by Elise Faber
Instead of the possibilities in my dreams.
Because even as I thought back of myself with Leo, how I’d behaved during our friendship, how I’d lied to myself about what could be—even before I’d caught a glimpse of his inner asshole—I didn’t like it.
My simpering and fantasizing.
My constant inner monologue of not measuring up.
And . . . it was just enough.
I couldn’t go on like this, and it was as though by finally getting something that I’d dreamed about—Leo in my bed, Leo holding me like I mattered—I had finally, finally realized none of it meant jack shit unless I mattered to me first.
Sad it had taken me nearly thirty years to get there.
But I wasn’t going back.
No more.
So, as I watched the door close behind Leo, instead of dropping to the floor, curling up in a ball, and crying until I had no more tears, like I really wanted to, I shoved my feet into shoes, scraped my hair into a ponytail, and . . . I got on with my life.
First matter of business?
Finding out who’d put a bullet through my throat.
I was pathetically weak.
And I didn’t mean emotionally for the first time in my life.
I was physically exhausted—the aftereffects of the blood transfusion. Although, I supposed it was also the aftereffects of the emotional night, my vow to myself, letting go of the fantasy of the perfect happily-ever-after with Leo.
Yeah, maybe that, too.
But I was still in my office, a fresh laptop in hand, one I’d gone out and picked up myself from the local electronics store.
No KTS tech. No one working on it except me.
A mobile hotspot. A VPN.
Not the most secure, but the best I could do under the circumstances, especially when it appeared that KTS’s mainframe was compromised.
So, I was going to do some sleuthing outside of it.
Hacking wasn’t my strong suit, though we’d all been trained with the basics. Sometimes we couldn’t bring tech back to base, sometimes we needed to get in it, right then and there, so I was going to do my best and hope that new equipment untouched by anyone else’s hands would bring me the missing piece of information we were lacking.
A knock at my door had me glancing up to see Hannah.
“Hi,” I said and went back to my keyboard.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to be working.”
“I know my limits,” I told her, using a firm tone that wasn’t me, and yet was also completely me, then adding when she looked ready to protest, “Plus, I’m almost done for today.”
Silence.
Then I glanced up, hazel eyes boring into mine. “You’re different.”
I snorted. “Nearly dying would do that to you.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “We’ve all nearly died enough times for that to hardly come into play,” she said, her tone dry. “So tell me, what’s really up?”
“I’m done.”
Blond brows lifted. “With what?”
I sighed heavily and closed the laptop, knew I could retreat, could continue to hold everything close to my chest. But—another piece plunked home—that wasn’t who I wanted to be. I wanted friendships where I actually told the freaking truth. Such a fucking novelty. Even so, I had to force the words out. “Done giving in to that inner voice.”
To Hannah’s credit, she didn’t seem to miss a beat. “The one that tells you you’re worthless?”
My eyes widened, and the urge to retreat was real.
Hannah crossed over to my desk, sat on the edge of it. “You think you’re the only one with that particular mental asshole, rattling around your brain like a bean in a pail?”
Bean in a pail?
Where did she get these things?
“No,” I said, when I got beyond the analogy that was strangely apt. “But, well, I guess that I never thought that you . . .” I trailed off, realizing that I’d not only been judging myself, but that I’d also been judging everyone else. I had the biggest pain. I was the one who was unworthy. I—
Hadn’t opened myself up to anyone enough to find commonality in experience.
Emotional experience, that was.
The work part was easy—not that the missions were easy or went off without a hitch. I had the wound in my neck, the scar on my thigh to prove just the opposite. But it was easy to have common experience when we had a collective. Shoot shit. Save people. Root out traitors.
It had always been.
This was different.
This was leaping out of an airplane, hoping my chute opened. This was diving into the dark ocean water to swim to shore. This was . . . being vulnerable.
“My parents disowned me when they found out I was gay.” A shrug, as though this were easy for her to talk about, even though the hurt was there in her hazel eyes, in the tone of her voice. “I went from being miserable because I was hiding everything about myself to being miserable because I was alone.” A forced smile. “Nothing like the prodigal only child ruining my parents’ dreams, right?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching across the desk and squeezing her hand, and I found that I could do this, even if it was just a little bit. “If it makes you feel any better, my dad was never more than a sperm donor, and my mom died when I was six, so I was bounced around family until the system stepped in.”
She flipped her hand over, so her palm was pressed to mine. “It doesn’t,” she said simply. “Same as I know it doesn’t make you feel good to know we share a sob story.”
That much was true.
My eyes lifted to hers. “I thought if I could just be good enough, if I crammed myself into a tiny enough box, then someone would want me.”
“I wish that were the case.” Hannah squeezed my fingers. “It sure would solve a lot of problems.”
That much was true.
But it wasn’t.
“I’m done with that.”
An approving smile. “I’m proud of you.”
Four words I’d never heard before. Four words that shifted more pieces around, jiggling them into proper position.
“How did you . . .” I trailed off.
“What?”
