If You Leave: The Beautifully Broken Series: Book 2 (32 page)

Once we make that discovery, Dr. Hart, my therapist, makes me talk about everything I know about her.

Her name was Ara Sahar. The army told me that.

She was ten years old. The army told me that too.

Her uncle was a Taliban rebel who kidnapped her and sent her to destroy my Humvee. Yet another thing the army told us.

She was terrified and needed my help. No one had to tell me that, I saw it in her eyes. And that’s what I can’t forgive myself for. I didn’t see the other girls and women while they were still alive. But I saw Ara Sahar.

“Until you forgive yourself, you aren’t going to move past this,” Dr. Hart tells me solemnly. “I’ve seen this kind of thing a thousand times.”

I stare at him with a heavy, heavy weight on my chest.

“How am I supposed to forgive myself for failing a child?” I ask him painfully. “For failing a
hundred
children? If you were me, could you? If you would’ve smelled them burning, could you forget that?”

Dr. Hart stares at me thoughtfully.

“If I were you, I would try to think of something, anything, I could do that would give me peace. Sometimes we just have to trick our minds into believing what we tell it. Have you ever considered writing Ara’s parents a letter? Explain what happened, then ask for their forgiveness. I’m sure the army can help us figure out where to send it or tell us if her parents are even still alive.”

Jesus Christ. The idea of even talking to that girl’s parents sends my stomach plummeting into my shoes. I’m sure I’m the last person they want to hear from.

But maybe they do deserve an explanation. An apology.

At the very least.

I gulp.

The therapist pushes a notepad and pen toward me.

“That’s your homework,” he tells me.

I stare at him rigidly before I finally sigh and take the notepad.

That night, as I sit in the darkness of my room, I stare at the blank page for at least an hour before I can think of what to say. Finally, I start scrawling.

I read and reread the letter, then finally decide that there’s nothing else I can say. I fold it up and stick it back in the notepad to give Dr. Hart tomorrow.

And then I think about Maddy. Thinking so much about forgiveness makes me think about her. Out of everyone, she’s the one I should beg forgiveness from the most. I made her trust me, then I just left. It must’ve crushed her, a thought that crushes
me.

My fingers fly across the keyboard and I don’t care if I look weak or like a pussy. I just need her to know, to really know, that I’m sorry. Even if she can never forgive me, I want her to
know.

I feel completely wiped as I close the lid of my laptop. It’s like I’ve touched upon every emotion that I’ve ever had today and I decide that I have time for a nap before my last session of the day.

As I drift into sleep I see Ara Sahar’s dark eyes. She’s watching me curiously, but there is no blame on her face right now, which is a break from the usual.

But the nightmares still come.

As I wait for Tony to come back, I idly scroll through the Internet on my phone, avoiding the urge to check my e-mail. Something, deep down, tells me that I might find an e-mail from Gabe.

And if he keeps e-mailing me, I just don’t know how long I can resist answering him.

I miss him.

I miss him.

God, I miss him.

But I can never open myself like that again. When I do I just get hurt and there’s no way I’m going through this again. Ever. The Band-Aid has been ripped off now, the worst part is over. I just have to stick it out.

But I’m weak.

Not two minutes later, I check my e-mail.

And I was right. There’s a message from Gabe.

My heart beats loudly in my ears as I read each painful word.

Oh my God. Reading that he thinks he’s wrecked almost wrecks
me
. No matter what he did to me by leaving, I can’t deny that he’s strong and brave… and hearing him like this makes my heart break. Seeing that he wants my forgiveness makes my heart ache.

I hit the Reply button and hesitantly type,
You are strong enough.
That’s it. No “Dear Gabe” or “Love, Madison.”

My finger hesitates above the Send button, shaking. I don’t know whether to send it. I don’t want him to quit. He needs the help. I honestly want him to be whole again. Even if I can’t be with him, he needs to be whole.

My finger twitches.

And then my phone rings, interrupting me.

Jacey’s number flashes on the screen and I roll my eyes. She’s the last person I want to talk to right now. Seriously. If she wants to be so stupid, I can’t sit around and watch her do it.

But even still. As I glance at the phone, as I look at her name, something in me says to answer it. That I
need
to answer it.

I pick up the phone hesitantly.

And my ear is instantly filled with Jacey’s screaming.

Screams fill my ears once again, just like they do whenever I remember that fucking night. I stare at the paper in front of me.

The blank whiteness of the paper mocks me, as my pen lingers motionless above it. I listen to the tick of the clock and I stare at my shoes. Finally I scribble out an answer.

I fucking hate this shit. The therapist is just going to tear my answers apart in the morning.

A soft rap on the door interrupts my homework, thankfully. I answer it to find the army nurse.

“Hey, soldier,” she greets me with a grin, as she tosses me a cold soda. “How was your session?”

