Since he left three days ago, I’ve been moving on autopilot. I knew he wasn’t going to stay, but it hurts nonetheless. I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved him. I didn’t think I could love anyone other than my family, to be honest. I always thought a little differently than people around me and felt a little less, so I figured love wasn’t in the future for me. I was wrong. Stephan, appearing in my life, made everything change. Everything. Even my understanding of the world. I always thought if I’d be lucky enough to find someone I could love, I’d never let them go. But turns out, if you love someone more than you love yourself, you set them free.
He is not the type to be caged. By anything or anyone. But I couldn’t let him go without letting him know how I feel. I don’t regret it.
The moment he left, I went to bed without taking a shower, hoping to preserve his scent around me as long as I could. The second day I planned the same, but I smelled a little gross. Fine, a lot. So, I had to wash away all the evidence of him being here the night before. I cried in the shower, a rare occurrence for me. I cried the day before too, but because of my brother. I mourned the idea of him accepting me as his sister. I cried over the years I’ve wasted trying to prove him that I loved him. I cried over Stephan losing his friend and brother in arms.
But the day after, I stopped crying and decided to figure out how to help the person I loved the most. Unfortunately, the person who could help me is a jerk, so I had to find a way to get around it.
And I’m still waiting, two days later, thinking over how I can get the information out of him.
And the information comes to my doorstep on its own on day four.
A soft knock on my door draws me back from the heavy research I have currently splayed over my worktable. I peep outside and find Alex nervously moving from foot to foot. I open the door two inches and look outside.
He swallows before speaking. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say calmly.
“Can I come in?”
I open the door wider, silently inviting him in. He steps inside and looks around. This is the first time he’s been in my house, and I’ve been living here for two years. To be honest, he’s never bothered to really get to know me. And I’m just seeing it now, looking back at all the years I’ve been running around my big brother, desperate for him to notice me.
“It’s nice here.”
I ignore the compliment and lean against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest.
“Look,” he puts his hands into his winter jacket, “I’m sorry. Alright?”
I raise a brow. That’s all you’ve got?
He chuckles and wipes his face with his hands. He does it when he’s nervous.
“I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t even remember what I said, honestly. Freya told me.” He swallows and looks to the side. “I didn’t mean it, Leila. I really didn’t.”
I sigh because I know that he has anger issues. Real, clinical issues where his brain can’t contain his emotions, but I also know that people tend to tell the truth when their reins break, and that’s why I’m on the fence. Not because he offended me, but because he really thinks all of that, and I don’t know how I feel about it just yet.
He lets out a loud sigh and squints at me, trying to make a funny face. “What can I do to make you forgive me?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What can you do?”
“Anything.” He places his open palm over his chest. “Absolutely anything.”
“Tell me about your last mission.”
His face pales. “I can’t, Leila.”
“You can. It’s been many years, Alex.”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head and starts backing away to the door. “I can’t.”
“I need to know the truth, so I can help Stephan.”
He tilts his head, confused. “Help him?”
“Don’t you see it?”
“See what?”
“He’s suicidal.” For the first time ever, I say the word out loud.
Alex thinks about it for the first time ever too, because he pales even more.
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t you see that he’s driven by guilt?”
“It’s survivor’s guilt; we both have it.”
“No.” I shake my head. “His is different. It’s deeper. I think he blames himself for something that happened there. I don’t see any other reason he would be like that.”
“He’s not suicidal,” he states firmly, trying to convince himself, I think.
“But he is.” I meet his eyes and hold them. “And deep down, you know it, but choose to ignore it because it hits too close to home, bringing your own guilt to the surface. That’s why I want you to tell me the story so I can help him.”
His jaw squeezes shut. The muscles in his cheeks moving under his skin from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together.
“I want you to know that I forgive you without this story. You are my brother, and no matter what you say, that fact won’t change. But if you decide to tell me your story, I’ll dig out the truth. I don’t know what I’ll find, but I strongly suspect that you both were wrong to blame yourselves all these years.”
He clears his throat. “How do you know?” he rasps.
“From what I’ve found so far, there was a sudden change in commanding officers during the period you got injured and were in the hospital. A whole lot of them. Every time stuff like that happens, they’re cleaning something up. But I have a few pieces I can’t put together, and that’s what I need to know. I just hope one day you’ll be able to talk to me about it. I know how to listen.”
His eyes are guarded. His throat moves in a rough, loud swallow before he speaks. “I can’t, Leila. I can’t talk about that.”
He turns around and walks away.
“I still love you,” I say to his back.
He pauses, his shoulders hunch, but he pulls the doorknob and walks out.
A sense of strong déjà vu washes over me. The second person to walk out of my house with their back turned to me in the past week. I must be breaking some unspoken record.
I sigh to myself because no one else is here to listen, lock the door behind him, and go back to my research.
A few hours later, a loud knock on the door startles me, and I jump from the couch. I must have dozed off while reading this god-awful article. Another knock, louder this time. I look at the clock—it’s twenty minutes past ten. Who would be here this late in our small town unless someone is dying?
I quietly tippytoe to the door and look through the peephole. Alex stands there, eyes crazed. I unlock the door and open it.
“What happened?” I ask.
He looks around, pointing at the fresh footsteps. “Have you had a guest over?”
“No.” A chill runs through my body.
“Did you get any deliveries?”
“No.”
“Lock the door,” he orders and takes off, following the prints in the fresh snow.
