Darkest Before Dawn

“No,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You were kind to me, but I learned that betrayal follows kindness, and so I wouldn’t acknowledge you. I couldn’t. It was the only way I could survive because I couldn’t allow myself the one thing that had the power to completely destroy me. Hope.”

“Shhh, you will not apologize. I would serve with you any day of the week, Honor Cambridge. You have the heart of a Marine, and that’s a fact. Now, can I tell Anthony to resume driving?”

She smiled and then impulsively hugged him, craving what she’d long been bereft of. Human touch. Contact. Comfort. Not since . . .

No, she wouldn’t go there. What she’d shared or rather what Hancock had taken from her didn’t count. Because it wasn’t real.

As if sensing her need for that contact, humanity, he hugged her back ever so gently but no less encompassing and for long moments he merely held her, allowing her to clutch at him while she collected herself.

Finally she pulled away and braced herself, and allowed hope and relief to flood the very depths of her hollow soul.

Excitement began to burn as she caught sight of her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. She half expected her entire family to be on the front lawn waiting, but Kyle had said he’d gone ahead to prepare them, which likely meant he’d told them how fragile she was.

When they pulled to a stop behind her mother’s familiar minivan, Honor sat, frozen to her seat as she hungrily drank in the sight of what she thought she’d never see again. Uncertainty gripped her and her palms grew sweaty, and she recognized the signs of yet another impending panic attack.

Kyle reached over and took her hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said quietly.

She smiled at him. Really smiled, and he seemed delighted.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“Forgive the corny thing I’m about to say, but it has truly been an honor to know you, Honor Cambridge.”

She squeezed his hand back and then drew in a deep cleansing breath, the wheeze floating away as her lungs opened fully, allowing her to breathe easy once more.

“Let’s do this,” she said.

CHAPTER 43

CYNTHIA Cambridge threw up her hands, despair radiating from her eyes as she faced her family—minus Honor, who was holed up in the library, her sanctuary. Everyone had gathered. Brad had come from work, no questions asked. Keith had secured release from fall training from his team the minute he’d received the news of Honor’s return home, and he had yet to return. Tate and Scott owned multiple local businesses and both made their homes nearby so they had been there in minutes. Mandie, like Keith, had yet to return to her job.

They all looked to their mother—wife—worry tight in their chests. Cynthia looked worn and haggard, so much grief in her expression that they all feared the worst.

“This has to end,” Cynthia said, near tears.

Mike, her husband, pulled his wife into his arms, his distress as great as hers, though he held it tightly reined because he sensed just how close his beloved wife was to her breaking point.

“She’s not getting better. She’s sick. She won’t talk about it—anything.”

“We knew this wouldn’t be easy, Mom,” Brad, her oldest son, said.

He was in uniform and had come when his father had called, telling him he was needed at home. His deputies could hold down the fort in his absence. Family—his sister—was more important.

“She’s recovering physically,” Tate said cautiously. “A breeze would have knocked her over when she first came back. She’s gained weight. She’s eating.”

“I agree with Mom,” Mandie said firmly. “She’s recovering from her wounds, her injuries. In fact, you can barely see them. Except her wrists,” she added with a frown.

The Marine who’d brought Honor home to them had said that her wrists and ankles had been so tightly manacled that the metal had to be pried from her flesh. But there were underlying wounds. Cuts that had been stitched. They didn’t know, but they suspected . . . However, no one ever mentioned it because it meant acknowledging just how bad it must have been for Honor to have tried to take her own life. And it was more than they could bear to have it confirmed that she’d been so desperate as to try to end her misery.

“But she is sick,” Mandie continued. “Something’s wrong with her. She can’t keep anything down. She’s pale and so fragile. I’m worried. Really worried. I think we should take her to the doctor.”

Her father sighed. Honor had refused to go back to the doctor after the preliminary examinations, treatments and vitamin regimen she’d been placed on. She’d refused counseling, even though all of them urged her to talk to someone, because she wasn’t talking to them. And if something didn’t give soon, she was going to shatter, and he wasn’t sure they’d get her back this time. If his wife and daughter planned to take Honor to the doctor, they were going to have one hell of a fight on their hands.

“We’ve all been careful with Honor. Maybe too careful,” Cynthia acknowledged. “But now we have to present a united front and give her no choice. Mandie and I are taking her to the doctor. I’ve already called the clinic, and they’ll see her today.”

“And you wanted us here for the extra muscle,” Keith said wryly.

“No. For support,” his mother corrected. “We love her and I refuse to let her waste away into nothing. She may hate me, but at least she’ll be alive to do it.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">