Page 9 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Nine

JAZZ

The light filtering through the window of the medical room felt too bright, too real. Marcus had suggested that I move out of the welcome room—a space meant for newcomers to Guardian Hall, not for people who’d been here four days now. Or was it five? Or six? I forgot.

The room he said I would have would be mine. Smaller, but still with its own bathroom. Saying yes to the new room meant more than just a change of sleeping quarters. It meant I was committing to staying and everything that entailed.

“The room we have in mind for you… it’s part of accepting the program we offer here,” Marcus explained, his voice steady, trying to gauge my reaction. “Ground floor, with another door out to the yard, so you’d have space to get outside. Like I said, a bathroom with shower, TV, a decent bed, closet, desk.”

He was rambling, but I focused on the word "program." As he spoke, the word grew heavier, with implications of therapy sessions, group meetings, and a structured day that seemed too much. I’d lived on the streets for a while, and there’d been freedom away from the military.

Freedom.

That’s what I’d called it, but was it really freedom when it came at the price of wintry nights, constant vigilance, or dying?

“I don’t know,” My tone sounded dead. Why was I staying here? I’d just meant to be here to live through one more night, not get pulled into something bigger. Like talking about myself. Would they make me admit what I’d done? Or ask me to explain what I’d seen?

My hands trembled, and I laced my fingers in my lap to stop the obvious reaction, focusing on not shaking and instead on the layers of purple in Marcus’s hair. There was bruising on his neck—but not from violence, maybe enthusiastic sex? A hickey? Something that had happened as he lost control.

I don’t lose control.

I can’t.

Marcus leaned back, giving me space to process. “It’s tailored to each individual, Jazz. Yes, therapy is a part of it—that’s a big component. But it’s more than that. We have vocational training, education programs, physical rehabilitation, and community service projects. It’s about rebuilding your life, not just surviving.”

Rebuilding . The word resonated with a part of me I thought I’d lost. The idea of contributing again, learning, and finding an alternative path, was terrifying, but… maybe I could take a step that way? After all, I wouldn’t want Harper to see me again unless I’d taken steps to fix all the parts of me that were broken.

My daughter had given me that card for a reason.

Whether she meant for me to see Alex again, or if it was fate or something, I couldn’t tell, but she’d wanted me here so I could figure things out.

“Vocational training?” I latched onto the concept, a flicker of interest igniting despite my attempts to remain detached.

“Uh huh,” Marcus continued with more enthusiasm, as if he’d sensed the shift in my demeanor. “We have partnerships with local businesses, trade schools, even online courses, if there’s something specific you’re interested in. And the community projects… they’re a way to begin feeling connected again, to make a difference not just to the people you help, but to yourself.”

Making a difference. It had been a long time since I believed I could do that. “And the therapy?” I asked, but the word was still a hurdle I wasn’t sure I could clear.

“It’s a cornerstone of the program,” Marcus admitted. “But it’s not what you might be picturing. We work with professionals who understand where you’re coming from. It’s about healing at your own pace, finding coping strategies, and moving forward.”

Move forward. Another concept that seemed foreign after years of doing what I was told, killing, hurting… Marcus’s description of the program painted a picture of a future I hadn’t allowed myself to envision. Accepting the room and the program felt like stepping onto a path I wasn’t sure I was ready to follow. Yet, the alternative was a return to the streets, to the so-called freedom from my past life that had cost me everything.

“Is this what Harper wanted for me?” The question slipped out, a whisper of doubt seeking reassurance.

Marcus tilted his head. “Harper?”

I swallowed. “My daughter. She…” I reached into my pocket, digging for the tattered wallet that only held two things. One was a picture of me holding Harper when she’d been three, her blonde hair in pigtails. And the other was the card she’d given me with the Guardian Hall details. I pulled out the latter and held it out to him, and he took it, turning it over to see the four words Harper had written on the back.

I love you, Dad.

Four words that had kept me from giving in.

Marcus met my gaze, his expression softening. “Do you see her?”

I shook my head. “Her mom won’t allow it now.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “You know she has no right to stop you from seeing your daughter. Unless there’s a legal reason you shouldn’t?”

