I’ve been to hell, Alex.” My voice was low, but I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t ashamed. It was a misery no one should ever have to recall. It was one I thought Alex couldn’t never understand. Seeing those scars, seeing just how damn deep her wounds ran, I thought maybe I was wrong.
Those big eyes, dark as midnight, more haunted than any I’d seen in the desert, cut right into me, looking hard, maybe realizing that there had never been a Boy Scout. There had only ever been the fighter. I hated seeing that from her—the understanding that I wasn’t safe, I wasn’t completely whole. Finally, she blinked, moving toward the door with those wide, big eyes taking in my reaction, my worry.
“Yeah, I guess you have. But that’s the difference between you and me, Ryan.
I still live there.”