Heart thundering in his chest, Ryan woke up sweaty, his body trembling.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, swiping a hand across his face. He looked over at Fin, her breathing was deep and even, her cheeks flushed.
He pressed a hand over her heart, feeling the steady thump beneath his fingers, letting it calm him.
Sensing his touch, she rolled over, one long leg sliding out to rest above the sheet. Her ribs stuck out, her collarbone sharp, and it broke his heart. He’d forced her to eat a sandwich last night before they fell into bed, exhausted. Yet despite being wrung dry, Ryan still struggled finding sleep. What was he still doing here? He would only be leaving again soon. He had to leave. Now more than ever. Jake didn’t die so that Ryan would give up. Was Fin supposed to happily wave him back off to Afghanistan so soon after losing Jake? And what if he didn’t come back? Could he do that to her?
Fuck no.
Fin was right. They kept going around in circles, and it was slowly shredding him into tiny pieces. How much longer could they keep doing this?
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he eased his way out of bed in the early light and dressed quietly.
As he left the bedroom, Crookshanks head-butted his leg, growling his hungry demands. With the cat fed, he pulled the front door shut behind him. Even with the soft light, he hid his eyes behind sunglasses as he strode towards the gleaming, black mustang.
Ryan pulled the keys from his pocket.
“Coward,” came the soft whisper in his ear.
He froze, icy tendrils curling around his spine.
“Jake?” he croaked.
Ryan spun around but no one was there.
Christ. He was fucking losing it.
He reached for the door handle.
“Is this how you take care of my sister after I leave? Fuck her and sneak out?”
The voice whipped coldly around him, everywhere, but … nowhere.
Ryan swallowed, his eyes burning. “Fuck. Don’t. I can’t do this.”
He swung the door open as he slid inside. He put the key in the ignition and started the car, hearing it come to life with a deep, throaty growl.
“Look at you. Your hands are shaking.”
His eyes fell to the hand that trembled on the gearstick.
“Damn you, Jake. Stop screwing with my head,” he said loudly. He shifted into reverse and let out the handbrake.
“You didn’t read my letter.”
The envelope still sat unopened on the passenger seat, taunting him with its plain white disguise, masking words he knew he couldn’t yet read.
Unease rolled through him. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Close your eyes, Kendall.”
His jaw clenched as he fought back tears, but he closed his eyes anyway.
“Now picture a world without Fin.”
“Oh God,” he moaned, burying his head against the steering wheel. His stomach lurched at the thought of her gone like Jake was.
“Good. Now where are you in that picture?”
His eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids, searching, but there was nothing but black, empty space. He wasn’t there.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing,” he whispered hoarsely. “Without her there I’m nothing.”
A chuckle echoed softly around the inside of his car. “Bingo.”
Blinking sore, gritty eyes, the ceiling came into focus. Rolling over, Fin saw the empty space beside her and she slumped back on the bed. When loud buzzing registered from outside, she clutched the sheet to her chest and stretched up to peer out the window.
Ryan was mowing her lawn. He paused, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his brow, baring taut, tanned skin to her gaze. Scrambling from the bed, Fin tugged on a singlet and panties and made her way from the bedroom.
Her eyes swept the living room. No evidence of her violent outburst from yesterday afternoon remained. A sharp pang swept through her at the empty bookshelves. Books, she reminded herself. They’re just books.
Going to the kitchen, she grabbed a spoon and reached for Crookshanks’ breakfast from out of the fridge. Usually he was twining himself around her legs right now—where was he?
Frowning, she turned, her eyes finding him sitting outside in the morning sun, licking the length of his leg as though he’d already eaten.
The front door clicked and Ryan strode down the hallway, bringing the scent of freshly cut grass with him. His eyes were tired, his body sweaty.
Fin narrowed her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His brows flew up. “Excuse me?”
“Mowing my lawn?”
Ryan rubbed his forearm across his brow, wiping away the sweat. “It was overgrown. It would’ve died off if you’d left it any longer.”
“So what? Everything dies sooner or later, right?”
Oh God, stop.
But she couldn’t. It felt like she was standing outside of her body watching a train wreck before her very eyes.
“Feeding me, my cat, cleaning my house, my yard. It’s mine. My house.” Her voice rose along with her anger. “And you’re not my friend. You’re Jake’s!”
Hurt flashed across his face, and her stomach pitched feverishly, unable to control the venom spewing from her mouth.