“No, there’s nothing legal, but my ex is right. Harper doesn’t deserve to have to deal with my bad parts.” Like my night terrors, and the bits left of me after being shattered into a million pieces through war. Marcus didn’t say anything trite about how I deserved my daughter in my life, probably because he knew I’d argue.

Harper was my life, and I would protect her or die trying.

“Harper gave it to me and said she wanted me to find peace. She’s sixteen now, and I haven’t… I didn’t… I’m not good enough…”

Marcus tried not to react, but I saw his jaw tighten. I was sure he had an entire load of things he could say to me when I was being hard on myself, and hell, I bet he wanted to defend me, but I didn’t need all of that.

My ex was right.

I wasn’t good enough to be in Harper’s life.

At least not right now.

I needed to find my way back to the kid I’d been—the one who loved to read, saved up to buy Lego sets and books, and sat for hours in a tree house with my old friend.

I needed to take a step.

One.

A step toward peace and the man I used to be. The thought was overwhelming, the possibilities too vast to comprehend. But, as I sat in the medical room with Marcus, the decision seemed to make itself.

“Okay,” I said, the word barely audible. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try it.”

Marcus’s smile was gentle and encouraging. “That’s all we ask, Jazz.”

As he discussed what came next, the logistics of moving rooms, and what my days might look like, I felt a tremor of something unfamiliar—perhaps hope or the first stirrings of belief that there might be a way out of the darkness.

Accepting the room and the program was more than a commitment to stay at Guardian Hall. It was a promise to me. To the potential for change and healing. It was a daunting prospect, but as I left the medical room to embark on this new chapter, I realized it was also the first decision I had made in a long time that genuinely felt like my own.

When I went toward the kitchen, lost in thought, I glimpsed someone sitting at a computer with their back to me—Alex.

I want to email Harper and tell her what I’d done.

I could do this.

I rapped my knuckles on the jamb, and Alex half fell off his chair in shock. Then, he scrambled to his feet, a mix of embarrassment and surprise painting his face as he steadied himself against the desk. Alex, recovering, ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “Jazz, you just… I didn’t hear you come in,” he stammered, then cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his usual composure.

I leaned against the doorframe, feeling the weight of my decision. “I can find Marcus to help,” I began, but he dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand.

“What do you need?”

“If it’s okay with you,” I began, my gaze drifting past him to the computer screen that now displayed a Guardian Hall screensaver. “I need to email my daughter. Tell her what I’ve decided.” I stopped.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Are you leaving?” His hand went to his chest and pressed over his heart.

“No, I’m going to give this a chance.”

Alex’s expression shifted from surprise to something softer, more understanding. “Then, you should tell her,” he said, moving aside. “Do you have an email account?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned over and logged out of the office system, then rebooted the computer, going into a new profile with my name.

“I set your password as Tuesday—the day you arrived, but please go in and change it so you have something private. Okay? It should prompt you.”

I settled into the chair Alex had vacated, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Alex hovered for a moment, unsure whether to leave me alone or stay. “If you need anything…” he offered.

I glanced up, meeting his gaze. “I think I’m okay for now.”

With a nod, Alex left me to it, the soft click of the door signaling that I was alone with my thoughts, my decision, and the email to Harper that felt like the first step to somewhere.

How did I start? Dear Harper, Today, I chose a different path. It seemed too grandiose, too unlike me. Yet, as I typed, the words came easier than I expected. Even though it wasn’t a long email, by the time I signed off with Love Dad , I’d said enough to let her know where I was and that I was safe.

I typed in her email address, and my mouse pointer hovered over the send option. One click of the mouse, and it would be gone.

I froze.

I closed my eyes as if that would make it easier, but all I saw then were those awful, terrible things I’d tried to forget—the things that had cut away at my soul.

For a moment, I considered deleting what I’d written.

For a moment, I wanted to cry.

“Coffee and cake,” Marcus shouted through the door. “In the kitchen, when you’re ready.”

His voice jerked me out of my funk.

And with a deep breath, I pressed send.