Page 51 of SEAL of Valor

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I put the cleaner away, toss the paper towels, and wash my hands, then return to the living room. She’s still sitting there, staring into the fire, looking far too gorgeous to be real.

“How do you feel?”

“Not too bad, surprisingly.” She laughs softly. “Though I imagine I look like a drowned rat. You didn’t have a mirror in there, so I couldn’t check,” she raises her gaze to look at me. “What happened to all of your mirrors? I noticed the one over the fireplace is gone, too.”

“I didn’t see the point in keeping them,” I reply. It’s a lie, but I’m not entirely sure how to tell her the truth.

“In keeping mirrors?” she presses.

I take a deep breath. “They’re not really helpful when you can’t stand to see what it is you’re looking at. I’ll be out in a few.” I don’t wait for her response as I move around her and head down the hall toward my bedroom.

After I got home from helping my mom move to Florida, I stood in the living room and just stared at that blasted mirror she’d hung over the fireplace. I could clearly see myself in it, the reflection of a boy who’d had to become a man way too soon.

But I didn’t recognize him.

See, he’d lost everything and everyone who ever really mattered to him.

I hated him.

So I removed all traces of him I could think of. I took down each and every mirror and hid them away in the cellar since throwing them out would have brought too much attention. Not seeing myself made it easier to breathe in those months following burying my sister and losing Reese and my mother.

Especially when every waking moment was dedicated to trying to destroy the broken shards of the man they left behind.

I finish changing the sheets and cleaning up the bathroom. These few minutes give me time to breathe. The distance made it easier to gather the strength needed to face Reese again. But by the time I’ve gotten into the living room, she’s not sitting in her chair anymore.

Instead, she’s standing in the kitchen, finishing up two mugs of tea.

“Hey, hope it was okay, but I really needed something warm. Chamomile?” She offers me a steaming mug.

“You shouldn’t be moving around yet. We don’t know if it’s broken.”

“It’s not. And I need to move around to stretch it out. Otherwise, I’ll end up with a tight hip and even more pain.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, if it were broken, it wouldn’t feel better yet.” She smiles, and I can’t tear my gaze away from her. How could I have been stupid enough to let her get away? Why do my feelings seem even stronger now than they did back then?

Reese breaks eye contact first. “I haven’t added anything to it yet. I know that’s how you used to drink it, but if you want⁠—”

“No. I don’t add anything to my tea.” I take a sip of the hot liquid, trying not to show just how much it burns as it slips down my throat.

Then again, pain has always served as a great distraction for me.

She puts the honey back into my cabinet, then clears her throat and meets my gaze. “Listen, I know this is awkward.”

Awkward? Nah.

Painful? Gut-wrenching? Makes me want to take my chances outside with the storm? Sure.

But definitely not awkward.

“It’s fine. I talked to your mom.”

“That’s what she said. I called her to check in again, too.” She purses her lips together, then takes a deep breath. I can sense the firestorm of things she wants to say, and I can’t decide if I want to hear them or if I’d rather sleep out on the porch just to avoid her.

“Look, say what you want to say so we can move on.” I set the tea down and cross my arms. Seems we’ve moved on to the difficult conversation part of the evening.