Black clouds sprawled across the sky. Their darkness drained life from the area. The air was thick with the scent of rain. A stillness fell over the farm, and in the silence came a low crackle of thunder, rolling across the fields. For a moment, everything stopped.
A streak of hot silver split the sky, and the downpour began. I took off. I couldn’t run with my fucking leg, but I had to get the hell away. Thick icy sheets of rain obscured my vision, but I knew where I was going. The rain was freezing, paling my skin on contact. Frozen droplets fell in a chaotic mess, sliding down my face in a thin layer, mingling with salty tears. I walked away from the house, from the farm, and down the backroads to the one place I knew I needed to go.
The storm hid my cries until there was nothing left but a raw emptiness. Grief surged with every breath, always reaching higher peaks, never soothing. Tremors rocked my body as I made my way to the one person who could give me an anchor.
I snuggled up on my couch with my hands wrapped around a hot cup of coffee as I listened to the thunder rolling overhead. The pattering of rain sounded like drum beats on the roof. Storms lulled me into a blissful state.
Flynn was a constant on my mind. I’d been keeping Mags and Faith updated on our relationship, if I could even call it that. They were supportive but protective. I hadn’t told them about Flynn not wanting to get into a relationship with me because I didn’t understand that myself. Ever since the break in, he hadn’t left my side aside from holiday gatherings. When I told them about Gerald, they were ready to kill, and Mags had been contacting her family to threaten them if they were hiding him but they assured her they weren’t. It was January, and they still hadn’t found him. I was supposed to text them nightly updates about both Flynn and Gerald.
Unease settled on my mind as a loud banging came from my front door. I jumped up and rushed to the security monitor in my bedroom. The panic dissipated when I saw who was at my front door. It was Flynn.
I rushed to open the door and stared at him. He was soaked to the bone, shivering in the cold rain. His irises were threaded scarlet. I reached out and pulled him into the heat of my home and locked the door behind us.
He didn’t say anything, but he did what I asked him to do like he was on autopilot. I started a hot shower for him and grabbed him a fresh pair of clothes he’d left a few days ago. He was quiet when he took the clothes and went into the bathroom without so much of a glance my way.
What the hell was going on? I’d never seen him like that. I pursed my lips as I made my way to the kitchen. He’d been so cold his lips were turning blue. I heated up leftover soup as he finished showering.
He came in and sat on the island with clean, dry clothes. I heaved a sigh of relief. His color was returning. I put a bowl of soup in front of him, and he hesitated.
“Flynn, you need something warm in your system.” I narrowed my eyes before he picked up the spoon and started eating. “Why on earth didn’t you drive here?”
He shrugged and ate the soup in silence. A few minutes, later he finally said something. “My truck died.”
I clutched the locket around my neck as he lifted his gaze to mine. “So you walked in the freezing rain to my house? That’s a two mile walk.”
He shifted his eyes to the side and swallowed hard. “Oliver’s dead.”
I dropped the locket and covered my mouth. No wonder he’d been so distraught. I’d only seen that look on someone who’d lost someone close to them. “What happened?”
“Shot himself in the head. His wife came home and found him. She called me and told me.” His eyes locked on mine, even as his lips trembled and his shoulders heaved with emotion. His dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears. A lone tear trailed down his cheek, and one became millions. A sob wracked through him, heaving, tearing from his throat.
My heart broke at the sight of him. I rounded the counter and wrapped myself around him, holding him tight. He sobbed into my chest, hands clutching at my shirt. I held him in silence as his tears soaked my chest. The pain must have come in waves, minutes of sobbing broken apart by small pauses for recovering breaths.
I’d never seen Flynn cry, but I was thankful he allowed himself to mourn instead of bottling it away. When he cried there was a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound.
He pulled back, looking exhausted from the let down of emotions. He was a picture of grief, loss, and devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered death before and didn't know if he could do it again. I knew he’d lost his comrades overseas, many of them. But none of them had killed themselves. They’d been killed. Oliver was different, and they were close. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel in his position. I’d never had anyone close to me commit suicide.
“I’d known he was struggling. I fucking knew it. But I didn’t think he’d do something so stupid. I didn’t think he’d kill himself.” He sagged back in his seat, his arms fell loosely to the side.
“You couldn’t have stopped him, Flynn. It was his decision.”
“I know.” He stared at the ceiling. “He said he was getting help, seeing some therapist but PTSD fucking sucks. It makes you question everything. He was so happy
