Chapter 20

The snow finally melted enough for mud to return.

Blackridge looked uglier during thaw season. Ice receded from the concrete in dirty gray streaks while the training fields softened into deep uneven sludge that clung heavily to boots and equipment alike. Water dripped constantly from rooftops, pipes, and rusted railings with a slow repetitive rhythm that made the entire base feel exhausted.

Emily preferred it this way.

Winter silence reminded her too much of hospitals.

Mud at least felt honest.

She sat alone near the western vehicle yard late that evening with her sleeves rolled halfway up and an old field radio dismantled across the maintenance table in front of her. Officially, she volunteered for repair rotation because the communications unit needed extra hands.

Unofficially, isolated work kept people from staring at her.

The overhead floodlight buzzed faintly while cold wind carried the smell of wet earth and diesel fuel through the open maintenance bay doors. Most of the unit remained inside the recreation hall watching some televised fight night event loud enough to echo across the yard.

Emily liked hearing the noise from a distance.

It reminded her she still existed outside it.

She tightened another wire connection carefully beneath the radio panel while her hands worked automatically through muscle memory learned years earlier during deployment repairs.

Then footsteps approached behind her.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant either.

Marcus Reed.

Emily knew before he spoke.

“You planning to fix that thing or bury it?”

She didn’t look up. “Depends how bad the damage is.”

Marcus stopped beside the table holding two paper cups of coffee that steamed faintly into the cold air.

Emily eyed them suspiciously.

“You poison one?”

“Thought about it.”

He set a cup beside her anyway.

The silence afterward felt awkward immediately.

Marcus seemed aware of it too.

Good.

He deserved some discomfort.

Emily returned to the radio wiring while he leaned against the opposite workbench with both hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

For several long seconds neither spoke.

Then finally:

“I heard you left base yesterday.”

Emily’s fingers paused briefly against the wiring panel.

“People talk too much here.”

“That’s not denial.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It isn’t.”

Marcus studied her carefully beneath the harsh floodlight.

Something about Emily looked thinner lately—not physically, but emotionally worn around the edges. As though tension itself had started consuming energy she no longer possessed spare.

And despite everything, despite the guilt still sitting heavily beneath his ribs every time he remembered the locker room—

He worried about her.

The realization annoyed him deeply.

“You shouldn’t leave base alone right now,” he said.

Emily almost smiled at that.

Almost.

“You sound like Hayes.”

Marcus frowned faintly. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “Probably not.”

Wind pushed cold air through the maintenance bay again, rattling loose metal tools somewhere farther inside the garage.

Emily reached for a screwdriver.

Marcus noticed her hand trembling slightly before she steadied it against the table edge.

The movement lasted less than a second.

Still enough.

Something tightened painfully inside his chest.

“You okay?”

Emily’s jaw hardened instantly. “Don’t.”

“What.”

“That.”

Marcus looked genuinely confused.

“The careful voice,” she said quietly. “I’m getting tired of it.”

Understanding crossed his face slowly.

Pity again.

Or what she interpreted as pity.

Marcus rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. “I’m trying not to be an asshole.”

“That’s a low bar.”

A short laugh escaped him before he could stop it.

Emily glanced up briefly, surprised enough by the sound that some of the tension left her shoulders for a second.

Then it returned immediately.

Marcus noticed that too.

Nothing relaxed fully around her anymore.

He looked toward the dark yard outside before speaking again.

“I owe you an apology.”

Emily sighed softly through her nose.

“There it is.”

“I mean it.”

“So did Jake.”

The words landed harder than she intended.

Marcus absorbed them anyway.

“That fair?”

Emily looked back down at the radio. “Probably.”

Silence stretched again.

Then Marcus stepped away from the workbench and moved closer to the maintenance table slowly enough not to startle her.

“I keep replaying that night in the locker room,” he admitted quietly.

Emily’s fingers stopped moving altogether now.

Marcus leaned one hand against the edge of the table.

“At first I thought you were embarrassed.” His jaw tightened faintly. “Then I realized you were terrified.”

The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than she expected.

Because most people softened truth instinctively when discussing trauma. They wrapped it carefully in gentler language to avoid discomfort.

Marcus didn’t.

He looked directly at ugly things once he finally decided to see them.

Emily stared at the loose radio wiring beneath her hands.

“It wasn’t about you,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“No, I mean it.” Her voice lowered slightly. “The panic attack. The locker room. None of that was really about you.”

Marcus watched her carefully.

Emily swallowed once before continuing.

“Trauma doesn’t work the way people think it does.” She adjusted the screwdriver absently between her fingers. “Your brain starts connecting things together without permission. Heat. Noise. Being trapped somewhere with too many people.” Her expression tightened faintly. “Sometimes your body reacts before you even understand why.”

Marcus stayed very still.

This was the closest she had come to explaining anything voluntarily.

Emily seemed to realize it too.

She looked away immediately afterward.

“My cousin came back from Afghanistan different,” Marcus said quietly after a while.

Emily didn’t answer.

“He used to sleep in the bathtub during thunderstorms because it was the only room without windows.” Marcus exhaled softly through his nose. “Nobody in my family understood it.”

The maintenance bay filled with silence again.

Not uncomfortable this time.

Just heavy.

Emily finally picked up the coffee cup beside her and took a careful sip. It had already gone lukewarm.

“You know what’s strange?” she murmured.

Marcus waited.

“I think I hated you less when you were cruel.”

The words surprised him enough that he actually laughed once under his breath.

“Jesus.”

Emily stared out toward the wet training yard beyond the garage doors.

“Cruelty makes sense to me,” she admitted quietly. “People see weakness and they attack it. That’s simple.”

“And this isn’t.”

“No.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the coffee cup. “Because now everyone keeps looking at me like they’re trying to apologize without saying the words.”

Marcus looked at her a long moment.

Then softly:

“Maybe they are.”

Emily’s expression shifted faintly.

Not softer.

Sadder.

“Doesn’t change anything.”

No.

It didn’t.

The convoy still happened.

The reports still disappeared.

The scars still existed beneath her skin no matter how guilty everyone suddenly became afterward.

Marcus leaned back against the table beside her instead of across from her now.

Closer.

But not crowding.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he said quietly.

Emily studied him sideways beneath the harsh overhead light.

“Good.”

Another silence followed.

Then, unexpectedly:

“My brother used to say people become cruel fastest when they’re afraid someone else’s pain might reveal something about themselves.”

Marcus frowned slightly. “Your brother sounds smart.”

Emily’s mouth twitched faintly.

“He sold counterfeit concert tickets for three years.”

Marcus laughed again despite himself.

This time the sound lingered longer.

And for one brief fragile moment beneath the buzzing floodlights and the smell of diesel and wet earth, Emily almost forgot to keep every wall inside herself standing perfectly upright.

Almost.