Page 29 of Holding the Line
Eli shook his head.“I tell clients that all the time.But believing it for myself...?”His voice cracked.“I thought I’d moved on.But seeing him again?It all came flooding back.Like he was still inside my head, pulling the strings.”
“You’re not a puppet,” Marsh said.
Eli looked at him then, really looked.“Aren’t I?”
Marsh’s gaze darkened.“No.You’re a survivor.And survivors fight.You fought to get out.To get here.To help me.You’re not weak, Eli.You’re fucking titanium.”
That pulled a soft, broken laugh from Eli.
Marsh reached out and cupped the back of Eli’s neck, gently tugging him forward until their foreheads touched.
“What was his name?”Marsh asked again, quieter this time.
“White,” Eli whispered.“Colonel Adrian White.He’s twelve years older than me, but I didn’t care about the age gap.It didn’t matter to me.”
Marsh filed the name away like a locked target in his mind.He didn’t say anything else.Just let the water carry their silence as he pulled Eli close, holding him in the river like something sacred.
Later, when he was alone in the lab, Marsh would open his secured systems, dig deep into redacted files and hidden networks, and find everything he could on Colonel White.
But for now, he just held Eli.Letting the river wash over them, not to cleanse, but to anchor.
They weren’t drowning.
Not anymore.
Marsh kept his arm wrapped loosely around Eli’s waist, feeling the slow rise and fall of the man’s breath as he settled.The water cooled their overheated skin, but there was a warmth between them now that had nothing to do with sunlight.
“You’re stronger than you think,” Marsh said, his voice low and certain.“I don’t think you realize how much strength it takes to tell a story like yours.Hell, to live through it.To still be here.”
Eli looked away, but Marsh caught the flicker of acknowledgment in his expression.
“You helped me,” Marsh continued.“More than anyone else has.You got me out of that fucking chair and made me face my shit.You didn’t run when I was being a bastard, and you didn’t give up on me when I pushed you away.That matters.”
Eli gave him a small, tired smile, and Marsh held onto it like a tether.
Inwardly, Marsh made a vow.He’d up his therapy.He’d make the new prosthetic work.Not just function—but thrive.When White came back, because he would, and he ever tried to touch Eli again, Marsh would be ready.On his feet.With his team behind him.And he wouldn’t let the past define them.
He had a future to fight for now.
And it was right in front of him, waist-deep in a river, wearing soaked boxer briefs and the weight of a thousand ghosts.