Текст книги "Collateral Damage"

Автор книги: Kaylea Cross

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Her refusal to see that floored him. She was acting on some misguided sense of guilt and responsibility, one he was sure her parents and probably Charity herself had sharpened to a fine point over the past few days.

“Well knowing we’re still planning to get married would definitely make her worse.” She gave a hollow, humorless laugh and shook her head. “I don’t see any other option.”

She was quitting on them. Giving up without thinking about him or herself. It was all about her family. Always would be.

Liam dragged a hand down his face, wanting to scream in frustration. “They’ve had you alone for the past four days, probably working on you the whole time, giving you guilt trip after guilt trip. God, you’ve basically allowed them to brainwash you against me.” That infuriated him. How the hell did she not see what was really going on here?

“Brainwash me? Like I’m too weak and stupid to think for myself?” She narrowed her eyes and thrust her index finger at him. “Screw. You.”

The show of fire heartened him. “Then don’t quit on us—stand up and fight for what you want and stop letting them run your life!”

“I don’t let them run my life, Liam! But losing one sister was enough, and I guess that’s something you’ll never understand. God, this is just pointless!”

“Pointless?” he echoed, stunned. “You and I? Getting married and making a life together, is pointless?”

She aimed a withering glare at him. “Don’t twist my words. You know exactly what I meant.”

“Not sure I do. In fact, I’m starting to think I was wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you.”

Honor’s chin rose, her eyes flashing. “Guess none of that matters now, does it?” Her voice was bitter as she cast a pointed glance at the ring on the counter.

The finality of her tone made a tendril of fear wrap around the base of his spine, its icy fingers curling around his tautly stretched nerves.

Liam shook his head slowly, fighting to keep his voice even. Calm down. Keep talking to her. “You said you couldn’t live with yourself if something happened to Charity, but can you live with yourself if you walk away from us? Knowing you did it because your family’s controlling you?” He waited a beat before finishing. “If you leave like this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” It sounded like a warning, and maybe it was. But he was sick and tired of this bullshit, sick at heart that she would give him up so easily, walk away from their life together.

Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe, but don’t worry about it because I’m not your problem anymore.” She whirled and strode for the door.

No.

Terror and desperation shot through him. Without thinking he bolted after her. His heart was hammering as he caught her in the foyer and turned her, pulling her into his arms to crush her to his chest.

She struggled against him. Her face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking with the force of the silent sobs she was fighting to hold in. “Let me go.” She shoved at his shoulders, hard.

Liam held her tighter. He couldn’t let her go. He was terrified that if he did she’d walk out that door and he’d never see her again.

“Don’t do this,” he begged hoarsely against her temple, crumbling inside. Honor wasn’t the type to make empty threats or do something like this on a whim. No, she meant it and was prepared to go through with it. He had one last shot to change her mind, right now, before he lost her forever. So no, even he wasn’t above begging if that’s what it took to make her stay and work this out.

“You said you still love me,” he whispered brokenly. He was holding onto that for all it was worth. It had to be enough. He squeezed her tighter. “I know you’re scared and I know you’re hurting but… Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. Please.”

Don’t leave me.

She’d never know how much it cost him to beg her this way, but he was so damn scared right now he didn’t care how pathetic it made him look. He’d do or say fucking whatever it took to get her to listen to reason, make her change her mind.

Anything except agreeing to live a lie and hide his true feelings for her from the rest of the world, no matter what the reason.

A sob tore out of her.

Honor stopped shoving at him. She wound her arms around his back and squeezed so hard he felt the muscles in her arms tremble. Liam closed his eyes and pressed his face against her hair, that painful bubble of hope surfacing again. He could feel her torment, her pain. If he could just calm her down long enough to get her to listen, really listen and then think this through…

“Sweet pea, just listen to me,” he began softly.

“No, I can’t.” Honor tore away from him and grabbed the doorknob. Before he could recover enough to reach out and stop her, she’d slammed the door shut behind her.

Gone.

A strange roaring filled his ears. Outside he heard her car start up and drive away.

Too stunned to move, he stared blankly at the closed door, an unbearable pain splitting his chest as though she’d just slashed his ribs open with a KA-BAR and carved his heart out.

