Chapter 30
Wren
“Jett,” I scream, coming apart with his name on my lips.
It’s not loud or performative. A broken, breathless moan pulled straight from my chest as the last wave crests and carries me under. My fingers clutch his shoulders, my body arching into his as everything slows.
We release together. His weight settles over me, grounding and solid.
Breath hot against my neck, his chest rises and falls hard against me.
The room smells like sweat and sex as it mingles with the clean cotton.
My legs tremble as my heart races. At some point, between the second and third rounds, we ended up in my bed.
Turns out, our bodies missed each other.
“Jett,” I murmur, half-laughing, half-crying. “That was…”
I don’t have the words to finish. Amazing. Epic. Otherworldly.
“Yeah,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breath uneven. “It was.”
We breathe each other in for a moment before he slips out of me, our connection ending.
Rolling onto my side, he tugs and pulls me into him. My hand rests against his chest and I feel the rise and fall of his heart—steady and strong. I trace the endless black lines that mark his gorgeous skin. My fingers stroke over a section of raised skin, and Jett flinches beneath my touch.
“You okay?”
“I’m more than okay.” His mouth curves against my hair as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
I smile, kissing him back on his collarbone. “Good. Because you’re really good at that.”
“At what?” I don’t miss the teasing in his voice.
“At making me come.”
He huffs a laugh, holding me tighter.
A comfortable silence falls over us as I stare into the darkness of my room. I’ve lost track of the time. It’s somewhere after midnight if I had to guess.
“What’s the 9:04 mean in your tattoo?”
I feel him smile against the top of my head. “It’s the date I left you. September Fourth.”
My body stiffens slightly before I huff a sardonic laugh. “You mean, we’ve both been carrying around tattoos for each other?”
“Looks like it. I have a whiskey glass around there somewhere.”
“Jett.”
He presses a kiss to my head, but doesn’t say more.
My fingers keep moving, mapping him—the new dips and valleys in his sculpted body.
I don’t realize it at first, how my fingers keep circling the same place on his hip.
I drift away from the spot, but always come back.
It’s like my body knows something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
The scar sits above the line where his boxers would be, pale against tanned skin, thin but jagged, like it never healed right.
“You can ask,” he says quietly as my thumb stills.
“Ask what?”
“Whatever’s on your mind. You keep tracing that scar.”
Heat crawls up my neck—not in embarrassment, but like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t have.
“I…” I hesitate, my fingers still resting there. “I was wondering how you got it.”
A beat passes.
Then another.
When he finally speaks, his voice is steady, but there’s a shift beneath it, like a door opening deep inside him. I brace myself for the words to come.
“Knife wound during my first deployment.”
My breath catches as my shoulders flinch. It’s like I knew the truth, but I wasn’t ready to actually hear the words.
I lift myself onto my elbow so I can look at him properly, but his eyes don’t meet mine. His jaw tightens as he stares at my ceiling, drifting off into a memory.
“I was a thirteen-bravo,” he begins. “Field artillery. We weren’t supposed to be up close, but war doesn’t give a shit what your orders are.”
I nod, trying to understand the military language.
“I was twenty,” he goes on. “Green as hell, thought I was invincible and nothing could touch me.”
A faint, humorless curve spreads across his lips.
“That scar’s from a night patrol gone sideways. Too close of quarters. A guy came out of nowhere. I didn’t see the blade until it was in me.”
My stomach twists.
“Was it bad?”
He exhales through his nose, nodding. “It was pretty deep. The pain didn’t register as I slipped into shock. Like my body didn’t believe I’d been stabbed.”
I press my palm over his hip, like I can take the pain away, erase the memory from his skin.
“I didn't tell anyone back home.” He continues. “Didn’t want anyone to worry. Everyone was still grieving Dad, and I couldn’t add more to their plate. I had the medics patch me up and send me back out. I made Staff Sergeant faster than I expected after that.”
There’s bitterness in his voice, mixed with a small dose of pride over his accomplishment.
“By twenty-six, I was an E-6 with two deployments in. More men under me than I knew how to protect, but we managed.”
“What’s E-6?”
“It’s like middle management,” he explains. “Bridging the gap between junior soldiers and commissioned officers.”
Not quite understanding, I nod. I’m naive about the military and its ranking system.
“Wa-was it hard?” I ask, even though I know the answer. I’ve seen movies, seen the struggles of war, but I don’t know how to ask the questions. I don’t want to be insensitive, even though Jett would never judge me.
His eyes finally meet mine, and I see the walls building. “Yeah,” he says simply. “It was.”
I nod, swallowing roughly. “I think it’s safe to say war changes people.”
