He didn’t get it. Things were different now that he was back, now that there was more to me than the vengeance that had fueled me for years, but he didn’t understand what it had been like for me, how my world had ended when I’d learned he’d died. Maybe I should have moved on like Blair had wanted; maybe I should have become a better person who learned from the experience and had found a way to carry my grief with me rather than allowing it to stoke a fire inside of me. But I hadn’t. That wasn’t me. I was a fighter, and when I’d lost him, for better or worse, the fight was all I’d had.

“What life? Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me? Any fucking clue? You want the truth? I haven’t cared if I lived or died for a long time. I lost everything when I lost you. The only thing that kept me going when I couldn’t take it anymore was the idea that my father would pay for what he did to you. Maybe that makes me a horrible person; maybe it’s my flaw. But regardless, it’s there inside of me. This is mine. You don’t get to try to protect me and take it away from me.”

Matt

I’d never considered telling Kate I was alive. Ever. I’d spent weeks in Afghanistan fighting for my life, hiding from the people who’d wanted to kill me. When I’d finally been healthy enough to move, when I could have reached out to her, I hadn’t been willing to put her life in jeopardy. And in those moments when I’d missed her, when the ache of never seeing her again had been unbearable, the thing that had kept me going was the idea that she was somewhere happy and safe.

I’d kept a mental tally of her life events in my head—thought of when she’d be graduating from college, imagined her getting her first job. The image of her moving on had kept me company, my constant companion.

I’d never imagined that she’d given up like this. The Kate I’d known and loved had been fearless, full of life. I hadn’t imagined that my death would destroy her, and when I added up all I’d lost along the way, the weight of that alone tipped the scales.

“Were you watching me on the street yesterday?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Did you do that a lot? Watch me?”

More than I should have.

“I wanted to know that you were safe.”

Need you to be safe.

“How often?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t keep track.”

I didn’t know how to explain to her that the sight of her kept me going when I felt the walls closing in, when I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t say it because as soon as the thought hit me, I realized that all of the things that had kept me sane were the same things she’d lost. I’d found peace in her life and she’d lost hers with my death.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” I lifted my head and my gaze met hers, my body so tired. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it would keep you safe. Now I just feel like I fucked up everything, and for what? We’ve lost years together and now you’re exactly where I never wanted you to be.”

“What if we left? Right now. What if we just disappeared? Together. You’ve stayed alive this long. How much harder would it be if it were the two of us?”

“And do what? What kind of life would that be?”

“A life together. Better than what we have apart.”

“We’d be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”

“I don’t care.”

“I care.”

“Then what? What do you want?” she asked, frustration in her voice.

I wanted to rewind the clock. I wanted to peel the skin off of the man who’d stabbed her. I wanted to keep her safe.

“I want you to be safe.”

“I want the same thing for you, but this won’t end until we expose their crimes. I’ll always be a loose end. You’ll always be a loose end.”

“We don’t have any proof.”

“So then we get proof. Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should be focused on getting closer to my father.”

A knot formed in my stomach. “Absolutely not.”

“We really need to do something about this habit that you have where you want to tell me what to do.”

I glared at her, torn between the urge to kiss her or strangle her. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Trust me. Likewise.”

“I don’t see how throwing yourself deeper into this is going make it safer for you.”

“‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’”

“Not when it’s your life on the line.” I knew Kate—she wasn’t going to let this go. Fuck. I didn’t want her anywhere near this. “I still have some contacts in Afghanistan. I’ll put some feelers out, see if anyone can give me any intel on this warlord, see if we can try to find a link between him and either one of our fathers, or if we can find anything to tie them to the weapons.”

“In person?”

I nodded.

“So let me get this straight.” Her voice rose. “Me getting close to my father is too dangerous, but you going back to the country where you were nearly killed and what, canoodling with warlords, is somehow a great fucking idea?”

“Sadly, I feel safer with a warlord than I do with your father.”

“I’ll cede that point,” she muttered.

“I need to go, need to handle this. It’s the best lead we have. Please promise me you won’t do anything crazy. I don’t want to be worried about you while I’m gone.”

“Are you coming back?”

The doubt and hurt in her voice pierced my heart. She fucking owned me. Always had. There were no boundaries with her. She wanted something and I gave it to her. Always.

When we were kids, it had crept up on me. She’d always been there in the background, hanging out with us, wanting to play the same games, more interested in being outside with the guys than playing with her sister. I’d always picked her first when we chose sports teams because she was fierce as fuck, always admired the way she threw herself into everything with reckless abandon. She never wanted us to take it easy on her because she was tiny, never minded getting dirty, rarely cried when she was hurt. Some of the others used to give me shit for being best friends with a girl, but I hadn’t cared. She’d been more fun than any of my other friends. And then, the summer before my freshman year of high school, we’d been at the beach one day, and I’d looked over at her, and she hadn’t been my friend anymore. She’d been everything.

I’d waited for her. Waited for four years, waited for her to grow up, waited until she was ready for what I wanted from her. Until her sixteenth birthday. Until I claimed what had always been mine. Until I won her heart.

So yeah, there was no question—I was hers. Even if all that I had to offer her were shards and fragments of me sloppily glued together in a crude approximation of the man I’d been, one I feared wasn’t good enough for her by half.

“Yes. I’m coming back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She swallowed and then she reached out, beckoning me closer.

I knew what she wanted, had felt it lingering under the surface since the moment she’d woken up and her brown eyes had locked on to me. My chest tightened, my voice hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you. You could open your stitches.”

I was probably a giant pussy for admitting it, but she terrified me. She felt breakable and delicate, and even though I knew how tough she was, she didn’t understand how dark my world had become. The hands that had held hers, that had known every curve of her body, had been covered in blood more times than I cared to count. I didn’t want that part of my life touching her, didn’t want to drag her down with me.

“Just lie next to me.”

God, I wanted to. More than anything. I’d missed having her beside me.

I focused my gaze on a point over her shoulder, doing everything I could to keep from meeting her gaze, fighting the urge to let her pull me in deeper.

“It isn’t a good idea.”

She didn’t say anything, as though she knew as well as I did that my protests were in vain. She’d always had me wrapped around her finger, and even as I questioned the sanity, I couldn’t deny her what she wanted.