She’d just walked away from the promise she’d made when she’d said she’d marry him. She’d walked away from the dream of their future together. She’d walked away from him and all his love, because it hadn’t been enough.

Liam didn’t go after her. He knew there was no point and the tiny amount of pride he had left prevented him from chasing after her like a pet dog she’d abandoned at the side of the road, desperate for her love and the chance to be with her.

The eerie silence of the house settled around him, brittle and cold.

He’d just lost the only woman he’d ever loved. Now it felt like he was dying inside.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, frozen in his foyer as the shock slowly wore off. Finally he made himself cross to the door, every step an effort. His hand shook as he turned the deadbolt home, his stomach churning.

Splaying one hand over the cool wood, he leaned his forehead against it and squeezed his eyes shut as a hot flood of tears stung his eyes. He stood there alone, slowly bleeding to death from the gaping wound where his heart had been only minutes before.

Chapter Ten

Finishing a quick snack in the hangar, Honor rubbed at the back of her neck in an attempt to ease the pounding headache that had become worse as the day wore on. She’d already taken a handful of ibuprofen several hours ago and it hadn’t helped much. Her doctor and Erin had both explained that she’d likely have headaches for a few days or even weeks after the concussion, partially caused by sore neck muscles she’d pulled during her fall.

That wasn’t what bothered her the most though. In addition to the aches and pains, the way she’d left things with Liam made her feel like shit on the bottom of someone’s boot.

“Hey, Ms. Girard,” Smithers called out.

Honor took a swig of water and headed toward him where he stood off to the side cleaning some equipment. When she was within ten feet of him she nodded. “What’s up?”

He shot a look over toward the 60 the crew was working on, then back to her. “You talk to Ipman today?”

“Not outside of shop talk, no. Why?”

He lowered his voice. “Things aren’t, ah… Not all is quiet on the home front, if you know what I mean.”

She glanced over at the soldier in question, then back to Smithers. “His wife isn’t excited that he’s coming home early?”

“Apparently not.” His grave expression made Honor’s heart sink as she read between the lines.

“Wait. Is she cheating on him?”

Smithers winced. “Sounds like it. He thinks so, anyway.”

Ah, hell. Ipman had been up and down since she’d first met him and things had been tough for him when they’d first deployed here, but he’d seemed to be doing so much better. “When did he find out?”

“Think he’s been suspicious for a while now, but it kind of all came to a head when he called to tell her we were coming home early. At least, that’s the way I heard it.”

She grunted, angry on her soldier’s behalf. “I’ll bet that piece of unexpected news put a serious damper on her plans.” The woman had two elementary-aged kids at home and she worked full time. Seriously, when the hell did she even have time for an affair?

Honor blew out a breath and rubbed her neck harder. “I’ll talk to him. What about Andrews? He doing any better?” She spotted him near the entrance of the hangar, talking to one of the Afghan locals who worked as a janitor. The guys rarely talked to her about personal problems unless it was really serious, instead keeping it to themselves or maybe telling Smithers.

The master sergeant made a face. “Same old same old, you know how he is. But this week he’s been pretty good. Well, comparatively speaking.”

Andrews had been an intermittent pain in her ass over the last fourteen months he’d been assigned to her unit. And she couldn’t lie, it was wearing on her to constantly have to deal with his bullshit, so if he was having a good week, all the better for everyone. Her official duties included manager and maintainer, but her unofficial ones included marriage counselor and even babysitter when the occasion called for it.

Luckily, she wasn’t afraid to give one of her people a swift kick in the ass when they deserved it. “How’d his wife take the news about him coming home early?”

“Don’t think she was overly thrilled, but at least she’s not cheating on him. That we know of, anyway,” he said dryly.

“Well there’s a silver lining for you,” she murmured.

Smithers grinned. “Just thought you should know.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll talk to Ipman.”

She waited another two hours, until there was a lull in the job. “Hey, Ipman.” He glanced up at her from the deck of the Black Hawk. “Let’s go grab a bite.”

He set down his tools and wiped his hands on a rag. “Sure, ma’am.”

When they were outside with no one in earshot, she said, “So I hear things aren’t going so well for you at home right now.”

