Page 74 of Breaking His Exile

It was too much noise, and he missed his mountain already. That was the honest truth of it.

“Say something,” Greta said.

“You’re not wrong.”

She waited.

“Doesn’t change anything.”

“Evander—”

He turned from the window and looked at her directly, because she deserved that much. “It doesn’t change the fundamental problem. I put people in the ground because I trusted my own judgment. Five of them. You’re telling me to stay here—” He stopped. Started again, quieter. “There are men at this ranch who are trying to rebuild. Who need this place to be what it is. And I am not—” The word got stuck somewhere. He cleared his throat. “I’m not that.”

“Not what?”

“Safe.”

Greta stared at him for a long moment. The pale green eyes didn’t soften and didn’t look away. “Says who?”

“History.”

“Your history.” She stood up from the chair, pushed it back into place with the toe of her boot, and crossed her arms. “You made a catastrophic decision in a war zone, and men died because of it. You paid for it. You’ve spent every year since paying for it again. At some point, Evander, this stopped being accountability and became punishment.”

“Greta—”

“I’m not finished.” She held up a hand. “You know what I see when I look at this place? Men who were worse than broken when they got here. Men who have done terrible things. Some made selfish choices. Some lost control. Some knew better and did it anyway. And Walker took them in anyway, because he believes people can be more than the worst thing they ever did.” She dropped her hand. “But you won’t even let yourself try.”

He stayed quiet because what could he say to that? She’d hit the nail squarely on the head.

She shook her head and moved toward the door.

“If you disappear again,” she said, her hand on the frame, “I know where you live. And I own snowshoes.”

The door closed behind her.

Evander stayed where he was and closed his eyes.

Silence.

Finally.

You won’t even let yourself try.

Fuck.

His eyes popped open. He looked toward the window again. The sparrows had moved on. The fence line sat empty.

He pressed two fingers hard against his taped ribs. The pressure gave his mind somewhere else to go. Cold water did that. Cigarette burns did it better.

At some point, Evander, this stopped being accountability and became punishment.

He dropped his hand and breathed through the lingering pain.

Another set of footsteps came down the hall.

He knew Rainey’s footsteps.

Those weren’t hers.