Page 24 of Splintered Memories (Ember Hollow Romance #2)

August

I stared at the ceiling of my dark bedroom, one arm tucked under my head as a hand laid over my bare chest. My heartbeat was still escalated, but that probably had more to do with the woman lying next to me than anything else.

Emersyn, being nothing but herself, accepted my invitation to sleep in my room tonight. I’d entirely planned to sleep on the floor while she took the bed, but she wouldn’t have it.

“That is a king-size bed, August. It’s more than big enough for the both of us, with plenty of room in between,” she’d said.

So here we were, the lights off and a good foot between our bodies as we tried to get some sleep. She was still awake, too. I could tell by the tempo of her breaths and the way she hadn’t moved a muscle since the light went off twenty minutes ago.

There was too much lingering between us for either to sleep. That became very apparent as the minutes ticked by in silence.

I shifted, my shoulder stiff, but no longer feeling as though it had been ripped open again .

I’d never told anyone but my family, and my therapist, what happened the night everything went wrong. It wasn’t anyone’s business and a lot of the information had to remain confidential, anyway.

Yet, as I stared at the ceiling, my mind going through everything Emersyn had done for me tonight, I wanted to tell her. She deserved to know.

I sucked in a deep breath. “I joined the military when I was eighteen and fresh out of high school.” My voice gobbled up the heavy quiet.

Emersyn tensed.

“I absolutely loved it. Training was hard, but I reveled in the way it pushed me physically and mentally. I gave it everything that I had, and I excelled.”

I scratched at my chest, my skin heating as I remembered what that time in my life meant to me. It gave me purpose like I’d never had before. It made me feel like I was a part of something bigger than myself. Something more important.

“After years of hard work, I was assigned to a unit specializing in reconnaissance and surveillance. I deployed on several overseas missions in support of national security objectives. When I was twenty-four, I started leading missions with a team I had been with for years. We were—we were family, in a lot of ways.” My mouth went dry.

I licked my lips. “I can’t talk much about what we were doing or where we were, but we were overseas in a volatile region to gather intelligence on enemy movements.

“I thought I’d accounted for everything. I’d spent every moment planning and assessing, and I thought it was going to be a straightforward mission. It was dangerous, yes, but there was always danger.” My throat tightened, and I had to pause .

Emersyn moved, and the tips of her fingers curled around my arm and squeezed reassuringly.

I continued, “I was wrong. I had screwed up somehow because my unit came under heavy fire behind enemy lines. I—I don’t remember much.

I try not to remember, but everything turned to chaos in the blink of an eye.

” His face flashed in my mind then, the face of my fallen brother as I cradled his dying body.

I remembered how his brown eyes had stared at me, first in pain and terror, and then they were blank.

Gone. Nothing left. I shuddered. “We lost one of our own. I was able to get the rest out, but with several injuries.”

There was a long pause, and before I could continue, Emersyn asked, “What was his name?”

I almost smiled at that question. “Zac Carver. He had a wife and a little girl.”

Her fingers tightened on my arm as a tremor vibrated through her. “I’m so sorry.”

So was I. So very sorry. And I would never forgive myself for it.

“I keep in touch with his wife, check up on them now and then. She’s remarried and has two more babies with a man she loves.

Zac’s daughter is beautiful and thriving.

” That was the only thing that kept me going sometimes.

Seeing how resilient the human spirit could be.

I counted Emersyn’s breaths, hurried and heavy. “You were hurt,” she whispered.

“Yes.” It was easier to talk about the physical injuries instead of the mental ones.

That was probably why I felt the phantom pain during a flashback.

“It was shrapnel from a grenade embedded into my shoulder. There was a lot of soft tissue damage, some muscle and tendons too. With tons of physical therapy, it’s close to fully functional, but not completely.

I can only raise my arm so high and have limits on what I can lift. It was enough that they discharged me.”

“I never noticed,” she murmured, so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

“I work hard not to let it show.”

When she inhaled, she sounded congested, like she was fighting tears. “I wasn’t looking hard enough.” Guilt tinted her voice.

I put a hand over hers on my arm. I didn’t blame her. “It’s not your responsibility to see other people’s pain, Emy. Especially not when it’s being purposefully hidden.”

“Or I’m too busy drowning in my own to care,” she said, her tone sharp and resentful.

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “That’s not true.”

“No?”

“No.” I started to stroke slow circles on the back of her hand with a thumb.

“If anything, you care too much. For complete strangers, and close friends. It doesn’t matter to you.

Lark has been your friend for less than a year, and I know you would die for her.

You’ve helped her through these last months.

You stood by her when she needed you, and even when she didn’t. ”

There was a beat of quiet, and then she shifted. I turned my head and I could just make out the outline of her body. She had rolled onto her side, facing me; her hand remained under mine.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

She didn’t have to thank me, but I squeezed her hand. She let out a long, heavy breath, one laced with exhaustion and relief.

Then her body relaxed. Her breathing was slow and even as she drifted to sleep. With her warmth close to mine, I closely followed her in a deep, dreamless slumber.