At that Ipman lost his perpetually cocky attitude and lowered his gaze, his shoulders sagging. He expelled a deep breath. “Jane’s screwing some other guy.”

She hid a wince. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Found some suspicious stuff on her Facebook page and when I dug a little deeper I found out she’s been screwing him for the last four months.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Sounds fucking stupid, I know, but the four month part is way harder to take than the whole cheating thing. I mean, if she’d just fucked some guy once while I was gone I think maybe I could’ve forgiven her someday, but to hook up with him for that long? No.” He shook his head. “There’s no way she’d be doing that with someone for that long unless she had feelings for the guy. She said she fell out of love with me a long time ago, and it took meeting him to make her face it.”

Ouch. “I’m really sorry.” There was nothing else to say that wouldn’t sound patronizing or stupid.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He walked beside her in silence for a minute, maybe gathering his thoughts as their boots crunched over the gravel. “She’ll stay in the house and I’ll crash at a friend’s while I’m home. We’ll have to figure out a visitation schedule for the girls, I guess. Whole shitty-ass mess to work out.”

God. Honor prayed the wife wouldn’t have her boyfriend staying with her while Ipman was back in town.

He shot her a sidelong glance, a frown creasing his brow. “Think I should ask her to go to counseling while I’m home?”

Honor concealed her surprise at the question. Most guys she knew looked at counseling as a form of torture, and it could end up in his record. Marital problems were fairly common for military families so the Army had resources for it, namely the Military Family Life Counselors. Still, the fact that he’d even considered it made it clear he wasn’t ready to let the marriage go. Honor’s heart went out to him.

“Would she go?” Because to her it didn’t really sound like Ipman’s wife was interested in trying to save the marriage.

“I dunno.” He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “God, I never saw this coming, you know? I mean, I expected things to be tough with me gone so much, but I never thought she’d cheat on me. We’re not perfect, but we’re still a family.” His voice cracked a little on the last word and Honor had to look away, her own conscience pricking her.

She and Liam could have been a family too. That solid, unshakable unit is something they’d both wanted, but she understood that in some ways it had been even more important for Liam. She exhaled. “Let’s go grab something and we’ll talk this out, okay?”

They sat across from each other at the end of a long rectangular table, away from anyone else. She stayed quiet as Ipman poured his heart out, promising him that this was all off the record. Unless it interfered with his job or he posed a risk to himself or anyone else, none of this needed to be reported. Right now he simply needed someone he trusted to listen to him.

He pushed his food around his plate as he spoke, mostly in bursts as he paused to process everything. He’d eaten around half of his meal when he finally sat back and gave her a brave smile. “I really appreciate you making time for me, ma’am.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, waving his thanks away. “You’re one of my best soldiers and I care about what happens to you.”

Ipman shook his head slightly, a rueful smile curving his mouth. “Wish Jane was more like you.”

Honor blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You get it. You know? What it’s like to be over here, what it’s like to serve and the sacrifices that come with a military life. Jane said she could handle it, but it turns out she can’t, not even close. I think the thing that bothers me most about splitting up is not being able to see my kids whenever I’m home. I know she’ll want to move out of state, be closer to her family. If that happens, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see the girls, because with me being in the military, the courts sure as shit aren’t going to give me joint custody.”

Or she’ll move to be closer to her boyfriend, Honor thought, wherever he was. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. I thought you were thinking of counseling to start?”

“I go back and forth on that. Part of me wonders what’s the point if Jane’s heart isn’t really in it and she doesn’t love me anymore. But the other part is like, ‘No, no damn way we’re quitting on us’. We’ve got kids to consider. We both made a commitment to each other and we owe it to ourselves to try and fix this. If we loved each other once, we can get there again. Right?”

His expression was so earnest, so filled with hope, that Honor could barely hold his gaze. He had no idea how deep his words cut her. And she was probably the last person on earth he should be looking to for relationship advice.

She couldn’t lie to him about their chances. “As long as she sees it that way, then yes.” Because it took both parties to make a relationship work. A very painful lesson she’d learned the hard way.

The hope in his eyes dimmed. “Right,” he said softly, and focused back on his lunch.

