Chapter 51

“So I went,” Clark rasped, breath coming in wheezes and harsh drags. “It was a bad hotel, god-awful. But somewhere off the map and nobody would look. It was a risk, and I didn’t give a shit. Because he was beautiful. And funny. And kind. And a damned fine soldier. He had…dark hair…and…” Clark shook. “At first it was nothing—just us in this room, staring at each other.” He stopped, flailed with one arm, and Daniel held him harder. It was as though the very air leached mental poisons with each brutal cut Clark made through the skin of secret, festering memory.