“She made her choice.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Uriah says. He slowly retreats, but not before giving me a baleful expression. One that makes me feel guilty.

“She was wounded?” Chris presses.

“She was… hurt emotionally.” I say. “After Alexander went MIA and Jeff—”

“—What about Jeff?” Chris’ eyes flash. And that’s when a horrible realization hits home.

Chris doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know that his little brother is dead.

“Chris,” I breathe. “I… I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” He stares at me, waiting. And then he starts to shake his head. “No. Not Jeff.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears, hot and salty, pool in my eyes. “He died in my arms.”

He stares at the wall, a muscle ticking in his jaw. I don’t dare touch him.

“We were retreating,” I explain, my voice trembling. “We were in the drainpipe. There was nothing I could do. I tried, I swear. I tried.” I bite my lip. I know Chris, and the best thing I can do is leave him alone while he digests this news. “He died fighting, Chris. He died like a man.” I place both hands on his face and give him a soft kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

What else can I say? What is someone supposed to say when someone you love dies? Nothing can be done about it. Nothing can be changed. There is no fix. It’s final. It’s over.

Chris doesn’t speak.

I respect his silence and slip into the hall. I need to give him some time. Chris loved his brother. He did everything he could to protect him. And now Jeff is dead, and Chris’s heart has been broken.

“He didn’t know, did he?” Uriah is standing at the bottom of the staircase. The room is empty. The gentle murmur of voices can be heard in the living room. I shake my head. Uriah folds his arms across his chest, oozing tall, dark, and brooding — like always.

“Look,” he says. “Will you promise me something?”

“Depends on the promise.”

“Don’t tell Chris about…my feelings toward you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?” I say. “You don’t think he’d like finding out that you kissed me? Without asking?”

Uriah flinches.

“I really care about you, Cassidy,” he whispers, stepping closer. “And I don’t want that to be ruined. Please, don’t tell him. Not because I’m afraid of getting my butt kicked by a SEAL, but because I care about you. I want us to be friends.”

I contemplate this.

“You should have tried being my friend first,” I remark. “But I don’t mind starting over if you don’t.”

He smiles. One of the few times Uriah True has ever done so.

“Okay, then,” he says. “To friendship?”

He offers his hand.

“To friendship,” I agree. “You’re a good guy, Uriah.”

In this moment, I realize that I may have not completely forgiven Uriah for what he has done…but I can forgive myself for everything that’s happened. I don’t need to feel guilty about losing Chris on the battlefield anymore. The problem has been dealt with. Chris is here.

It’s time to let it go.

“Should we, um, go see Derek?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Sure.” I grin. “Don’t get awkward on me, Uriah. Friends aren’t awkward.”

“Well, I could debate that…”

I laugh.

We walk into the living room. It’s a wide space with a pool table. Militiamen and women are lying on the couches, resting. Gas lanterns give the room light. Derek is standing near the fireplace. He’s smudged in grease and dirt, but he looks fine. “Derek,” I exclaim. I embrace him. “Are you okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies. “I hear our objective was achieved.”

“It was.” I pause. “Did you have any trouble getting back?”

“Some harassing fire. Some diversions. Nothing we couldn’t handle. Omega was busy searching the skies for you,” he says. “We’re faster than they were. We were ahead of the patrols.”

“Good.”

Vera taps me on the shoulder. She looks tired.

“Cassidy, can we talk?” she asks.

What is it with everybody and their brother wanting to talk?

I nod.

“Be right back,” I tell Derek. “Glad to see you made it back safely.”

“Same to you, Commander.”

I follow Vera out of the crowded area, into an empty dining room. There is almost no light here. Vera’s skin is pale, her hair is filthy and her clothes are dirty. Yet she still looks pretty, and in the past, that would have eaten at me. Why should she look great in the middle of an apocalypse while I look like something the cat dragged in?

I’ve come to a point, I guess, where I simply don’t care anymore.

I’m alive. Chris is alive. That is all that matters.

“Cassidy, what I’m about to tell you is just between the two of us,” she says.

I ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…here’s the thing, Hart. I came out here with this rescue unit,” she continues, “and now we’ve found Chris, and we’re going to head back to the National Guard base in Fresno. Happily ever after, right?”

“It’s a far cry from happily ever after, but yeah,” I shrug. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, I was wrong, okay?” she tenses. “You’re a good commander. And…yeah. That’s basically what I wanted to say.” She tosses her hair back. “I’m glad we’ve got Chris back.”

“Me too.” I raise an eyebrow, suspecting a trick. “So that’s all. You just wanted to tell me that I was a good commander?”

“Yeah.” She picks at the sleeve of her jacket. “And…Cassidy, I think you should know something. About Chris.”

My heartbeat picks up. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because Vera has nursed an ill-concealed crush on Chris for as long as she’s known him. Or maybe because there’s something in her voice that seems oddly emotional.

Emotional for Vera, anyway.

“He was married,” she says.

I blink.

“What are you talking about?”

“My mother,” she continues. “She was in the Navy in San Diego. She knew Chris Young before the EMP. Chris was married before everything went down. He never told you that, did he?”

I stare at her. I feel ill. Very, very ill.

“You’re joking,” I say. “Stop it.”

“I’m not joking, Hart.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just been… it’s been on my mind, okay? I don’t know why. I was never going to tell you because honestly, I didn’t care about you. But now… things are different. You deserve to know.”

“I don’t believe you,” I state.

“I’m not lying. Ask him.”

“You’re saying Chris is married or was married?”

“I don’t know. I just know that my mother knew who he was, and he was married at the time.” She’s wearing an expression of frustration. “I don’t know the details. I just know what my mother told me.”

“I still don’t believe you,” I say.

I turn to walk away. Vera grabs my arm. I give her a warning look.

Don’t touch me.

She’s not as stupid as she used to be. She lets go and takes a step back.

“I’m not lying,” she presses.

I ignore her and walk away.

There are a lot of things I can handle.

This is not one of them.

I was born into a broken marriage. My parents divorced when I was a child. The separation was the healthiest thing that could have happened for me. I was no longer exposed to constant bickering or screaming contests. Suddenly, there were no noises in the house. Only empty silence.

It was different. But it was good.

I remember telling myself that I would never get married. I never wanted to deal with the heartbreak and humiliation of divorce. I never wanted to live like that. I wanted normalcy and stability, and for that I was convinced that I could depend on nobody but myself.

When society collapsed, I acted independently to find my father, but in the process, became very dependent on Chris Young for survival. Depending on someone for survival is one thing — depending on them for happiness is an entirely different matter. It has taken a long time to extricate myself from the web of dependence I entangled myself within. Where I used to hesitate, I’m confident, and where I was once petty, I simply don’t care anymore.