Promise to Protect: Military Second Chance Romance by Kayley Cole

Author:Kayley Cole [Cole, Kayley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-06T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Shane

Trauma is a slow-acting poison. There's a sporadic jab of pain as the poison eats away at your kidneys and liver. Your veins turn black, and you find it poisoning your hands until they turn into fists. Something unspeakable takes over your identity. The sickness starts as a crater in who you are and, slowly, the sick thing becomes who you are.

The cure is death— just not in the way David thought. You lay the trauma to rest. You give it a small headstone. You give it an epitaph. You stand out in the rain with your friends and family, and you speak about what happened. You mourn. Then, you wake up and you find that the fever has broken. There's still some occasional symptoms of the sickness, but it's not who you are. It will never be your identity.

As I lie beside Emma— my hand splayed out on her arm— I feel those symptoms intermingled with her sweet fragrance.

"I went to David's grave a few weeks after the funeral," I say. I rub my thumb against her skin, amazed at how soft it is.

Emma turns toward me. "Why didn't you go to the funeral?"

I run my hand over her hip and down her thighs. There are a few blemishes and scars on her legs— standard for living out in rural Colorado— but it adds to her beauty. If her legs were unmarked, she would look like a two-dimensional, digitally altered photo. She would be a cheap imitation.

As she turns to look at me, my hand trails along her skin, ending right above her knee.

"I convinced myself that it was a stupid tradition," I say, choosing my words carefully. "I convinced myself that I could mourn him in my own time and I didn't have to stand around in a cemetery to respect him. But I was just pissed at David for doing what he did and pissed at myself for not doing anything more to help him. I felt like if I went to the funeral and heard a pastor say all those platitudes, I'd start screaming at everyone and I'd never stop. So, I just let the time slip by. I remember looking at the clock every few minutes— seeing when I could leave and still arrive on time, seeing when I could leave and arrive a few minutes late, and… when I could no longer leave because I'd end up interrupting the funeral."

She reaches up, touching my lips with the tips of her fingers.

"I get it," she says. "I felt like screaming during the funeral too. But I still wish you'd come."

I kiss her, breathing in her white musk scent. As my fingers slip under the bed sheet, my other hand sliding around her hip, there's the sound of my phone vibrating against the floor.

"Are you going to get that?" she asks.

"It's downstairs," I mumble, kissing her throat. "Whoever it is can call back."

She pulls away from me. "I have class this morning. You should get it.

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