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My voice is hoarse as tears fill my eyes. “I don’t feel strong.”
“Trust me, you are.” She pauses a minute before smiling softly. “Do you know what you do when you have night terrors, Charlie?”
“Destroy something else in my house?”
She chuckles. “No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. When your dreams start, you don’t cry or cower. You come up fighting, Charlie, each and every time. You growl and hit and kick and yeah, sometimes you fire your gun. But you fight, every single time. You never give up. Those fuckers wounded you, but you weren’t a victim, and you’re not just a survivor, either.” She smiles. “You’re a badass.”
I appreciate Lila’s words and the loyalty behind them. They aren’t accurate, but her sincerity is palpable. I lean against her, and she rubs my back until the bourbon numbs my pain.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MARK
It’s nearly an hour later when Lila knocks and leans around my door frame. I’ve been going crazy with worry, but her face is calm. “We’re going home, but I’ll be over early. Charlie and I are going to call Dr. Martin first thing and see when she can work her in.”
Tucker scrambles to his feet, and I reach for my crutches. “Can I see her?”
Lila smiles. “She’ll feel better when she sees you. Stay put. I’ll get her.”
“Lila? Thank you. You too, Tucker. I didn’t know…” My voice trails off. “Thank you.”
She smiles softly again, and Tucker squeezes my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, brother.”
I hear Lila and Tucker leave, followed by the click of the deadbolt. Charlie’s huge green eyes peek anxiously around the door. She looks terrified.
“Hey, Baby Girl. Are you okay?”
She starts to cry and rushes to me. I catch her and hold her against my chest. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs, and her cries tear at my heart.
“It’s okay, Charlie. Everything’s fine.”
“Nothing’s fine. I nearly shot you in the head.”
I wave dismissively, keeping my tone light. “Expert marksman, my ass. You missed at close range. You’re out of practice.”
Yeah. I got shot at by a certified expert marksman at close range.
If I hadn’t struggled with the door, tonight would have turned out very differently.
My offhand remark catches her off guard, and she chuckles through her tears. When she does, I smell bourbon. That’s probably a good thing.
I reach beneath her chin and tilt her face up. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were going through?”
She drops her gaze, her words barely audible. “I didn’t want you to know.” She covers her face with her hands, and I feel her trembling.
“Why wouldn’t you want me to know you were struggling?”
She laughs, but it comes out as a strangled cry, muffled by her hands. “Why would I want anyone to know what a fucked-up, broken disaster I am?”
I gently tug her hands away from her face and wait for her to look at me. “Because I’m not just anyone, Charlie. I love you, and I want to help.”
She shakes her head sadly. “I think I’m beyond help.”
“Do you feel up to talking?”
She shrugs. “Pretty sure I won’t be sleeping.”
I scoot up to the head of the bed. “Want something to drink? I have a full complement of beverages in my shiny new mini-fridge.”