Normally, I would have demurred, gotten quiet, and pretended the question wasn’t there. I would have thrown the wall up, so I didn’t let anyone in past my carefully constructed barriers. But that wasn’t who I wanted to be forever. I wanted to be more than that. I wanted to stop feeling like a fucking outsider and to start being part of something.
Which meant that I couldn’t retreat.
I needed to press forward. So, I asked the question on my mind, the one I hoped would give me an answer that would help bolster me. “How did you move on from that?”
Her hazel eyes went serious. “From my parents?”
I nodded.
“I—” A shrug. “Truthfully, I wish that I’d had a magical epiphany about self-worth and that all of a sudden I was fine and happy and strong.”
“It didn’t work that way?”
Hannah’s mouth curved into a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, no.”
I sighed.
“What?”
“Because I had my epiphany last night, and I was hoping it would solve everything.” Hannah’s brows lifted, so I added, “I woke up in the middle of the night and just couldn’t stand the person I’d become. It was like my reflection was a pitiful creature I just couldn’t be anymore, and . . . I just wanted to be different.”
“So, you took a step.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, that’s how you do it.”
Our fingers were still laced together, but it didn’t feel strange to be holding hands with my team leader. Quite the opposite. It was as though by letting her in a little bit, her strength had called to mine. “Steps?” I asked.
A nod. “Tiny or big. Painful or not. Sometimes backward. Sometimes leaping across a gully in front of you. But then, one day, you’ll look
back, and you’ll realize how far you’ve come, and . . . you’ll be so damned proud of yourself.”
Her voice broke, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek. “Not fair, Hannah.”
She swiped at her own eye with a finger. “I’m a regular fucking philosopher, aren’t I?”
I chuckled, glanced up at the ceiling while I got control of myself. “Why didn’t I do this sooner?”
“Cry with me in your office?”
“Who’s crying?”
We both glanced up, and I saw Lily in the open doorway. Her gaze flicked to our hands, still woven together. “Ah, come on,” she grumbled, pushing into the office. “I’m getting jealous.”
I laughed, even though it was watery. “You should be. I’ve decided that I’m going to start baring my soul at any number of uncomfortable moments.”
She clapped her hands together, brown eyes mischievous, her long coffee-colored ponytail fluttering behind her shoulders like a horse’s tail—an analogy I knew she wouldn’t appreciate and thus, kept to myself.
“Oh,” she said, sitting on my desk on the opposite side of me. “I love uncomfortable sharing. Should we talk about the time that my mom came into my room with breakfast and balloons the morning after I lost my virginity?”
My brows lifted, a chuckle bursting free.
Hannah shook her head, slipped her hand free. “She didn’t.”
Lily’s brows rose. “You’ve met my mom. What do you think?”
Hannah started laughing. “I think she doesn’t play.”
“No,” Lily said, “she doesn’t. My girlfriend and I were both naked, and I was worrying about waking her up and telling her how to sneak her out of the house when my mom just came in with a breakfast tray with two plates.”
Giggles burst out of me, quite painful with my stitches.
“She didn’t,” Hannah exclaimed again.
“Oh, she did,” Lily told us. “Along with congratulatory balloons.” She shook her head. “And her Polaroid camera. She snapped a picture, and it’s in my baby book.”
“A picture of you losing your virginity is in your baby book?”
My stomach ached from holding back a roar of laughter.
“Well, it’s more of a milestone book, since she kept it going until I was twenty-five.” Lily shrugged. “First steps. First period. First fucking.”
I glanced at Hannah. She was biting her lip, eyes dancing.
And then we both lost it, roaring with laughter, Lily joining in, until eventually, we managed to control ourselves.
“Needless to say, my girlfriend decided that she couldn’t put up with celebratory balloons and morning-after pictures. We broke up not long after that.” Her tone was light. “But I got what I wanted, which was just as well.”
I swiped my eyes, wiping the tears away. Twice in the span of ten minutes, and yet for completely different reasons.
Reasons I wouldn’t trade for the world.
“What did you get?” Hannah asked.
Lily waggled her brows. “Orgasms.”
I froze again.
“Admit it,” she said. “It’s the best thing I could have wanted.”
My lips twitched. Hannah coughed.
Then we all dissolved into laughter once more.
“I’m letting Leo go.”
We were sitting on my bed, empty plates around us, the remains of our dinner—chicken, rice, salads, and more chocolate cake (because KTS agents have major sweet tooths), and we were—not really—watching a terrible horror movie on TV.
After the fifth or sixth time someone was eaten by a sand shark (yes, really), I’d lost interest and focused on my cake.
But now my fork had scraped empty ceramic and . . . I wanted this off my chest.
Lily lifted her brows, and I realized what that sounded like.
“We never did anything. I just—” I sighed. “I’m letting my fantasy of him go.” I nibbled at my bottom lip, everything inside me telling me to keep this truth close to my chest, that Hannah and Lily had already sent plenty of pity in my direction over Leo, and I didn’t need to give them more ammunition for it. But . . . I’d been holding things close for so long and . . . I was tired.
So damned tired.
