Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
“Yep.” Ron gave an empathetic noise. “Fifty years on, and the ghosts of certain orders haunt me.”
“Ghosts is a good way to put it,” I admitted. I knew a thing or two about haunting, the voices that continued to ring in my ears, the shadows that lurked in dark corners, memories I didn’t want to touch.
“But I’ve learned to tell the ghosts to bug off.” Ron turned his ball cap over in his hands. “You can’t keep punishing yourself for things in the past when you were simply trying to survive.”
I squished my eyes shut. “Not sure I know how to stop.”
Ron was right. I’d been punishing myself for years, holding people at arm’s length, convinced I didn’t deserve the same happiness I wished for others. Even now, I didn’t feel worthy of the future Carson wanted for us. And I was driving him away, not because of my job or hours, but because I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy the good thing we’d found.
You can’t let yourself be happy, Carson had said. What would letting go of this guilt feel like? It had been with me so long. I wasn’t sure I had the key to that locked box or what might happen if I opened it.
“You need to try,” Carson said, laying a hand on my knee.
“Yeah.” My voice was as weak as a newborn foal.
“Take off that heavy pack, soldier.” One of the newcomers spoke up, the clear, crisp tones of an officer. “I’m guilty of shit orders. I live with that every day, but I can’t let it own me.”
“Exactly.” Ron clapped his hands.
Conversation continued around the circle, but the roar in my brain made it hard to pay attention. My eyes drifted closed again, my mind replaying the worst day of my life. You’re not at fault. Oh, how I wanted to believe that.
Deep in my head, I missed the end of the meeting, not even registering Simone’s announcements and reminders. Carson nudged my shoulder.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I stood on rubbery legs. Ron crossed the circle to clap me on the back.
“Nice work sharing, Doc.” His voice was as rough as his well-worn hand. “We’ve all been there. Keep coming back.”
“I will.” My voice shook.
I’d sat in these meetings for years, figuring the least I could do was show up, but never realizing I was coming for me as well. I needed this. If I was ever going to lay down this guilt, I needed the same help I’d tried to offer others. I needed this place far more than it needed me.
My mental haze continued, but somehow, I made it back to the truck with Carson.
“I’m driving.” After gently steering me toward the passenger door, he held out a hand for the keys.
“Okay.” I could admit I was in no shape to drive.
Carson had driven Colt’s truck enough that I trusted him to get us to the brew pub. However, Carson didn’t hit the ignition button after he climbed into the driver’s seat. Instead, he put an arm around me, squeezing me close.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For sharing?” I tilted my head so I could meet his gaze. I certainly didn’t feel brave.
“That. Making it out. Being you.” Carson’s eyes were soft and sincere, the sort of empathy I wasn’t sure I deserved, but my parched soul drank it down like lemonade anyway.
“I want to let go of the guilt.” My voice continued its unsteady waver, but I wanted Carson to hear this. “I want to be happy. I do.”
“I want you happy too.” He pressed a fast kiss to my temple. Releasing me, he spent several long minutes staring at the steering wheel before he inhaled sharply. “I blame myself for the TBI.”
“How?” I’d never considered that he might also be carrying the heavy weight of guilt around. He was so damn competent. I couldn’t imagine him messing up, but he gave a grave nod.
“I gave an order. Turned out to be bad intel.” Shaking his head, he blew out a ragged breath. “Damned IED fucked up the convoy. Paid the price.”
“Not your fault.” Voice far more firm, I rubbed his upper arm. “You did the best you could with the information you had at the time.”
“Say that again,” Carson commanded, all sergeant and as serious as I’d seen him.
“You did the best…” I trailed off as I realized who he was having me repeat the words for. “Oh. I did the best I could at the time.”
“Yep.” Carson tilted my chin, forcing me to see how certain he was, how much he believed in me. “You were a kid. You followed an order.”
I let myself see eighteen-year-old Jude. God, I’d been so young. I was a kid. I followed an order. I did the best I could. The lock to that box of guilt shattered, years of emotion breaking free as tears rolled down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them and wasn’t sure I wanted to.