Chapter 17 Grayson
GRAYSON
Grayson’s heart thumped helplessly as an unbearable weight of darkness pressed down on him from all sides.
He was vaguely aware that he was on his knees, and the sound of distraught cries filled his ears for a long time before he realized they were his own.
It’s okay, he told himself, as he had been taught. You’re okay, just breathe.
He tried to suck in a deep breath to calm his demons, but all he could manage was a gasp.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…
He reached almost a hundred before his chest unlocked and he choked in air and let it out in a shuddering sigh.
Soft footsteps on the stairs reminded him that he wasn’t alone in the house, that he’d broken down in full view of Evangeline and Leo, and panic tried to slide its fingers into him again.
He kept his eyes closed and counted again, inhaling and exhaling every seven beats.
When the rush of his heartbeat in his ears quieted again, he realized that someone was moving around him—Evangeline. The swish of a broom told him that she was cleaning up the glass.
A pang of terrible guilt threatened to upend his fragile peace.
“I’m sorry,” he managed without opening his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said lightly, still sweeping, her movements slow and measured, as if she were trying not to break his tenuous control over himself.
It made him sad to know that she was frightened of him.
And his focus on her instantly brought him back to himself.
“You don’t have to do that,” he managed to tell her, opening his eyes and getting slowly to his feet so as not to scare her any more than he already had. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m almost done,” she said. “And Leo is asleep in his crib.”
He looked around, and amazingly, she had cleaned up his awful mess just that quickly.
“I’ll just grab a mop to be sure I got it all,” she said, scurrying off to the kitchen with the broom and dustpan.
She had the medals clutched to her chest and he wondered what she was planning to do with them. As far as he was concerned, they belonged in the trash with the rest of the mess—you don’t frame lies.
“Don’t mop,” he heard himself say. “Sit down. You deserve an explanation.”
He wondered if she would just make her excuses and hurry off to bed. He wouldn’t blame her if she did. He couldn’t bear to see that, so he just looked out the window at the moonlit acres surrounding the house where he thought he’d be able to hide himself away.
He heard her empty the dustpan, followed by the sound of the broom closet opening and closing.
When he looked up again, she was sitting at the table, her eyes on her hands.
A beautiful supper was laid out, and his heart broke thinking about her preparing that meal, excited to share it with him.
She can’t even look me in my eyes anymore, a little voice whispered in the back of his head.
But she hadn’t run away, and that was something. He had promised her an explanation, but he’d never really talked to anyone about this stuff other than the required sessions right after it happened.
Evangeline was here waiting, giving him a chance to explain his behavior. He was going to have to give her something.
“I don’t agree with the reasons I got those medals,” he heard himself say woodenly as he approached the table.
She looked up at him as he sat, not saying a word, but listening, her eyes meeting his in a way that made him feel stronger.
“They make it look like I’m a hero,” he said, looking down at his hands. “When I’m really a monster.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“You obviously did something important,” she said carefully after a moment.
His hand went to his scars, rubbing at the ruined skin before he could stop himself.
She waited, and he could feel her eyes on him, and the kindness that seemed to flow unhampered from her beautiful heart.
He knew he should say more, but the words just wouldn’t come.
She got up a moment later, and again, he waited for her to go to her room.
Instead, she filled the kettle and pulled two mugs down from the cupboard.
Maybe it was because her hands were busy and her back was to him, but his mind cleared a little, and suddenly it felt like maybe he could keep going.
“We were heading out on a patrol,” he heard himself say.
“I brought an extra man with us, Isaac Jones, just a kid really, far from home and scared. But he was the kind of guy that you just instantly took to. He had the whole unit cracking up at his jokes from his very first day. I took him under my wing. I thought it would be good for him to get some extra time just observing the other guys before he took his regular position with them.”
He could tell she was listening, but she didn’t stop what she was doing, just grabbed two teabags from the box on the counter and placed them in the mugs. Something about the quality of her movement was almost mesmerizing.
“We loaded up,” he went on. “I was in the vehicle at the rear. We’d done that route a million other times. The area was supposed to be cleared already.”
He pressed his lips together. There were so many places in this story that made him wish he could just go back in time, find some way to change the ending.
But he couldn’t change it. No matter what he did, he would carry it with him always.
“We were about halfway out,” he went on. “And the truck in front hit an explosive. One minute it’s driving along, the next it’s completely on fire and rolling into a ditch.”
He could feel her moving to him, taking the seat opposite his, and placing her hand on the table, offering comfort.
But there was no comfort for Grayson, there never would be. He could still taste the smoke and feel the bite of the fire on his skin while those screams filled his ears.
“I got as many of them out as I could,” he whispered, willing himself to keep going. “But Jones was pinned underneath and I couldn’t get to him. I tried, but they pulled me away and I couldn’t save him. He wasn’t even supposed to be there…”
Evangeline’s small hand covered his, squeezing hard, and somehow anchoring him to the present, so that he felt the wood of the table under his hand and some link to the present before the past could suck him all the way under again.
If she left now, and he prayed she wouldn’t even though he suspected she would, at least she knew the truth.
She knew what kind of man he really was.