8. Hunter

It's torture sleeping on the sofa knowing that Kaci is upstairs in my bed. I imagine her blonde hair fanning out over the pillow, her skin brushing against my sheets leaving her feminine scent behind.

The longer I spend with Kaci, the harder I fall for the curvy blonde. I knew she was beautiful. I knew that the moment Ben showed me the photo he carried of her in his breast pocket all those years ago.

His twin, the spitting image of him in female form, except her face was softer. It lacked the worry lines and dark shadows that her brother developed once the glint of adventure had worn off and the realities of serving in a war zone had sunk in.

I thought about her then when he would pull her picture out before a mission. Most guys had a photo they kept in their breast pocket, often a girlfriend or fiancé or their parents or family. Ben was the only one who cared a picture of his twin.

I heard them talking once on a phone break. I've never heard him laugh so hard, and it made me wonder what they were talking about. I ducked behind the wall, pretending to tie my shoe so I could listen. But every time he started a sentence, he never finished it. It was as if they were talking in their own language, finishing each other's sentences and laughing at private jokes between just the two of them.

I thought about the twin when we bundled his coffin into the military plane to repatriate him and his comrades. I thought about all of them. The grief spreading through their families, the girlfriends and fiancés who would never marry their sweethearts.

But most of all I thought about Kaci. About the twin severed from her other half.

How do you get over that grief?

I didn't go back for the funerals. How could I look their families in the eye? How could I explain why I lived and they didn't?

I asked to be posted straight back into Afghanistan into the heart of the offensive. I sought out the most dangerous missions. I was called fearless and brave. I won a fucking medal, but it wasn't bravery. I just didn't care about living anymore. I wanted to join my squad to atone for what had happened.

When the bullet hit me, I opened my arms and welcomed death. But fate had other plans for me. The bullet went clean through my shoulder and out the other side.

I spent time in a recovery unit in Germany before being honorably discharged. I wasn't dead, but I was too damaged for the military.

I came back here, built the cabin, and got a job with the fire department. I kept out of people's way and tried to put the past behind me.

Until three weeks ago when the letter arrived from Kaci Peterson. Ben's twin sister.

Now I've got her upstairs in my bed.

She can't remember her brother and she's happy, in a way. If I tell her what I know, that I know who she is, then she'll remember what she's lost. She'll have to go through the grief of losing her twin all over again.

Then she'll know who I am, why she was on the mountain, and why I'm the one man she should run from. She won't want anything to do with me.

But it's her own grief I'm worried about. We had a fun time tonight, playing cards and laughing. She had fun, and I wonder from the serious lines at the edges of her eyes how often she has fun anymore.

If I tell her about her twin brother, the laughter stops. Whether she remembers the grief or not, she'll know something and she'll hate me for it. Right now I'm the only one she can turn to. I'm not much, but I'm all she's got.

It's better I don't tell her. It's better for her.

At least that's what I tell myself as I lie awake staring at the ceiling of my cabin.

I could use my laptop to search her name to find out where the rest of her family is and return her to her people.

But the thought of giving her up makes me sick. I found her, and she's mine.

I don't tell her about her brother to protect her, but not finding her people, that's all on me. I'm a selfish bastard, and I want to keep Kaci to myself. To have a few stolen days with a woman whose picture I fell in love with three years ago.