Chapter 16 Shelby #2
“There was the third kid,” I continue, because now that the dam is cracking, I need to say all of it. “He was maybe ten. When the shooting started, he ran—made it past the initial contact, past the operatives. For a moment, I thought—” I break off, unable to finish.
“But he made it,” Serena says quietly, not asking.
I nod. “He made it to the tree line. The operation was a complete failure. Two kids dead, one missing, and me frozen like a coward because I was too broken to do the one thing I was trained to do.”
The shame of it burns fresh even now.
“Nikolai pulled me out of the operation after that. Said I needed to go home. Said my freezing up was getting people killed.” I turn my head to look at Serena.
In the moonlight, her amber eyes are dark and fathomless.
“He was right. I’ve been carrying this guilt ever since Syria.
Been afraid that if I got close to anyone, if I let myself care about them, I’d find another way to fail.
Another way to watch someone that I love get destroyed because of my weakness. ”
Serena is quiet for a long moment. Then she squeezes my fingers.
“That’s not true.” I raise a skeptical eyebrow, so she continues.
“You didn’t freeze because you’re weak, Shelby.
You froze because you cared. Because the thought of that sweet woman dying was so unbearable that your brain and your body couldn’t process it fast enough to respond.
That’s not being weak, it’s being human. ”
“Being human doesn’t help in combat situations,” I say flatly.
“No,” she agrees. “But it’s essential in life. Because, in a real relationship, one loves without destroying the other.”
I turn to face her fully, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Even in the dim light, intelligence shines in her eyes. But I’m aware there’s steel beneath her softness.
“I’ve been having these nightmares since I came back from Syria,” I admit. “Sometimes I can stay awake through sheer force of will. Other times...” I gesture vaguely at the mattress, at the fact that she was trapped beneath me moments ago.
“Other times you relive it,” she finishes. She pulls her legs up, mirroring my position. We’re two people who’ve been broken by the world, trying to figure out how to be whole together.
“I should sleep in the guest room,” I say, the fear that’s been driving all my decisions finally surfacing.
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
Her indignation warms my heart. I kiss the tip of her nose, fighting a smile because this conversation is deadly serious. “Because, in one of these episodes, I could hurt you.”
“You could, but I know you won’t,” she whispers.
I appreciate that she doesn’t pretend this isn’t a real possibility.
Yet I shake my head at her na?veté. “You can’t know that.”
“The hell I can’t, Shelby Boyle! Even in the nightmare, even in the worst moment, your body protected me instead of harming me. You collapsed on top of me to shelter me, not trap me.”
I want to argue, but I remember her hands on my shoulders, her eyes clear and unafraid. Not the panic of someone being hurt. The steadiness of someone who trusted me even when I was at my most fractured.
“I can’t promise the nightmares will stop,” I say slowly.
“I know,” Serena says. “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to stop running from them. Stop running from me.”
She reaches up and touches my face, her palm cool against my cheek. “You’re not cursed, Shelby. You’re not broken beyond repair. You’re just a man who saw something horrific, and that broke your heart. But broken hearts can be mended.”
“Is that right?” I chuckle.
She nods. “When something breaks inside a person, the cracks let the light in. That’s what happened to you. Those cracks mean you care too much. Especially those you love.”
Her words hit something deep in my chest, feelings that have been locked away since Syria.
“I’m terrified of what you’re becoming to me,” I confess. “I’m scared of losing you. But I’m more terrified of losing you because I was too afraid to give us a chance.”
Serena leans forward and kisses me, soft and slow and full of promises. When she pulls back, she says, “Then don’t run away. Stay with me. Nightmares and all.”
I pull her onto my lap and claim her lips. I pour into the kiss all the conflicting emotions I don’t know how to express. When we break for air, I lean my forehead against hers. We smile through labored breathing.
She frames my face in her cool hands. “I know. I’m scared, too.”
And just like that, she proves again that she can read me better than I can. Maybe I should believe her when she says I’m not hopelessly broken.
We lie down with her tucked into my chest, my arms around her. She falls asleep again quickly. I stay awake, but it’s different this time. The darkness doesn’t feel like an enemy. It feels like a space where I can finally rest and take inventory.
The city is full of people with their own ghosts. Their own fears. Their own reasons to run.
But for the first time since Syria, I’m choosing to stay and face my demons because Serena Boyle, my wife, is worth every second of this fight.
And that’s the bravest thing I’ve done in many years.