And it felt good to share.
Why couldn’t this be something more? Why couldn’t I be something more? There wasn’t any reason, sad as it was, to be just discovering that now.
“I dreamed about him one day seeing me and sweeping me off my feet or falling madly in love or . . . I don’t know, deciding that he wanted me and seeing the person I was hiding beneath. But he doesn’t see me that way, so I’m letting it go.” A sigh. “Letting the fantasies go. All of them. Him. Mine. I want to build something that’s real, with people who see me as . . .”
I trailed off, my new leaf turned over, but my journey not complete, not yet anyway.
It wasn’t easy to cut through twenty-plus years of blaming myself for everything that was wrong in my life, everything that had ever gone wrong.
A squeeze to my hand drew me out, and I stared up into Lily’s gaze, her eyes serious for once. “You want people who see the wonderful, talented woman you are.”
Genuine words.
Warmth in her deep brown eyes.
Yet my first instinct was to deny the compliment, to self-deprecate. Today, however, I laid that particular burden to rest and simply said, “Thank you.”
Lily smiled approvingly.
“Do you know why I recruited you to my team?” Hannah asked into the silence that fell.
Surprise had me glancing over at her, my mouth dropping open. “No.”
“Or why Landon was furious when I poached you from right beneath his nose?”
I shook my head.
“It’s because the only one who doesn’t see your worth is you.”
My eyes flew to Lily, who nodded.
My lungs froze, a sharp inhale caught halfway between my nose and throat. Then I released it slowly, my words slipping out despite myself. “And Leo,” I whispered. “He didn’t see it.”
“Oh, no.” Hannah shook her head. “Leo’s problem is that he saw it.”
“What?” My brows drew together. That didn’t make sense.
“He saw how bright you burn beneath that quiet exterior, and he couldn’t look away. Like his retina were singed from staring at the sun, and then everything else in his life, including himself, were far too dark to ever dare to be close to you.” Hannah squeezed my hand one more time and then released it. “He wants you—anyone could see that. His problem is that he thinks he’s far too dark, and he can’t bring the shadows close, for fear of disrupting the way you shine.”
“I—”
That didn’t make sense.
None of it made sense.
No one wanted me to be part of anything, least of all saw me as someone as great, as gorgeous as Leo. I was just a grunt who knew how to dismantle explosives. If someone wanted fodder to protect the rest of the agency, then I would be there.
Bomb fuel.
That was it. That was all—
No.
Just . . . no.
Because even on the most dangerous of missions, even when I’d been concerned about my abilities to get the job done, to render the explosive inert and had urged my teammates to leave, they’d stayed. My former team—Landon and Leo, Brett, Raj, and Mica. My current one. They hadn’t left me behind, even though I was determined to remain.
I was part of something, despite doing my level best to avoid it.
“Just keep taking those steps, okay?” Hannah said. “Keep thinking. Keep with that epiphany and hold tight to that strength and courage. The rest of the pieces will fall into place.”
Pieces falling in place. How did Hannah know this shit?
Lily asked the question for me. “How do you know that?”
Hannah grinned at both of us. “Call it intuition. Or stubborn team leader-ness.” A laugh. “And also, maybe because now that we both know you fe
el this way, we won’t let you slide back into your shell.”
Lily high-fived her.
I inhaled.
“Don’t overthink it,” Hannah said.
I glared. “You just told me to keep thinking.”
“Do one.” A shrug. “Or the other.” Another. “Either way, it’ll work out.” She stood, started collecting plates.
“That’s not helpful!” I called.
“Now you know the other side of friendship.”
I frowned.
“That I can be really annoying.”
“I knew that before.”
Lily pouted. “You took my line!”
Hannah chuckled. “Damn, and here I thought I had you fooled, as well.”
I threw a balled-up napkin at her . . . which she easily dodged. “You’re not funny.”
A wink. “And yet, you’re my friend anyway.”
“Not for long,” I called.
“Lies,” she set the plates on the tray we’d had delivered then disappeared into the bathroom. I was still glaring at the empty hall when she popped her head back in, eyes sparkling with humor. “Oh, and by the way, this is your friend telling you to get some rest.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m—”
Lily stood, asked innocently. “Going to listen to my friend so our team leader doesn’t make it an order?”
Hannah nodded. “What she said.”
I sighed. “Not even five minutes after our heart-to-heart, and you’re already pulling the team leader card?”
“Damn right, I am.”
Then Hannah surprised me by crossing over to my bed and grabbing me into a tight hug. My stitches pulled, and I smothered a wince, but I hugged her back, soaked in her whispered, “You’re bright and beautiful, and I’m lucky to have a friend like you.” She pulled back slightly. “Now, don’t be a stubborn ass next time, okay?”
I laughed. “No guarantees.”
“That’s my girl,” Lily said, nudging between us to give me a hug that was far gentler. She turned to Hannah. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room.”
Hannah lifted a brow. “Don’t trust me?”
“Don’t make me pull my second-in-command-ness,” Lily said. “You need sleep, just as much as the rest of us.”