Honor made herself take a bite of hers, thinking as she chewed. “If you want, we’ll get you in to talk to someone off post once we get back. I’ll ask around, see who has the best rep and make sure it’s totally off the record. You can think about it and let me know.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the meal passed with long lapses of silence interspersed with attempts at happier conversation. Ipman obviously wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and she completely understood so Honor stayed quiet. They walked back to the hangar together. He joined the others to work on the bird while she organized a crew for another job and filled out more paperwork.

She juggled various duties up until dinnertime, then stopped for a break. After she’d eaten and taken more pain meds she went back to check on her guys and was met at the hangar door by a grim-faced Smithers. Honor’s stomach knotted when she saw that look on his face. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“You didn’t hear?”

Oh, God. “Hear what?” The other guys were all watching her now too. Her heart started beating faster.

“A 47 went down to enemy fire about an hour ago, with a team of SEALs on board. CSAR’s being dispatched now.”

Oh, no. “Survivors?”

“Don’t know.” His deep brown eyes were full of sympathy. “Word is it’s a SOAR bird.”

Honor blanched, then turned and rushed back to HQ to get more intel.

****

The faintest line of orange highlighted the western horizon as Liam took his Chinook to cruising altitude high above the rugged mountain peaks beneath them. High enough that it pushed the upper limit of the aircraft, and hopefully out of range of AAA or small arms fire, both reported in the area where they were going. A firefight was still ongoing, so they knew there were survivors from the crash. One thousand feet below him flew both the MH-60s escorting them, and the two Apache gunships were out in front.

“Seventeen minutes to the TLZ,” he said over the ICS, alerting his crew and the CSAR team in the back. A platoon of SEALs tasked with the rescue effort of their teammates, as well as two PJs sent along to treat casualties—Cam Munro and Jackson Thatcher, guys he knew.

The taskforce was going in fast and hard to their tactical landing zone at the crash site to help the survivors. He hoped there were many. Once they secured the site they’d evacuate the wounded, recover the dead and destroy sensitive equipment and intel inside the downed Chinook before leaving. The gunships and DAPs would handle any enemy force in the area while Liam handled the insertion, then the SEALs and PJs would take care of business on the ground. No fucking around.

“Hope those boys are giving ‘em hell down there,” Freeman commented from the co-pilot’s seat.

“Yeah.” No one was sure whether any of the flight crew had survived the crash. Liam and his guys knew them all. They’d trained together, shared meals, flown missions together. He didn’t dwell on what might have happened to them; he focused on his job and the promise of getting his fellow Night Stalkers back to Bagram.

The downed Chinook had been flying a SEAL platoon into an area where militants were known to be active. Intelligence officials had traced a warlord they thought was responsible for the brazen attack at Bagram the other day.

The SEALs were supposed to have done a snatch and grab, capturing him so they could use intel gathered from the ensuing interrogation to identify and locate whoever was behind the slick new propaganda campaign fueling trouble in the region. No one was sure who this new player was associated with because he didn’t seem to be affiliated with one particular group, but the intel pointed to him having worked with the infamous terrorist Rahim.

The capture hadn’t happened though. A single RPG round had changed everything in a matter of seconds, turning the mission from what should have been a straightforward capture into a major CSAR operation.

Liam was already doing everything in his power to get backup to them as fast as possible, and the weather was in his favor tonight. Visibility was optimal and the sky was clear as glass, but that also meant they had no concealment. The fading light would help, though the combined noise of all the aircraft would draw any remaining hostiles to the crash site.

As he flew, periodic updates arrived from the ops center: reports on conditions at the drop zone and any other new intel they considered pertinent to the mission. He updated the others. “Ten minutes to target. Latest satellite images show enemy patrols within one hundred meters of the target.” In the back they’d all be checking their gear and his FE would make sure the fast rope was ready to go.

Liam wasn’t going to set down for this one, there wasn’t enough room at the crash site and it was too risky. Once the gunships helped clear some of the enemy fighters he was going to get his guys as close to the crash site as possible, do the insertion then pull back to a safer position until the scene had been secured. Because his bird was their lifeline out of there.

His pulse was steady as they neared the TLZ. He decreased collective and dropped down to follow the canyon cut into the mountain, using the FLIR display up front in the cockpit to help guide them through the tight terrain. Then he saw it.

