Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

was fifteen, they were as crazy in love as ever. People aren’t jigsaw puzzles, Dana. Sometimes people don’t fit until they rub up against each other, chisel the rough edges and the shields away. The more they want it to work, the more willing they are to do that rubbing.”

She tightened her arms across herself. “I don’t want to try, Peter. I don’t want anything. I just want you to go.”

He stared down into her face; then he nodded, straightened. “Okay. I’ll just do one more thing.” He went to the front door, found what he was looking for and returned. Moving to the side table by the couch, he flipped open the top of the decorative box so it clattered loudly against the cheap wood.

Dana’s head went up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m burning these letters. You don’t want anything, so they don’t mean anything, right?

I mean, if what’s in them isn’t strong enough to weather one of us getting hurt, what’s the point? Hell, I guess I’m glad it wasn’t me who got blown up, because you would have ditched my ass in a heartbeat.”

“Peter, we don’t have a relationship. I’m not going to tie you to me because—”

“You’re not going to do anything to me, sweetheart. I came here on my own. If there’s any tying to be done, I’m the one who’ll be doing it.” Lighting the edge of one envelope, he waved it to let the smoke drift her way.

Her face transformed. She hadn’t thought he’d do it, obviously, but he hadn’t realized she’d charge across the room toward him, a thin scream tearing loose from her throat.

She hit the coffee table full throttle, slamming it against the sofa as she stumbled forward.

“Shit.” Dropping the paper into the metal ash bucket he’d brought in, he leaped for her, catching her right before she fell onto the glass top. But she twisted, making him follow her down as she writhed to the floor, turning on him like a wild animal.

“Those aren’t yours. You can’t burn them. Stop.” She scrambled to her feet, trying to fight past him, trying to get to them, even though she was facing a different direction, disoriented. The expression on her face was horrific. Twisted, desolate, enraged. Hanging on grimly and praying Christina was a heavy sleeper, he raised his voice to catch Dana’s attention.

“Dana, settle down. I didn’t burn them. They’re fine. Listen to me, damn it.”

She stopped, panting, her clawed fingers clutching his arms, her muscles still banded in full resistance. She was so weak, though. Her attempts to push against him were

comparable to village kids he’d playfully wrestled in Afghanistan. The thought snapped his control and he brought her to her back on the carpet, looming over her.

“I burned some blank stationery Christina left on the table. But goddamn it, I will not leave you here. I don’t care if I have to fucking carry you, kicking and screaming, between here and Baton Rouge. I will do it. You’re not staying here. This isn’t living.”

“I don’t want to go. Doesn’t that matter? Freedom, freedom, freedom. That’s my safe word to let me go and fuck off.” She snarled it in his face, and then lost it, all those nerves strung tight beneath him spasming as she disintegrated into a full-blown thrashing, screaming tantrum. He had no choice but to pin her full-body, keep his hands cupped behind her head so that she couldn’t slam her skull repeatedly against the wood floor. She beat at him, tried to kick, sank her teeth into his shoulder through his T-shirt. Like one of those terriers he’d written her about. Small, tough and honest.

She was broken into a hundred pieces, and couldn’t see to pick any of them up. But he could see every one of them. He would figure out how to bring them back together.

Pressing his face into the side of her head, he squeezed his lids tight, not wanting to let unmanly tears fall when her screams became sobs, a keening wail of pain.

He expected Christina to burst in, but when she didn’t, he remembered her words. She’sangry. A lot. This wasn’t the first meltdown she’d heard. It made him relieved and furious at once. He pushed the latter aside with effort.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said roughly. “I’ve got you. I’m not letting you go.”

“You can’t. . . . I’m already gone.”

“No, you’re not, damn it.” He fished for something, anything. “I asked you a question at the end of every one of those letters. You remember?”

It took a while, but at last she nodded. When he warily lifted some of his weight off her, her nose was running. She worked her hand up underneath the weight of him to wipe at it gracelessly, her eyes still streaming in silent anguish. He swallowed.

“I asked you if you’d ever thought about a different career, other than the army. What was your answer to that?”

She sniffled, shook her head. “I . . . I can’t do that anymore.”

“What was it?” He wouldn’t reassure her yet. If it was something that required sight and hearing, well, they’d figure out something else she could do and love.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could still see, another way she could hide. “I wanted to be a minister. Give people . . . faith, and hope, that life could be better.”

He stared down at her as the tears increased. She turned her face into the carpet to let the sobs take her anew. Setting his jaw, Peter rose and lifted her off the carpet in one motion.

“We’re going,” he said.

“You owe me such an astronomical favor, I could demand your first-born. I’ve met Middle Eastern terrorist leaders less intimidating than that nurse friend of yours. She agreed to three days before calling the cops, but only because I said you’d call her with progress reports and let her talk to Dana whenever she wanted to. She said either way she’s going to have