It shouldn’t have felt this good to have Wren in my arms—not when I could feel the panic rolling off her in waves.
The moment she realized that I was the one holding her, she jerked out of my grasp. It cut. I deserved it, but I felt the bite of it anyway.
Worry quickly replaced the hurt. I had trained for a decade in ways that guaranteed my ability to take in a scene and process it in a split second. Wren’s face was so pale it was almost translucent, her hands trembled as she wrapped them around herself, and her breathing was far too quick.
“What happened, Cricket?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
It might’ve been anger, but at least it was something. It wasn’t the cool indifference of last night, or the anxious panic of mere seconds ago. I’d take anger over those two any day.
I stared at the face I still knew by heart. I would’ve known Wren anywhere—even with fuller cheeks and lighter hair. She could’ve looked completely different, and my soul would’ve somehow managed to pick her out of a crowd.
“Tell me what happened.” It wasn’t a question, but it was still spoken with as much softness as I could manage with the need to know what had caused this fear in her pulsing through me.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Wren turned to go, but I grabbed her wrist to stop her. My grasp was gentle, but it didn’t matter, the feel of her skin against mine burned through me—a wildfire of want and grief, mixing into a deadly concoction.
She tugged her hand free of my hold. “You can drop the good-guy act. It’s just me. You don’t have to pretend to care.”
My back molars ground together. “I’m not trying to put on any act.” The idea that I was a good man had long since dissipated. I had too much blood on my hands. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring.”
Wren looked as if I’d slapped her. Then, a second later, her mask was back in place. “Sure as hell could’ve fooled me.”
She took off down the street as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.
But the look on her face was still so vivid in my mind. A branding iron of betrayal.
I moved to the station. Wren might hate me, but I still needed to know what had spooked her so badly.
Pushing open the door, I stepped inside to a cacophony of sound. A handful of officers were scattered around, talking to each other in raised voices. My gaze scanned the room, searching for a familiar face, one who might tell me something.
“Holt.”
I turned at Nash’s voice, not missing the lack of easygoing amusement on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with search and rescue?”
Nash’s jaw tensed. “Law and I had to turn back. Call in town.”
“What kind of call?” It must have been bad to get them to leave their SAR team down two men.
He inclined his head to the side, and we moved down the hall. “Break-in at Dale Clemmons’ place. Their teenaged daughter was home alone.”
Everything in me stilled. “She okay?”
“Thankfully, yes. The intruder took off into the woods. We’re organizing a search now.”
I swallowed the bile crawling up my throat. “Wren take the call?”
Nash’s eyes flashed. “Yeah.”
I muttered a slew of curses.
Nash punched me in the arm, bringing my focus back to him. “Wren can handle herself. She’s been doing this job for a long time. This isn’t the first time she’s gotten a call that triggered her. Won’t be the last, either. It’s part of what makes her uniquely qualified to be a dispatcher. She has an understanding that very few people have.”
That fire inside me burned again, turning everything in its wake to painful ash. “She shouldn’t have to have that understanding.”
“No, she shouldn’t. But she does. That’s life. It’s messed-up and rarely fair.”
I turned back to the doors, staring out them as if I could somehow track where Wren had gone. I had a deep urge to run after her, to try to take away a little of that pain. But that would be the last thing she wanted.
“It wasn’t your fault, Holt.”
I jerked around to face Nash.
“It wasn’t,” he pushed. “It was two sick teenagers who never should’ve had access to weapons.”
My nostrils flared, and my breathing turned ragged. “I. Was. Late.”
“And I made you late. Do you think I wanted Wren to get shot? That I wanted her to almost die?”
I shook my head in a rough movement. “I made her a promise. Me. If I’d been there—”
“Then they would’ve shot you, too.”
“I could’ve protected her.”
Nash lifted his brows. “Did you have a concealed carry permit at eighteen that I didn’t know about?”
I slammed my mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.” He shook his head. “You saved her life, Holt. You got her breathing again. You stayed with her until the paramedics got there.”
“Stop,” I barked.
Images assailed my mind. Skin so pale, going cold. Life slipping away under my fingertips.
Nash stared at me. “You need to let this go or it’s going to kill you. You’ve already been trying to kill yourself for a decade. Get a clue. The reaper doesn’t want you. Maybe this is your shot to make things right, here and now.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But he did. Nash and I had been the closest in age—Irish twins, my mom had always said. We’d been attached at the hip since the moment he was born. He knew me too damn well.
He leveled that knowing stare on me now. “You think I don’t see you? First the military, war zone after war zone. And then when that calmed down, you had to go private sector so you could choose the riskiest jobs. I bet you took the most dangerous assignments on those missions, too.”
“It’s called being a leader.”
“No, it’s called being reckless.” Anger flared in Nash’s eyes. “Did you ever stop to think what it would do to us if we lost you?”
I jolted at his question.
“That’s what I thought. It’s time to grow up, Holt. Take responsibility for the things that are yours and let go of the ones that aren’t.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t have any other words for him. I’d screwed up time and time again when it came to my family. All I could do now was be here and make different choices.
A little of the anger bled out of Nash’s expression at my apology. “You have to deal with this. You need to stop running.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“There’s more than one way to run.”
God, did I know that.
Wren’s face flashed in my mind—the panic embedded there. I could see the little tremor in her hands as if she were still standing right in front of me.
I’d thought that if I left, she’d be able to heal. That she’d be safe.
And the truth was, I hadn’t wanted to face what I’d done to her. Hadn’t wanted to see that betrayal in her eyes as she’d finally come to terms with the truth—that I hadn’t been there the moment she needed me the most. But it was time for me to face it. I needed to let myself drown in the pain and not hide from it by taking mission after mission.
Because Wren still lived with that pain. Every. Damn. Day.
