Page 3

What did I do?

“I love the rain,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

After a moment, Jazz followed, and every step was a decision. He walked past the small wooden tables and chairs, each bearing the marks of countless conversations and just as many quiet moments for the men and women who stayed here. His gaze lingered on the large bulletin board adorned with notes and pictures, a tapestry of stories from those who’d moved on from us, and a list of events and weekly meetings. We had regular therapy sessions, AA, NA, or whatever was needed. Financial experts visited, representatives of veteran organizations, and even the local dog and cat shelters had us on their calendars for animal therapy. It was all there in black and white.

I watched him take it all in, the lines of tension in his face easing the merest fraction in the kitchen's warmth. It was a start, a small step.

“What would you like?” I asked with caution. “We have cocoa, coffee, tea…”

His eyes dimmed. “Coffee. Strong. Black.” Then, he blinked at me. “Please.”

“You can sit if you like,” I said, but he glanced at himself, shook his head, and tightened his grip on his backpack.

“I’m not staying,” he announced.

My heart fell and a wave of disappointment and concern washed over me. His swift rejection of anything I could offer him felt like a repeat of the last time I’d seen him, but I couldn’t think like that. He was no different to many who’d ended up here, and I understood his resistance when the walls of Guardian Hall were more like a cage than a refuge to some. They hated us, they cursed us, they wanted to see what do-gooders like me thought they could fix. They took the drink, the food, and then, some of them never came back. Any push from my side to get anyone tostay could drive them further away, I refused to let that happen with Jazz.

“Okay,” I said, calm, focused, then carried on with the coffee, acutely aware of the weight of his stare. I poured him a cup of the black stuff, then pulled down a container of cupcakes, lifting a couple onto a plate. Maybe the bright colors and the temptation of empty calories as a treat might make him take one? He didn’t. In fact, he ignored themandthe coffee until I placed both on the table. Only then did he pick up the drink, still avoiding the cake, shaking. He had to let go of it when he was coughing more, but I waited until he held the coffee again, sipping it cautiously.

“Have you seen a doctor for the cough?” I asked.

His bloodshot eyes focused on me, his dark brown eyes intense, and his lashes as long and sweeping as I remembered. “I’m not fucking stupid,” he snarled, slamming the coffee on the table.

I took an instinctive step back, startled, and it was the wrong thing to do because his temper vanished, and instead, he was lost again. He thought he’d scared me.

“You didn’t scare me,” I said, unthinking, losing all my training and control instantly. “I’m not scared.”

He showed me his shaky hand and closed it into a fist. “You should be.”

Then, he turned on his heel and I heard him talking, more to himself than me.“I shouldn’t have come. This is wrong.”

I darted after him, fucking it up yet again, but slowing when I reached the kitchen door, expecting him to be at the front already. Then, I nearly walked straight into him. He was still as stone in the hallway, staring at the exit. Shaking. Terrified.

He shuffled to face me, and he was crying. Softly at first, but then huge rattling sobs that made him cough.

“Help me.”

Chapter Three

JAZZ

I don’t understandwhy I’m crying.

I need to leave. I have to leave.

Only I couldn’t. I stared at the freaking door, and I couldn’t move.

“Jazz, I’m sorry,” Alex murmured.

I didn’t want him saying that to me. I didn’t want sympathy or pity. I needed something else, something that would ground me, stop me from dying inside…

“Please,” I whispered.

Silence, then, “Soldier,” Alex ordered. “With me.”

I stood there momentarily, caught off guard by Alex’s firm, commanding tone, something I hadn’t expected from him. A note in his voice resonated with the part of me still anchored in the discipline and structure of military life. It cut through the fog in my head, a clear, direct order I responded to on instinct.

I followed him down the wide corridor, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor. We passed the warm, inviting glow of the kitchen, but I didn’t let myself get distracted by the scent of coffee or the lure of food. My focus was on Alex’s back, hisconfident stride contrasting with the turmoil churning inside me.