Page 8 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Faron

I t’s been three months since, I came home.

It didn’t fix a damn thing.

I patched up Chuck and Joel, watched them stagger into the arms of the women who’d never given up on them. Then I buried my father’s service flag beneath a headstone no one else would visit.

I laid next to Bear on the couch, swore I’d never set foot overseas again, and drank cheap bourbon until my bones stopped aching.

But the nights still smelled like her. God it took me foreber to get over Blue the first time she told me she was leaving, I wasn’t about to go through that pain again. I only wanted to make sure she was safe, wherever she was.

And in my dreams, her hands still moved over my ribs like she was trying to stitch the world back together.

So when I heard a whisper—just a whisper—that the new doctor running the free clinic on 8th and Vine had eyes the color of a storm, I didn’t hesitate.

I drove for hours, straight into the heart of the city’s rot.

And there she was.

Not in a cave. No moonlight or mystery.

Just cracked linoleum floors, buzzing fluorescent lights, and blood on her scrubs. Blue Davis—barking orders at a gangbanger bleeding out on her table like she didn’t give a damn what they said to her.

She looked up and saw me.

And for the first time in years, I could breathe again, knowing she was safe and home.