The quiet ringtone of the phone in my pocket goes off.
"Thanks for hosting me, ma'am," I say and reach in to grab it.
"Have a nice weekend, Petr!"
I smile and turn away, emerging into the now deserted hallways. The text is longer than my father's five-word maximum and far shorter than my sister's text-novels. My step slows as I read it.
Having a bad day. Thought you might want to talk? If not, I understand. But I'd be happy to see you, Petr.
My heart skips a beat, as usual. And as usual, I know I shouldn't be drawn in again. My ex has a way of yanking me back no matter how many times I swear I won't let her.
The old me, the person I used to be before the incident, would've been able to walk away by now. I have more than enough reasons, and only one reason why I can't close that door completely.
I'm not who I used to be, as much as I wish I were. I didn't just lose my leg in battle, I lost my best friend and brother, and he took pieces of me with him the night he gave his life to save mine. I honor - and question - his sacrifice every day. There's a small part of me that doubts I'm good enough to be the one who survived.
So even knowing I shouldn't agree to meet her, I continue to do so, because the sliver of me that remains broken from the incident in Iraq fears taking a chance on anyone else. I know I'm a back up, just like I know that the walls around my heart are never at risk when it comes to Brianna.
It's a safe existence. I take no chances. I don't get hurt. Living with Mikael's death daily is enough suffering for me.
Even if I don't like how this feels.
I send her a response and pocket the phone. Reaching the doors leading into the courtyard of the sprawling compound, I push them open and stride out into the chilly mid-November air. The sky is overcast, and piles of maroon and gold leaves are at the feet of the trees in the grassy square at the center of the cluster of buildings making up the middle and high schools.
"What's the best way to kill someone?"
I face Todd, who pushes away from the wall of the building. He's still clutching his backpack. He's clearly waiting for me; no one else is in the courtyard. The children are boarding the buses lining the crescent driveway in front of the school or hopping in the cars of their parents through the side entrance.