My body still hummed at a frequency only Cam knew as he reached to adjust a hat he wasn’t wearing. As if realizing that, he stared at his empty hands and shook his head.
“Cam,” I said, hopping down.
“No.” He backed away. “What was I…?”
That hum died a little.
“I can’t touch you,” he muttered. “Not like that.”
“Yes, you can,” I assured him. It probably sounded like a plea. Whatever. I didn’t care. If it brought him back to my arms, I’d say whatever he needed.
“No,” he repeated, looking anywhere but at me. “I can’t.”
“It was just a kiss.” But it wasn’t. It was deeper, and we both knew it.
“And what happens when it’s more?” he challenged, his eyes clashing with mine for a heartbeat. “Did you feel that?”
“Of course I did, and more is fine! Wonderful, in fact!”
“You. Don’t. Mean. That.”
“Don’t tell me what I mean. I know what I want.” I always had. I’d simply been too scared to say it. To reach for it. I’d always known the chances were I could have him like this once but never twice. Even if I let myself slip twice, he never would. And that’s what he would see this as. A slip. A mistake.
“Then, you’re wrong. There’s no way in hell you could want this,” he snapped and gestured between us.
“Because you don’t? I’m only allowed to want what you do?” I wrapped my arms around my torso, suddenly cold. It was like heat that had been coming off my very skin had simply vanished, leaving me chilled and empty.
“I don’t? Are you kidding me right now? You think any of this has to do with what I want?” He shook his head.
“It doesn’t?” I sagged against the counter, shriveling a little. It had been about what I wanted. I never gave him the opportunity to say no. Had he really only kissed me because he’d known I’d wanted him to?
No, he wanted me. Any idiot could see that. Athletic pants weren’t exactly helpful in the camouflage department.
“Hell no. Willow, I lost any say, any right to even…” His fingers gripped his hair for the longest breath I’d ever held. Then he dropped them to his sides, leaving his hair standing on end.
I took a breath when he did.
“I chose Sullivan’s squad,” he finally said, rasping the words. “There were two there, and I chose his.”
“But you didn’t know it was his squad. Making a choice doesn’t change that.”
That same determination I’d seen earlier flashed in his eyes, but this time it was a warning. “I brought him home in a box. I was with him when he bled out.”
“Don’t,” I whispered. The chill was changing, becoming voracious and numbing. The sensation started at my toes and rose up in waves that fed on my joy, my want, even my stupid longing, then froze them out to nothingness.
“You should know.” Pain laced every word, raw and bitter. “It’s one thing to think you forgive me, but you should know what he looked like in my arms. How I tried to get the bleeding to stop, but he’d been shot in the neck. Clipped his jugular just enough to make it slower. I couldn’t even see where the rest of the blood was going. And the medic was coming, just not fucking fast enough.”
Thoughtless. I was empty of everything, even thoughts, as he spewed the story I’d never been told. Never deemed strong enough for the details.
“I ripped off his helmet, and Vasquez—one of my guys—tried to plug the hole in his neck. But Sully’s hair…it didn’t look as blond as before. It was darker, closer to mine, and I remember thinking that was wrong. That he was supposed to be good, like Xander. He couldn’t turn into me. Stupid, right? Because he was turning into nothing right before my eyes, and I could only sit there with his head in my lap.”
My lip started to tremble.
“I knew he was going. There was so much blood. They’d never medevac him out fast enough, not while the outpost was still under attack. I took over holding the pressure on the wound and told Vasquez to fire from Sullivan’s position. And I told Sully, ‘You have to live. You have to. Willow’s waiting. Dad’s waiting. You gotta hold on.’ I knew what it would do to Dad. To Xander…to you.”
I swallowed the whimper that came without permission, tears pricking my eyes.
“And…” He looked away, his face contorting into lines of rage and grief and restraint.
“Tell me,” I begged in a whisper.
“That’s enough. You don’t want…” He shook his head.
“Tell me!” I shouted. “Don’t you dare hold anything back or hide it from me. I deserve to know!”
His eyes slammed shut for a breath. Two. Three. Then they opened and locked on mine.
“It was hard for him to talk. His airway… It was hard. And when he did, it was between these horrid, gasping breaths. He said, ‘Cam. It’s really you. Take me home.’ He begged me to take him home! And we were sitting there in a filthy combat outpost I didn’t even know was his, in the middle of a fucking firefight I’d sent him into, and I couldn’t do shit to save my little brother. And when…” Cam sucked in a breath and gripped the back of the kitchen chair like it would anchor him. “When he slipped away, it was Mom’s name he called, like he could see her or something. His pulse stopped thrumming against my fingers, and his blue eyes…the pupils… He was just gone. It was two minutes at most. I sat there holding him just like I did that one time he skidded down that last switchback at the ravine and tore his back up when we were kids. Remember?”
“I remember,” I whispered. We’d been nine. Sullivan hadn’t listened and had run ahead. Cam had been eleven and was blamed. Cursed out by his dad when we got Sullivan back to the house.
“I was covered in his blood, holding onto this husk that used to be Sullivan, so angry, and empty, and even envious. I wanted it to be me.”
“Cam, no.” I made my legs obey and took a step, but he backed even farther away.
“I begged God to let me trade places. To take me instead of Sullivan, but you know He didn’t want anything to do with me. Sully was good and kindhearted and stubborn and didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He deserved to live.” A tear tracked down Cam’s face, disappearing into his beard, and I doubted he even felt it.
“He did.” I nodded. “He deserved to live, and he was all those things and more. But, Cam, you deserved to live, too.”
“No!” he shouted, throwing his hands out like he’d shake his own head if he could. “Not like he did. Not when he had everyone to come home to.”