He turns his eyes back to the highway that stretches straight and flat for as far as the eye can see. We’re in the middle of nowhere, so there are very few cars, and none nearby.
“It could just as easily be you in the final tonight.”
I huff a frustrated laugh through my nose. “You don’t get it. Shiloh is special.”
His arm straightens, pushing his shoulders deeper into the seat. “So are you.”
Chapter 19
Bran
With just that one sentence, she totally closes off. Her arms fold hard across her chest and she turns to look out the passenger window. She’s so angry that I suggested she might be better than her friend.
“Why are you afraid of that?”
She turns back to me. “I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just not true.”
I’ve seen the look on her face a thousand times in Afghanistan—sometimes when I looked in the mirror. It’s the expression we all wear when we’re desperately trying to convince ourselves we’re not afraid. But our eyes always betray us, and I see her fear shining there.
I shake my head. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”
“What are you afraid of?” she shoots back.
“Wow,” I say, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Where should I start?”
She just looks at me, waiting.
“I’m afraid of dying before I’ve ever lived. I’m afraid the best is behind me and this is all there is. I’m afraid of missing out on something great because I didn’t recognize it in time to grab hold. I’m afraid of admitting that I want more, because what if there isn’t more?” I grip the wheel and look at her. “I’m afraid of falling asleep.”
“Nightmares?” she asks.
I look out over the endless road. “Not if I don’t sleep.”
“Tell me about them.”
Cold sweat breaks across the back of my neck and I rub it. “Not my favorite topic.”
Her lips thin into a line as she nods. “I can respect that.” She tips her head and those silver eyes cut through all my bullshit. “I know the shit I’ve been through is probably nothing compared to what you’ve seen, but it’s still enough to give me nightmares.”
I don’t know whether it’s just Lilah, or the idea of actually talking about things I’ve never thought I’d be able to, but my heart is galloping in my chest. “You train for months, drills and simulations. They tell you you’re ready and they send you off. They don’t tell you how loud it is. When you’re in the middle of a firefight…” I shake my head. “They don’t tell you that you’ll never hear your brother’s scream over the shells. That the only way you’ll know he’s dead is when you turn around and see his mangled body, bleeding out into the sand.”
I take a breath and hold it, waiting for the roll of acid up my throat to settle.
“They don’t tell you you’ll hear those shells for the rest of your life, and every time you close your eyes, you’ll see it again…try to change it, put yourself where your buddy was. They don’t tell you that’s the only time you’ll hear the scream, because it’s yours, waking you from the nightmare.” I swallow and glance at her. “They don’t tell you shit.”
She doesn’t say anything, but those eyes stay fixed on mine until I turn back to the road. Her hand slides like silk over the back of mine, on the gearshift, and she threads her fingers between mine. I know she feels me shaking, but I can’t stop it.
We stay just like that as I navigate us over the Grape Vine and down into the L.A. basin. When I have my shit mostly back together, I look at her. “I know you’ve been through some shit too. You’ve got the look.”
“What look?”
“The ‘don’t mess with me’ look. It’s the armor everyone who’s been through shit they’re not really dealing with wears to keep people from noticing.”
She takes her hand off mine and I wish I kept my mouth shut, but it’s too late now. Can of worms opened.
“I told you my shit,” she says without looking at me. “Tweaker parents.”
I cut her a glance. “But there’s more to it.”
She stiffens, her hands pressing into the seat next to her legs. “Why would you think that?”