What if I never got to tell him I had actually written to him? Two times, I had written letters to him during his time in prison, only to think twice and throw them out, feeling stupid for entertaining the thought that he’d even want to hear from me.
God, why hadn’t I told him already?
What if I never had the chance to admit that from the moment he had saved me that first time in The Pit, I would pray to him, the way one might pray to their god? I would pray for him to come back, to make things right again. To prove once again that some men were good and decent and deserving of good and decent things themselves.
What if I never ever got the chance to tell him I’d loved him long before I spoke the words out loud? What if I never got the chance to say those words again?
God, I hated my brain right now. I hated that I couldn’t stop the train of my thoughts, that I had no control over the panic and worry that surrounded the string his life held on to.
My eyes squeezed shut, and my heart jolted violently as I remembered those last moments before the police had arrived …
POP!
The first gunshot rang through the house, snapping violently against my eardrums.
My gasp was loud—too loud—and I clapped a hand over my mouth, allowing myself a wail of terror behind my palm.
The cat jumped from off the bed and scurried underneath, cowering and staring at me through his glowing yellow eyes. Looking at me for comfort, but he wouldn’t find any from me.
“W-what was that?” I whispered to Eleven, my voice shrill, but of course, the question went unanswered.
My heart rattled against its cage and reverberated through my bones. I wanted to jump up and run. I wanted to leave the room and make sure Soldier was okay.
All I could think was, Soldier, Soldier, Soldier, his name on an endless, frenzied loop.
But he had ordered me to stay here, to keep quiet and remain hidden, while he went out to confront the angry, awful, hateful man I had once—so, so, so many years ago—desired.
Before the years of abuse, apologies, and assault.
Before the fear of what would happen to me and my son if I dared to go to the police.
But now, the man I loved more than I had ever loved myself was out there. Fighting that evil man. Looking down the barrel of Seth's gun. Being braver than I'd ever been in my entire life.
All to save me after he'd already saved my son.
“What …” I gasped, searching for air as my hands shook around the gun. “W-what if he's dead?”
God, God, oh God … I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't face a world without Soldier. Not anymore. Not again. What would I do? How would I go on?
Jesus, how would I live, knowing he'd sacrificed himself for the sake of my survival?
How could anybody love me so much?
POP!
I jolted backward, wedging deeper into the corner of the room.
My eyes stared toward the door, my mind and body reaching a whole new level of fear I'd never touched before.
Soldier. Oh God, Soldier.
Then, I was on my feet, and I was running. I knew he had said not to unlock the door. I knew he had said not to leave. But, oh my God, I couldn't let him do this alone.
I couldn't let him die alone.
God, God, God, please don't let him die.
My fingers flicked the lock, and I bolted out the door, running down the hallway, gun held tight within my hands.
An animalistic sound erupted from my body at the sight of Seth in the living room, hovering over Soldier’s crumpled frame.
He looked up in time as I raised the gun, aiming it right at his cold, soulless gaze, pinned right on me.
And then, without a second thought …
I fired.
It was then that I’d witnessed the death of two men, just moments before the police and paramedics arrived.
The man I loved and the man who had taken him from me.
I clutched Soldier’s hand as he slipped away. I told him I loved him so many times, but not nearly enough, and I stared into his eyes and begged a god I wasn’t sure was listening anymore to bring him back to me, to not take him away, to just make him better and not allow him to leave.
Seth, on the other hand, had died alone, and while the paramedics were able to bring back the tiniest shred of Soldier’s life—enough to warrant hope—there hadn’t been much they could do about the bullets in Seth’s heart.
Now, Soldier was in surgery. Had been for hours, and it had been about that long since we’d received any kind of update. The looks on the doctors’ faces told me I was foolish to hope, silly to pray, and delusional to believe he might survive, but, dammit, what else could I do?
This wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was only supposed to save my life that one final time before the cops hauled Seth away, leaving us with the freedom to finally live our lives together in peace. It wasn’t meant to end like this. He wasn’t supposed to die. I had saved him. After he had saved my life three times, I had finally saved his, and he wasn’t supposed to fucking die.
I sharply inhaled through my nose, still halfway plugged from the bouts of tears I’d shed earlier, and then I covered my eyes with my hand and cried some more.
Harry laid his big, comforting palm against my leg. “I know, honey,” he said, his voice gravelly and holding his own deep sorrow.
“I-I can’t live without him.” There was no air to be found in this room, and I gulped on nothing, finding it hard to breathe. “I can’t—I can’t do this …”
He said nothing. He only nodded with tearful understanding and left that hand on my thigh.
My parents arrived a few minutes later, both of them rushing into the waiting room and bringing a new wave of tears to my eyes.
“Oh, Rain. Oh God, sweetheart.”
Mom rushed to me first while Dad shook Harry’s hand, then Patrick’s, all of them making quick introductions.
“Are you hurt?” Mom held my face in her hands, looking me over as I tried to shake my head.
“I’m fine,” I told her, but I wasn’t, was I?
Maybe I hadn’t been physically hurt—dear God, imagine what would’ve happened had Soldier not been there—but emotionally? Mentally? It was a wonder I could hold myself upright. Considering all I’d been through, after all those years … it was a miracle I could function at all.
“After everything that has happened, honey”—Mom’s eyes met mine, her irises blurred by her own tears—“nobody would blame you if you fell apart. You’re allowed to not be okay.”
The strained splintering of her voice settled in my throat, forming a hard, sticky ball of emotion that threatened to choke me to death.
There was always someone who needed me to keep it together.
So, I cleared my throat, ignored the pain searing through my heart, and turned from her pain-stricken eyes. “I'll be fine,” I told her while knowing damn well that, as soon as I got in the shower, I'd allow myself the ten minutes to let my pieces fall and scatter before I needed to get up and put them back together again.
It was what I did.
It was what I'd always done.
Noah stirred against my shoulder, nuzzling against me the way he'd done as a baby, before lifting his head abruptly and surveying the room through eyes that were immediately wide and free of lingering sleep.
“Where's Soldier?”