It’s not the first time in the past week I’ve noticed it. It’s the same shoe print and the same size. They always come from the road, stand on my porch, and leave the same way. I was seriously considering installing the security camera. I know it’ll look ridiculous in this neighborhood, but I feel uneasy more and more every day. At this point, I must drop the idea of it just being a stupid prank.
“Leila, it’s me,” Alex’s voice sounds through the door a few minutes later.
I unlock it and let him inside.
“Did you find anything?” I ask.
“No.” He glances at me. “It’s not the first time it happened?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Do you know who it might be?”
“Not really.” I had my suspicions, but they turned out to be false when I texted the person who knows everything again and who was one of the reasons I’m in this situation right now, and he confirmed that the subject is still in prison.
“Okay. I’ll get you a camera tomorrow morning.” He nods to himself.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He bends over and starts unlacing his boots.
“Are you staying over?” I ask with a raised brow.
“I came here to give you an interview.”
My heart skips a beat. “Interview?”
“Yes.” He looks up at me and nods. “Yes, interview. About the night this,” he points to his scarred face, “happened.”
I blink a few times and then, out of nowhere, find myself launching at him. I wrap my arms around his neck. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Yeah.” He awkwardly pats me on my back until I unwrap myself from him.
“Thank you, Alex.” My heart is full of love and appreciation, knowing well enough how hard it is for him to open up and talk about this. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”
“I want a bottle of whiskey in one go, but I’ll refrain. We want the facts here.” He chuckles and walks to the couch.
“Do you want to go on record?”
“Yes.” He nods. “It’s time.”
“Okay.” I pull out my voice recorder and start. “Today is January seventeenth; Alex Crawley is present to tell his side of the story. You can start, Alex.”
“How do I start?” he asks nervously, scratching his chin.
“We can start by stating the facts about your unit.”
“Alright then.” He chews on the inside of his cheek and asks, “Can you turn it off for a second?”
I nod and hit ‘stop’ on the recorder. He looks around, looking uncomfortable again.
“What’s on your mind, Alex?” I ask carefully.
He shifts his attention from the very interesting coffee table in front of him to me. “So, you and your new boyfriend broke up?” He raises his brows and rolls his lips. He looks adorably hilarious. And super uncomfortable—after all, we’ve never discussed our relationships. As far as I know, he doesn’t know if I’ve ever had any. And judging by the way he jumped into the question, he’s not going to beat around the bush.
“We were never together to begin with to, you know, break up.” I force a weak smile.
His face clouds as his hand squeezes the pillow he’s holding. “So, he just fucked you and left?”
“No.” I state firmly, preventing him from boiling over again. “We had an agreement. We weren’t together. We just spent the time we were given together.”
“And he was okay with that?” His forehead wrinkles.
“Do you see him around?” I mockingly look around. “He’d be here if he wasn’t, right?”
He watches me for a few moments before speaking. “Are you okay with that?”
“I guess.” I shrug.
“Oh fuck.” He scratches his cheek. “Did you fall in love with him or something?”
I throw him a funny look. “Or something?”
“I dunno.” He looks around as if looking for an escape, and I chuckle to myself. “Do you want me to beat his ass?”
I let out a laugh. “No, Alex. I’m a big girl, and we really had an agreement.”
“That’s good. Okay.” He nods a few times to himself. “I should still beat his ass, though.”
“I thought you wanted to beat my ass?” I narrow my eyes.
“What?” He rears back, looking scared. “I’d never do that.”
“Hmm.” Let him sweat a little, so he knows his actions always have consequences. Always. “Should I remind you that you blamed me for taking your friend away?” I ask, lightly tapping my chin.
His neck and face redden, and his eyes dart away. “Leila,” he sighs, “I didn’t mean that.” He sits back in his seat. “You’re both my family. You’re my sister, and even if I don’t show it, I always feel it. You know what I mean?”
He waits for my nod and keeps going.
“And I always worry about you. But I worry about him too. Leila,” he leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees, “what we’ve been through together—” He shakes his head, looking for the right words. “It binds people, you know. Not only years of service but losing our team and surviving. Only us. You know. No one else. Why are we alive while they aren’t anymore? That’s the question I’ll be asking for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a lot of survivor’s guilt,” I tell him. “It must be hard.”
“It is, but it is what it is. I’m used to living with that. But—” he cuts himself off. “But our guilt is different,” he says meaningfully.
“How is that?”
He sighs and looks at the ceiling. “Because I was a team leader, and they died under my watch.” He rakes his hand through his already messy hair. The gesture nervous and uneasy. “But Archie might be the reason why they’re dead.”
He meets my eyes, probably voicing his fears for the very first time in his life. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tug of disappointment, but it actually makes sense—the guilt he’s carrying, the suicidal thoughts, everything. There’s only so much a person can take, and he reached that point. Everyone would.
A feeling of tranquility settles in my chest, and I smile at Alex. I’ll dig for as much information as I can, and yes, I’m a reporter and I write facts. No matter what I find, I’ll help him get through it. I will not leave Stephan alone. Besides loving him as a man—yes, I’ve admitted and accepted the fact—I love him as a friend. He introduced me to a feeling of real connection with another human being. The sort of connection that comes from within. He’s a part of my life now.
“What I just said didn’t change the way you feel about him, did it?”
“No,” I state firmly.
“Cool.” His short nod is one of silent approval. “Then let’s get this over with so you can write this article. I sure hope you’ll find something different from what we’ve been thinking all these years.”
I sure hope so too, Alex.