“In more ways than you could imagine,” he agrees.
“Some parts change for the better. Others change you in a way you never get back. Dad forced me into this path, but a part of me enjoyed the challenge. I didn’t feel like I was worthy of anything else.
When Dad died, a part of me felt closer to him.
Even though he wasn’t Army, it was something we shared.
The discipline felt like a punishment I needed, and it turned out I was good at it. ”
“At what?”
“Fighting. Facing new challenges and battles gave me a thrill I never could have imagined.”
I think of my own battles—the ones no one pinned medals to. The ones fought in locked rooms.
“I think we both know something about that,” I say.
His forehead creases as his gaze softens. “Yeah, I imagine we do.”
It’s at this moment that I realize once again that Jett doesn’t know the full extent of my truth.
Only that I’m running from my past. I’ve never told him about Elias and how much pain I’ve suffered at his hands.
This is a conversation we need to have, but there’s no way in hell I’m bringing it up now.
I trace upward, over his ribs, his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my palm. I focus on each beat, at every reminder he’s here with me.
“There was a guy,” he says after a moment. “My best friend over there, Rafe.”
Something about the way he says the name tells me everything.
“Tell me about him.”
A real smile touches his mouth this time.
“Absolute smartass,” he says. “Always pushing boundaries and buttons. Always joking, even when shit was bad. Especially then. He was like this puppy you couldn’t escape. But man, did he have your back. He knew when shit was serious and was dedicated to the job.”
I smile, even though I can sense there’s something deeper to his revelation.
“He used to say, if he didn’t make it out to tell his wife he died a hero, and handsome. Which was a lie… Fucker was brave, but handsome… I’ve seen goats better looking than this fool.”
I laugh, pressing my cheek to his chest.
“He would’ve loved you,” he adds.
The word catches.
“Loved?”
He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.
“IED,” he explains. “During our second deployment. Somewhere in God knows where. We were twenty-two.”
I gasp as pain grips my heart for this man who lost another person close to him.
“I’m so sorry, J,” I say, but the word tastes bitter on my tongue. It’s too insignificant of a word.
“He was standing right next to me.” He continues, a shakiness to his voice before he clears it. “One second, he was there, talking about how he couldn’t wait to get home to his son, teach him how to fish, and the next…”
He trails off, and silence washes over us.
“I still hear it sometimes…the loud blast and the silence after.”
My throat tightens. “Did you…talk to anyone about it?
He shrugs. “I went through some counseling the military mandated, but never shared too much. Didn't want to look like a guy who couldn’t handle it. I kept going, kept leading, kept pushing to make sure my guys got home.”
“But what about you?” I ask, worry edging my tone.
“I didn’t know how to deal,” he admits. “I left you, and Dad died right after basic training from a freak accident. I wasn’t there for any of it. Rafe was gone. Then…I knew I lost you.”
The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.
“I’m still here.”
“But you weren’t. Mom said you left for California and hadn’t been home, and I couldn’t blame you.”
A heavy silence stretches between us.
“Sometimes I feel like everyone I get close to leaves,” he admits brokenly.
“I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, J. Not now, not again. I survived and came back.”
He swallows hard. Emotion radiates from him, in his voice, in his words, in the tightness of his grip on my hand.
“And so did you,” I add. “In different ways, we both survived and came home. This, right here, it’s where we're supposed to be.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” I tell him. “Not like before. I promise.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against him like he’s memorizing the feel of me, proof that I’m real and choosing him.
The thing is, I’d choose Jett Riggsby a million times, in each lifetime.
No matter how much pain our past brought, it’s always been him.
The scars of yesterday built who we are, and while I loved him at eighteen, I've never been more in love than I am with the version of him right now, in this bed with me, scars and all. When I tell him he’s it for me, I’m saying it with my whole heart.
I don’t believe we’re put on this earth to handle more than we can stand.
While there were many times I felt like I was drowning, like I couldn't handle anything else life had to offer, I knew if I had a chance to be with this man again, I’d take it. A thousand times over.
“We fought different wars, but we both came out on top.”
“You think so?” he asks.
“I know so. We’re still standing. Still breathing. And still fighting.”
He kisses my temple. “I’ll fight a thousand battles as long as you’re by my side.”
I settle against him again, my hand returning to his chest, tracing slow, loving lines as he grips me tighter.
I feel the love emanating from his touch, and I hope he can feel mine for him.
As I close my eyes, I let my body relax. For the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid of the dark. The quiet isn’t lonely.
It feels like peace. Hope for a better future. A future filled with love and happiness.
And the promise of better days ahead.