“But the scar is so small. Not even the size of a dime.”
“That’s the entry wound. The exit wound in my back was the size of this.”
He looks up and holds up his fist. It’s as big as a grapefruit. I swallow, feeling my stomach turn.
“How did you survive?”
“I almost didn’t.” He shrugs. “But I did.”
He’s so nonchalant about it, like dying is no big deal. Or maybe it’s his own life he thinks is no big deal.
Maybe he doesn’t think it’s worth much.
I flatten my palms over his broad chest and look into his eyes. “I’m glad you did,” I say softly. “I don’t think I’d have ever been happy again if I hadn’t met you.”
Though he tries not to show it, I see how much my words affect him. His eyes flash. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
In a rough voice, he says, “You would’ve met someone.”