A 47 lay up ahead on a gently sloping wash at the far end of the canyon, its back broken between the forward and aft rotors, the fuselage crumpled like a crushed soda can from the impact. It must have hit the top of the hill first, then rolled down. Smoke still billowed out from the wreckage, either caused from the initial explosion when the rocket had hit, or from the impact with the ground.

“Jesus,” Freeman muttered, and flooded the area with the Chinook’s infrared spotlight.

Liam didn’t respond, too busy manipulating the cyclic and pedals to get the bird into position. Through the infrared display up front he could see heat signatures moving around, confirming there were still survivors.

Once he received the radio countdown with one of the SEALs on the ground, he hung back slightly with the DAPs to wait as the gunships rolled ahead to clear off the mountainside. The pulse of the tandem rotors throbbed distantly over the chatter coming in through his headset as he used the cyclic and pedals to counteract the gusting cross winds cutting through the canyon.

Up ahead the Apaches opened fire on the tangos. Through his NVGs the battlefield lit up in a bright green light show as rounds spewed from the chain guns mounted beneath the fuselages. As he worked the controls to maintain the hover, Freeman painted the battlefield with the Chinook’s lasers, picking up the ground team’s infrared strobes and the reflectors on some of the men’s shoulders.

Liam could see what was left of the SEAL platoon around the crash site, and enemy fighters scrambling down the slope, trying to escape. A second later, one of the 64s unleashed a Hellfire missile. It exploded near the main body of tangos closest to the crash site, cleaving away part of the hillside and taking the attackers with it.

That was Liam’s cue.

With the DAPs providing muscle and his crew manning the helo’s weapons, he did a fast fly-over to check the terrain. Spotting no surprises, he coordinated with the other pilots and executed a tight turn, banking hard left to bring them around.

He wasted no time on the approach, zooming in fast and low. His crew and the DAPs engaged what was left of the enemy assault force, assisting the beleaguered ground team. Liam went into a hover and alerted his FE, who deployed the fast rope. Out of view below the helo’s belly, the CSAR team would drop one by one to the ground and fan out in a circle.

Liam worked the controls to hold the big aircraft steady, not allowing himself to think of anything beyond that. He tuned out the sounds of the minigun firing from the right shoulder window and banished the instant image of Honor it brought to mind. His heart rate remained steady until he heard the distinctive, tinny pops that signaled they were taking fire.

Liam’s hands automatically tightened around the controls, his body tensing as the memory of the last time they’d taken fire bombarded his brain. They couldn’t risk releasing chaff at this range without endangering friendlies on the ground. All he could do was wait until the insertion was done and hope his gunners and the DAPs could protect them from serious damage.

“Yates,” he said sharply.

“We’re okay,” the FE replied. The miniguns opened up again. “The boys are taking care of ‘em and all systems are functional.”

Pulse thudding, Liam steeled himself against the sound of more rounds tearing into the left side of the fuselage. Shit.

Finally Yates’s voice came over his headset again. “All clear.”

Liam immediately pulled collective, shooting them up and out of the canyon where the rounds could no longer reach them. He adjusted the collective for maximum cruising power and checked the gauges. Indicated air speed, true air speed, ground speed, fuel, vertical speed indicator—all good.

The missile warning system shrieked.

He jerked his head around to look out his window in time to see the countermeasures release. Immediately he initiated evasive maneuvers. Freeman was silent and tense beside him as the helo bucked and twisted under Liam’s hand. Something impacted the west side of the canyon wall and exploded, making the entire aircraft shudder.

“Guess we know the intel was right,” Yates said.

“Fucking triple-A,” Freeman muttered, searching through his own window to ascertain the source.

“Do you see it?” Liam asked sharply.

“No, but that shot came from that way—maybe from under that ledge down there.” He pointed out his side.

Liam’s heart was pounding, his palms clammy as he steadied the aircraft. “Shit, that was way too fucking close.” Just as he moved them to what he hoped was a safer location, one of the Apaches moved in and fired another missile in the vicinity where the AAA had been.

“Target neutralized,” the pilot said a few moments later.

Liam breathed out a sigh of relief and forced his heart rate and breathing back under control. Then the SEAL platoon leader on the CSAR team contacted him to request extraction. “Roger that. Stand by,” Liam replied.

