Page 15 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Fifteen

JAZZ

It had been a month since I’d first walked through the doors of Guardian Hall. The days, sometimes long and filled with hurt, other times filled with small victories like getting Bugsy to trust me, blended into one. I hadn’t made any friends here, not like people usually do in life. There was camaraderie, yes, but it was the kind that came with shared spaces and shared silences, not from deep connection.

I felt weird when Raj moved on, with Tom following, but other than that, I was happy in my head, with my emails to Harper, medical chats with Marcus, counseling sessions with Dr. Whitman—Elena—and the odd, stilted conversation with Alex.

Alex and I had circled back into each other’s orbit, but we hadn’t chatted about our past. Instead, we had chosen safer topics like the animals at the sanctuary. It was easier that way, less fraught with the weight of history and the jagged edges of old wounds.

Talking about the animals brought peace, a neutral ground where we could stand without the past looming over us. I looked forward to those conversations, to hearing about the stray dog that had found a forever home or the new litter of kittens just opening their eyes. It was comforting, and it made being around Alex easier.

Or rather it was making it easier for him to be around me.

I saw glimpses of the old Alex in his smile when he talked about a successful adoption or his eyes lighting up when he recounted the recovery of a sick animal.

Yet, despite this tentative ease, I remained guarded, steeling myself against the possibility of slipping back into old patterns. Though our conversations were frequent, they still avoided anything too deep.

I often wondered if I was making any progress at all until Tyler arrived at Guardian Hall.

He’d turned up ten or so days ago. Another soldier, burn scars on his neck and face, so damn young, broken, a shell of a man who, like me, had been trained to survive the worst of human conflicts and who’d lost everything.

Though he was only twenty-four, the exhaustion and acceptance in his eyes made him seem decades older. Corporal Tyler Mason was how he introduced himself when Alex coaxed him to talk in the group, his voice a hoarse whisper that barely carried across the room. All he added was that Marcus had found him sleeping rough and from his tone, it was clear Tyler hadn’t intended to seek help. I guess he’d been out of options, out of strength.

A bit like all of us here.

Tyler remained silent for the most part, walking the hall with a haunted expression as if he was still trying to figure out if he was safe or trapped on another kind of battlefield. I felt drawn to him—like a protective older brother or something. On his second day, he’d emerged from his room—gaunt, his movements measured and slow, as if every step took a concerted effort. He joined us at breakfast, sitting at the far end of the table, his eyes darting around, taking in everyone and everything with a trained alertness that didn’t quite ease.

The next morning, he didn’t come out of his room.

In fact, it was a week before I saw him again.

I watched him, recognizing the raw edges of survival mode. I understood that feeling, the overwhelming mix of fear and defiance, the internal struggle between wanting to fade into the shadows and the desperate need for human contact, even if it meant sitting in silence in the same room with others. He had dressings on his neck, covering the worst of the burns that had looked so raw when he arrived, but he wasn’t well.

He was worn out.

Destroyed.

Seeing Tyler struggle, I felt a pang of empathy mixed with helpless frustration. I wanted to help, to reach out and tell him it would get better, that he wasn’t alone. But words weren’t enough, and sometimes, they were too much. Even though I wasn’t sure I believed everything would ever be okay for any of us.

But if it helped someone else…

So, I glanced at him occasionally, and when our eyes met, I offered a slight nod, an unspoken gesture of solidarity. He nodded back, a flicker of understanding passing between us. Although it wasn’t much, it served as a start, a moment of connection.

“You with the dogs today?” Alex asked.

I slipped sideways on my chair and almost fell on my ass. Immediately, he backed off, hands up, as if he’d hurt me, and for the first time since I got here, when I saw the horror at what he’d done in his expression, it didn’t hurt. I smiled.

I found it funny.

“I slipped on the chair,” I said.

“Shit,” Alex muttered.

“You surprised me, is all, and the seat is slippery.” I slid my ass to one side to show him before he hyperventilated. We locked eyes, and for a suspended moment, the world seemed to shrink down to only the two of us.

“My bad,” he murmured.

Then, his lips twitched upward in a small, knowing smile that transformed his entire face. It wasn’t the broad, open grins he offered to Abbie when amused by the antics of our four-legged friends; this was more reserved, more intimate—just for me.

In that smile, I glimpsed the Alex I remembered from before everything had gone wrong—reckless, determined to live life to the full, sweet to me, confident with everyone, and free of any shadows. It eased some of the tension that always seemed to coil inside me when I thought about how much we had to navigate to find our footing again. For the first time, I thought perhaps we could rebuild something valuable, not all-consuming teenage love, but something new and adapted to the people we’d become.

If only I could be sure that I wouldn’t self-destruct or hurt him.

“Do you want another coffee?” he asked as he hovered near the chair opposite me. Was he asking to sit with me? Did I want that?

Do you really want to sit with the someone I’ve become? Are you sure? I’m all the broken bits still. How can you want to sit with me? What will I say?

I took a deep breath, willed my heart to stay in my chest, and nodded.

“There’s bagels left if you want one?”

“Okay.”

I was distracted by Tyler leaving the room, head down, hood up. Then, I glanced back at Alex, who’d also tracked Tyler’s departure. His expression was one of concern. Then, Alex looked back at me, and the concern slipped into something like a smile as he carried over the coffee and the bagel and gestured to the seat. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.”

Now what?