Page 68 of Until the End

“You can’t blame yourself,” he said, keeping his voice just above a whisper.

Then he took her hand in his, entangled her trembling fingers in his warm, strong grip, giving her the much-needed comfort to continue.

“My mother blamed me. She said that I had cared more about my libido than my brother. If I had been there for him the way I was supposed to, he wouldn’t have killed himself.”

“It was a shitty thing for your mother to dump your brother’s death on you.”

“He was more than my brother. He was my twin. We shared a womb together. He was my best friend. I took it for granted that we’d always have each other. The transition from high school to college and into adulthood is stressful. How could I have abandoned him at such a critical time?”

“You didn’t. You made a different choice for yourself. Your mom projected her own guilt onto you. You don’t have the power to control life and death.”

He snaked his hand up the base of her neck and slid his thumb across her jaw. The gentle touch had her emotions in total upheaval, realigning in a direction she hadn’t expected.

“Take it from me,” he said. “My god complex was stripped away in Afghanistan when Mitchell White died. No man left behind, that’s our motto. No SEAL captured or deserted. Until me. I couldn’t even do right by his family and bring his body home for military burial. That failure humbled me, took me to my lowest point. Eventually, I realized I was just a man. One who had trained to be elite, had become one of the best, but still only human. I don’t get to decide who lives and who dies any more than you do.”

“Then why do I feel so responsible?” It hurt so much to think about it she could barely breathe.

“Because you’re loyal and protective and loved them with everything that you had. But you’re the lucky one.”

She shook her head, holding back tears. How could he say such a thing? This was a curse, not some blessing. Pure fucking luck was the reason she was alive, but not the good kind. She’d witnessed so much horror, endured so much loss, a small part of her wished she hadn’t survived.

“Look at me.” The firm, low words came out as a command, lifting her gaze to his. He leaned in. His eyes were the color of the Caribbean Sea after a turbulent storm and held her spellbound. “You are the lucky one. You still get to make a difference, to honor their memory with your actions.”

If only she knew the right way to do that.

Having the ultimate commando show her the man behind the warrior’s stone façade mattered. She sensed it was no small thing for him, and it only made her want to know more.

He brushed hair away from her face, the gesture so gentle that everything inside her sighed. “You spent years taking care of the people around you, giving them a place to live, starting the Outliers, finding clients, cooking, cleaning. But who took care of you?”

Her throat tightened. No one. “I was fine. I’ve always taken care of myself,” she said out of instinct.

“Right.” He nodded, his face unreadable. “You know, most days, I’m numb inside.”

She stayed silent, her gaze locked with his, fearing her self-destructive tongue might ruin the moment and stop him from sharing.

“No happiness, no anger, no grief. Nothing. The only time I feel anything substantial is when I’m high off the adrenaline rush of the job, staring death in the eye. Or when…” He stroked her cheek once more, then lowered his hand. “It’s a gift to feel anything at all. Keep fighting, Kit, and one day, you’ll get to that place where you recognize how lucky you are. I promise. And God knows, if anyone can put up a good fight, it’s your stubborn ass.”

Her bum heart squeezed, frenetic tension draining as the rest of the world receded. He saw her. Truly saw her. But did he really give a damn about her beyond the hard drives?

Last night in his garage, he’d been furious. Common sense dictated fear would have been the proper reaction, but the provocative edge of danger to him was impossible to resist. Even his don’t-fuck-with-me expression had been a turn-on.

She hadn’t been afraid of him. Ticked off, remorseful, aroused, but not afraid.

All the chemistry simmering in every look, every argument, had boiled to the surface. His expression had shifted from angry to something else entirely. Then he’d kissed her.

A wild, heady kiss.

Being wet and cold from the pool wasn’t romantic, but when Castle had put his hungry mouth on hers, pulling her against the hard, thick length of him, that was all she could focus on. He always hid his emotions unless he was angry, but his body betrayed him, telling her the only thing that mattered. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

With that intoxicating knowledge, an ache blossomed between her thighs. Her whole body weakened in need as she held onto him like a lifeline.

The uncontrollable thrill had steered her mind to thoughts of him being deep inside her. Shameless. Recalling it had her heartbeats tumbling like knocked-over dominoes. She’d never gone from hating a man one minute to wanting him with every breath in her body the next.

Not just wanting either. Lust she was well-versed in. This was far more consequential.

Oh boy. She was falling for Castle Kinkade.

Trusting him with her safety, sure, but could she trust him with her heart?