There was barely enough room for him to land on the ledge where the team was waiting. He wound up having to perch the back wheels on the edge of it, with the front of the aircraft hovering in the air in order for Yates to lower the ramp. The team began loading their wounded and dead aboard.

Glancing out the co-pilot window, Liam could see two people, presumably SEALs, enter the wreckage. Had to be setting the explosives. They re-emerged a minute later, rifles up as they charged back to the waiting helo, one stopping to provide overwatch for the other.

“Everyone’s aboard,” Yates announced seconds later. “Ramp closed. Let’s do this.”

“Roger.” Liam nosed them forward off the ledge and began to climb, staying at a lower altitude than he had on the approach now that the enemy force had been neutralized.

Yates’s voice came back on. “SEALs are about to detonate the wreckage.”

“Roger.”

As he climbed the downed Chinook exploded behind them. The Apaches stayed out front, the DAPs flanking him on either side during the flight back to Bagram. Over the radio he heard Yates and the SEAL platoon leader updating command back at base. Six killed. Eight wounded.

He didn’t let himself think about it, just kept his eyes on the instrument panel, but thankfully all the readings were normal. Freeman barely said a word on the way back and Liam didn’t feel like talking either. They both knew the chances that some of their friends were among the wounded and dead in the back, and they’d find out who soon enough.

Relief slid through him when Bagram came into view out the cockpit window. The moment the wheels touched down and he began the power down sequence, medical personnel began rushing for the tail of the aircraft. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back to see what was going on but his view was blocked by men moving around.

Liam and Freemen stayed in their seats to complete the post-flight checklist while the rattle and thud of boots in the back vibrated through the metal deck. When things quieted down a little he removed his helmet and looked back into the cargo area.

Yates unplugged his ICS cord and stepped into the cockpit, dragging a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “It’s a mess back here. Only a few rounds penetrated the fuselage though. Holes should be fairly easy to patch up and I don’t think we’ve got any leaks. We’ll take a careful look at everything though.”

Liam didn’t care about any of that right now. “What about the casualties? Any of our guys?”

Yates glanced away. “Veltre and Gustafson were both KIA.”

Ah, fuck.

Liam’s jaw flexed. He knew them both pretty well. He’d just eaten dinner last night with Veltre, a twenty-eight-year-old pilot. He had a wife and child back home, and another one due in four months. Knowing neither child would have any memory of their father made Liam’s stomach hurt.

“And Blinski…I’m not sure he’ll make it either. Pretty severe burns from the looks of it.”

Liam exchanged a long look with Freeman, who shook his head in disbelief. Three fellow Night Stalkers gone in one horrible accident, three friends and comrades taken way too soon. And that triple-A gun had nearly taken them down tonight as well. If he’d died, there would have been no one to inform back home. No one to send his personal effects to. It was a sobering realization and made him immediately think of Honor.

“The other two okay?” he asked Yates.

“Think so. They looked pretty banged up though.”

Liam nodded. “I’ll go see them, do what I can for them when I’m done at HQ.”

“I’ll go with you,” Freeman said in a low voice. He’d gone through selection with Gustafson. Liam set a hand on his co-pilot’s shoulder and squeezed. Freeman nodded his thanks and started unbuckling his harness.

Muscles stiff and achy, Liam climbed out onto the tarmac and took a deep breath. The lingering scent of jet fuel tinged the cool night air as he waited for Freeman to join him. Rubbing a hand over the back of his head he turned toward the closest building but froze when he saw Honor walking up to the assembled crowd their arrival had drawn.

She studied the helo with a worried look on her face and when her gaze cut past it and landed on him, she froze as well. After staring into his eyes for a few seconds, she scanned him all over, an expression of sheer relief passing over her features as she saw he was okay.

In that moment it hit him that she was the one person outside of his regiment who would have cared if he’d died out there tonight. Somehow, despite everything that had happened and everything he’d said and done—or not done—she still cared.

Holding her gaze, Liam wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the side of her neck. Just hold her and have her hold him back, offering comfort so the loss wouldn’t hurt so much.

There was no way that was going to happen with an audience looking on. But he wanted that so much he ached.