Salt Kiss – Episode 14
The nightmare began with a door Tristan could not secure. He checked it once, twice, then watched it dissolve into the blasted landscape of his deployment. Smoke erased the Lyonesse, and Jay stood on the other side holding the grenade.
Tristan raised his weapon. His hands knew the ending even while his mind begged to change it. Jay’s face shifted between accusation and terror as the other soldiers shouted behind them.
“Put it down,” Tristan pleaded. “Please, Jay. Put it down.”
The gunshot tore him awake. He surged from bed, knocking a lamp to the floor, and reached for a weapon that was not there. Darkness pressed close around him.
The door opened. Tristan reacted before recognition, seizing the intruder and driving him against the wall. Only Mark’s voice penetrated the panic. “Tristan. Look at me.”
He froze with his forearm against Mark’s throat. Horror replaced fear. “What are you doing in here?”
“You were shouting.” Mark made no attempt to reverse their positions. “You’re safe.”
Safe was a word Tristan no longer trusted. He released Mark and backed away, breath coming too quickly. Shame followed as he saw the overturned lamp and the mark forming where he had pinned his employer.
“I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t.” Mark closed the door and remained several feet away. He did not demand details or offer empty reassurance. He simply stayed.
Tristan sank onto the edge of the bed. “His name was Jay.” Speaking the name aloud opened something he had kept sealed. “He was my best friend.”
Mark listened while Tristan described the grenade, the men within range, and the fraction of a second in which every possible choice became betrayal. He did not tell Tristan that he had done the right thing.
“I pulled the trigger,” Tristan said. “Everyone tells me I saved lives. All I remember is the one I took.”
Mark sat beside him, leaving space between them. “Control doesn’t erase grief. Sometimes it only gives grief a shape we can survive.”
Tristan looked at him, remembering the pain behind Mark’s confession in the club. “Is that what this place is for you?”
“Sometimes.” Mark’s honesty carried no performance. “But tonight isn’t about me.”
For once, Tristan allowed silence to exist without filling it with defense. When Mark offered his hand, Tristan took it. The contact was simple, neither command nor seduction.
Mark remained until Tristan’s breathing steadied. Before leaving, he said, “You don’t have to face every battlefield alone.” Tristan lay awake after the door closed, more shaken by the kindness than he had been by any demand.