“That’s an interesting visual for something near and dear to your heart.” Henley leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle. “I’m glad you have a positive attitude about your childhood. That’s good. But it’s also putting a survival mode spin on it, because again, that’s all you know.”
Lark looked at her. “What other choice did I have?”
Henley didn’t flinch. “You could’ve broken. A lot of kids do. You didn’t. That says something.”
“Yeah.” Lark eased back into the rocking chair and did something she never did—she rocked slowly. Back and forth. It wasn’t bad to do a little front porch sitting. “It says I did what I had to do.”
Henley studied her for a long beat. “That’s true. But you never stopped doing that. Not once. Every mission. Every choice. You’ve been surviving. Not trusting. Not healing. Just… enduring. That’s the cycle we need to break.”
“I don’t need healing,” Lark snapped.
“No,” Henley said. “You don’t want it. That’s different.”
Lark fisted her hands at her sides. “You think I’m some lost cause?”
Henley shook her head. “I think you’re exhausted from carrying your whole life on your own shoulders—and carrying others, too. Interesting thing about you, is that you don’t ever want anyone to feel like you. To be alone in this world. It’s why you’re so desperate to know that Specs will be okay.”
Lark chewed on that nugget. The good therapist wasn’t wrong, and Lark wasn’t that big of an asshole that she couldn’t admit she needed her friend to do more than survive this nightmare of a mission.
The wind picked up, and the chimes sang a sad, distant song that reminded her of quiet mornings shared with Kawan.
With that music, Lark made a crazy decision.
“I trusted Kawan once,” Lark said quietly. “That cost me more than you know.”
“And you don’t trust him now?” Henley asked.
“I trust him with my life,” Lark said.
“And your feelings? The rest of you?”
“I don’t know.” Lark stared out at the trees. “I want to. But every time I let someone in, something breaks.”
Henley leaned closer, resting her hand on Lark’s knee. “Maybe this time, it doesn’t.”
Lark didn’t move.
“You survived. No one’s doubting that. But maybe it’s time to stop surviving and start choosing to actually live—choosing what you want next.”
The words hung in the air between them. Heavy. Undeniable.
Henley said nothing, her gaze steady but patient. "I know that's a lot to take in. How are you feeling right now?"
Lark's fingers curled against her thighs. "Like you just peeled back a layer I didn't want anyone to see."
"That's honest. And hard." Something shifted in Henley's expression—softened. "You don't have to have answers today. Just think about it. About what living—not just surviving—might look like for you."
Lark managed a nod.
“I think that's a good place to pause for today.” Henley stood. “You did good work here. I know it doesn't feel like it, but showing up is half the battle. You can call me day or night. Take advantage of your time here. Walk the trails. Visit the animals. Chat with Brick and the rest of our owners. They’ve all been through some stuff.” She smiled. “Kawan cares about you, and I believe you feel the same way. Let him in. I can’t promise that things won’t get mucky.
Or that you won’t hurt each other. Relationships don’t work that way. ”
“We’re not a thing,” Lark said.
“You’re at least friends, and that’s a relationship,” Henley said. “But just remember, neither of you will break.” She walked away, her boots denting the grass with the same delicate care as her words.
Lark stayed rooted in the chair, arms tight around herself. She stared at the sun as it sank behind the hills, her breath ragged, eyes stinging.
And for the first time in years, she didn’t know if she wanted to be strong.
She just knew she wanted to stop being alone.