Page 18 of Chasing Kit

“I need a bedroom for Kit and me,” I ordered, my voice firm with military authority. “If we’re being forced to stay here, we deserve privacy.”

Thor rolled his eyes and approached us, gesturing for me to follow. I shifted Kit against my side. He was light, so half-dragging him when he couldn’t walk straight wasn’t difficult. He giggled, laid his head on my shoulder, and mumbled something I couldn’t understand as I carried him out of the barroom and up the stairs.

We ascended to the mansion’s second floor. The design was simple, and I didn’t need a map to find the room Thor was leading us to. The house was pleasant, with soft, earthy tones and a clean, spartan feel that unexpectedly eased some of my temper. I gave Thor a solemn nod of thanks before throwing open the door and helping Kit inside.

It wasn’t even midday, and if Derek found out Kit had chugged an entire growler of beer on my watch, he’d have my head.

“I’m tired,” Kit grumbled, leaning heavily against me. “And you’re so hot. Have I told you that?” He laughed, and I wondered how much he’d had before the growler came into play. “I’ve jerked off thinking about you so many damn times.”

I froze halfway across the room and swallowed. He was drunk and spouting nonsense. I couldn’t take anything he said seriously. Derek would kill me if he knew the thoughts I’d already had about Kit, but if I acted on them? I’d be six feet under. The man was a walking tripwire.

“Come on. You’re drunker than a soldier on his last night of leave.”

He giggled. “You have such a way with words. Are you sure you’re a criminal?” His eyes narrowed on me, and he poked my chest. “You’re former military, right?” He hiccupped, slapped a hand over his mouth, and his cheeks bloomed bright red—as if that was the worst I’d seen another man do. I held back the urge to roll my eyes. It was another reminder that Kit was too young and innocent for me.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

The guest room was nicer than my apartment back in New Gothenburg. A massive mahogany four-poster bed dominated the space. I guided him toward it, my mind still reeling from his words.

In one corner stood a desk that matched the bed, with a black office chair. To the right, another door suggested a closet, a bathroom, or perhaps both.

“Wow.” Kit blinked, as if just noticing our surroundings. “This is really nice.”

I grunted in agreement and guided him toward the bed. He tripped, but I held him steady before tossing him onto the mattress. He groaned, landing face-first, then crawled to the center before collapsing.

“Why did I drink?” he grumbled into the pillow.

I snorted. “Yes, why? You’ve never had a sip of beer in your life.”

He laughed, a half-choked sound as if he lacked the energy to fake it. “A lot’s happened to me over the last twenty-four hours.”

I shook my head and sat in the office chair by the desk. “It’s a lot to process.” My voice was rougher than I’d intended. “But there are worse things than finding out your dad breaks the law, Kit. He does it to make sure you have a good life.”

“It’s more than that!” He groaned, burying his face in the fluffy white pillow. “He’s killed people.”

I leaned back in the chair. “So have I.” The words were quiet, meant more for myself. “Everyone’s a killer in their own way. With words, with money, with ignorance. It’s all just collateral damage.” The old anger from my SEAL days rose up, thick and choking. “We killed children because they were about to kill us. Everyone kills. I’ve killed⁠—”

Soft snores interrupted me, and my gaze shot to Kit. His back rose and fell with his deep breaths, and I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Part of me was happy he hadn’t heard me. It had been a long time since I’d let that part of my life affect me. I had learned to hide it in my dreams, where I could relive the nightmare again and again.

I let my head fall into my palms and rubbed them over my face. As I screwed my eyes shut, the child’s face came back to me—that gap-toothed grin, the way he’d had to plant his feet wide just to hold the launcher steady. Ten years old, maybe. He’d known exactly what he was doing.

So had I.

“Fuck this.” I shot to my feet, pacing away from the bed. I stared at Kit’s sleeping form, the rise and fall of his back, the soft snores filling the quiet room. A strange lightness eased the tension in my chest, and I realized my mouth had curled into a faint smile. I scrubbed a hand over my face, erasing it.

No. That couldn’t happen.

I stalked to the window and threw open the curtains, scanning the beach below. The waves crashed, a familiar rhythm that pulled at something deep in my chest. It smelled like home, like the life I’d traded for a uniform and my mom’s silence. A raw yawn tore through me, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours hitting all at once. The cross-country flight, the hunt through grainy footage, and the two bodies I’d left cooling. It was a different kind of war, but the fatigue felt the same. The one that ate you from the inside out.

I glanced at the bed. It was wide enough for two of us, so I wouldn’t be touching him. Mind made up, I walked over there and kicked off my shoes. As soon as I slid onto the blankets, the fatigue hit me all at once, the kind that waits until you stop moving to collect what it’s owed. The mattress was so damned comfortable and my body had forgotten what that felt like. I sank into the bed, and before I knew it, my eyes closed.

6

KIT

I woke up to a revolt in my gut and a hammer in my skull. I groaned, face in my hands, trying to push away the memory of earlier. Chugging beer until the world blurred, and worse, dissolving into a blubbering mess in front of War. The shame was a physical thing, hot and acidic in my throat. I felt like shit. And I was so fucking embarrassed.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. If I opened my eyes, would I see disappointment in War’s? No, probably not. He wasn’t Dad, even if War had ordered me not to drink. He’d probably be more furious. He reminded me of the soldier he was, the kind of man used to following and giving orders. Having someone—me—disobey him would piss him off.