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Chapter Twenty-Seven

I seeit in her eyes. The moment River knows what Skye is saying is true. And I see something else too. Something I’ve seen all too often in my own reflection. Something I hoped to never see again. The look in her eyes, the hurt, the pain, the shame, it’s all there, and in this moment, I know what happened and I know River just found out herself.

It took every fiber of her being to walk away. She’s crumbling inside. I recognize that too.

The same despair I’ve seen in my own eyes. The powerlessness of what-ifs, the pain of regret and wishing for a different outcome. It’s all there in her eyes, and I’m frozen in place as I watch it unfold.

Skye calls after River and enters my line of vision. I snap out of it and stop her.

“No, I’ll go. You stay here with Logan.”

Logan turns to me then. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Liam. Let Skye talk to her—”

I get in his face, years of marine training kicking in, and through gritted teeth I say, “I’ll go. You both stay here. Do not follow me. I’m going to talk to her alone. Do I make myself clear?”

Logan flinches but doesn’t say anything. He looks at Skye and she nods.

Knocking softly, I open her door and step into her room, closing it behind me. She’s on her knees, her body bent on itself as if trying to be as small as possible, her shoulders racking with silent sobs. I kneel next to her and pick her up, curl her to me like a baby and walk to her bed. Sitting down, I lean against the headboard with River on my lap.

She doesn’t fight me or say a word. She just cries and every so often her head shakes slightly, as if saying ‘no.’ I take a deep breath, my chest expanding under her, and let her pain wash over me and mingle with mine. And for the first time since I was seventeen, since my parents turned their backs on me, I cry. I cry silent tears like River’s.

I feel her pain as mine and I feel my own pain breaking free again, remembering the day of my own attack. I hold on to River and cry. Cry for myself and all that I lost and I cry for River because I know what happened even if she hasn’t said a word about it.

I know what this guy Jon did to her and I know I’m going to kill him and enjoy doing it. I’ll do it with my bare hands. I look at my hands then, the hands that so gently hold her trembling body against mine, the hands that have patched and stitched and saved hundreds of lives. These hands will see blood again, but it won’t be from a bullet wound, an explosion, or shrapnel. These hands, my hands will see Jon’s blood on them. They will take a life instead of saving it. I want him to look into my eyes when the light goes off in his own, knowing I did it for River. The bastard will never hurt anyone again. It’s a promise I make to myself. A promise I make to River even if she’ll never know it.

After a long while her sobs diminish, her shoulders no longer trembling. I reach over to her nightstand and grab a few tissues, dabbing her eyes and drying her face. Her eyes are red and swollen, her skin is blotchy, and her nose is running, but when I look at her, at the wet lashes that frame her hazel eyes, now green from all the crying, I can’t help but to think she’s beautiful. Then I grab more tissues and dry my own eyes. She looks at me confused because of my tears, her eyes searching mine, searching my face, and I let the walls drop. I let my shields down and I let her see me. I let her see the boy inside the man. I let her see the pain behind the sarcasm. I let her see all the broken pieces that make me what I am today and how I long for the carefree and happy kid I once was. I let River see all of it and she understands, even though she doesn’t know what caused my scars. She sees them and she doesn’t pull away. She touches my face with her fingertips and then palms my cheek—I lean into her hand and close my eyes. When I open them again, there’s a small smile on her lips. Her walls are down. She dropped them for me and the openness in her eyes nearly undoes me. Then I tell her. I tell her everything.