I practically growl a response as I drop back onto the bed, cracking the soda open and taking a gulp. “I hate this shit.”

Annie perches in the chair, her combat boots shined to a perfect gleam.

“I know,” she answers sympathetically. “You’re going to hate it the whole time. But I’ve gotta tell you. It does help. All the questions they ask actually have a purpose. They get us thinking in ways we didn’t before. I’m still having the nightmares, but they don’t last all night long. I’m still jumpy, but I don’t look over my shoulder as much. We might actually do this, soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier anymore,” I tell her as I scribble another answer onto the work sheet. She rolls her eyes.

“You know as well as I do that you’ll always be a soldier. It’s in your blood.”

And it is.

It feels good to sit and talk with someone who gets that. Brand gets it, but we don’t talk about it. Men just don’t.

Annie glances at me. “Do you ever miss it?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes now. “What do you think?”

She grins. “I’d miss it like hell. When I first came back, my parents begged me to resign my commission, to come out into civilian life and be ‘normal.’ As if that was going to happen. I’m a soldier. I’ll always be a soldier. I can’t imagine turning in my boots.”

It’s like a sucker punch because I
did
turn in my boots.

“Everyone has to do what is best for them,” I finally answer. “I had to resign because that was best for me and best for my squad.”

Annie nods understandingly and I know that she does, in fact, understand. She can’t possibly know what it was like to be a Ranger or to resign from the job that I dreamed my entire life of having, but she knows what it’s like to be a soldier to the bone.

That kind of understanding makes it easy to relate to her. And easy for her to relate to me. She glances up at me, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“I want to thank you again for being here,” she finally says. “Not only so that I can thank you again for what you did for me, but you’ve reminded me of a couple things. Important things.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Annie gets up from her chair and drops down next to me on the bed, something that puts me instantly at unease.
What the fuck
?

“You’ve reminded me that there are strong guys out there who know what the fuck I’m going through because you’re going through it too,” she says softly.

As she speaks, she slides her hand softly onto my arm. I freeze as I realize what is happening.

“I’ve also decided that everything happens for a reason,” she continues. “What are the odds that you would be there that day in the squad that rescued me and you would be here when I come to get help?” She pauses for a brief second. “The odds are slim to none, Gabe. I think I was meant to meet you. I really do. The question is… what are we going to do about it?”

Before I can think about what she’s doing, she’s leaned into me, pressing her lips softly to mine.

I am utterly frozen as she kisses me. I didn’t see this coming, I truly didn’t. I thought we were just commiserating about our issues.

Her hands come up and clutch my back and for a moment, one moment, I think about it. It would be so easy to slip away into that vague place where sex takes me, to that place where nothing matters anymore. It would be the easiest thing in the world. And I need someone. I need to be comforted by someone.

But she’s not the person I need.

I’ve already tried this road with Alex and it didn’t work.

I don’t want anyone else.

I grip Annie’s upper arms gently and push her away, looking into her eyes.

“Annie, you don’t want to do this,” I tell her firmly. “You don’t. You’re emotional because of this place. It’s OK, I’m sure it happens to everyone.”

She scowls at me, then she reaches for me again.

“No, it’s not this place. It’s you, Gabe. I just want you. You make me remember what I like about the world. You make everything make sense.”

After knowing me for a few days? I look at her questioningly as I hold her at arm’s length.

“Annie, think about what you’re saying. I can see where you would think that we have a connection because we both have the same shit going on. But think about that…
we have the same shit going on
. We’d be a train wreck. We each need someone outside of this mess, someone who can keep things in perspective for us… someone to give us a reason to pull out of this. I heard you telling one of your other friends about your boyfriend at lunch the other day. You need to tell him everything that you’ve told me.”

Annie starts crying now, big fat tears that roll down her cheeks in black streaks from her makeup. Fuck. I hate this shit. I never know what to do. I awkwardly pat at her back.

“Annie, don’t cry. Everything’s fine. It’s fine. This is just a misunderstanding.”

She continues to cry, then reaches for me, burying her head into my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I’m sorry that I misunderstood and wrecked everything. I’m sorry.”

I pat at her again. “You didn’t wreck anything, Annie. It’s a misunderstanding. Our emotions are all jacked up in here. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

She nods and sniffs and slips from the bed to the door.

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” she sniffles again before she leaves.

I am still shaking my head as I watch her go.

What the fuck was that?

As I calm down and gather my thoughts, I realize that as uncomfortable as that situation was, it did one thing for me.

Because when Annie looked at me, accepting all my flaws, overlooking them because she wanted to sleep with me, it made me realize why I’ve sought out women ever since the incident.

Their acceptance comforts me.

But it’s momentary.

Temporary.

For just a minute it soothes my guilt. I slip into oblivion, into a place where I’m not judged. They accept me for what I am. That’s why I sought out the prostitute in Kabul, that’s why I almost slept with Alex.