The Beast (Black Dagger Brotherhood #14) - J. R. Ward Page 0,41

the worst thing a soldier can do is have his confidence fried before he hits the field. Not everything is going to end up in victory, but you’ve got to start it all off, every time, knowing that your training and your instincts are sound. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt Bitty on purpose. You certainly are not responsible for her mahmen choosing that moment to go unto the Fade—and in fact, there’s a lot of evidence to suggest the female left because she felt like her young was in good hands. You need to believe all of that—otherwise, you’re going to get stuck in a neutral that isn’t going to help anybody.”

“Lord, you are always so right.”

Meh. Not even close. But like he was going to bring all his wrongs up now, when she had real problems to deal with, with that little girl? He was a selfish prick, but he wasn’t that much of a douche bag.

Fucking hell, he couldn’t believe he’d put his shellan through what he had … he couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d made Mary essentially watch him fucking die last night—and all for no good fucking reason.

All because he hadn’t listened to Vishous.

Actually, no, he thought. It was even worse than that. In fact, he had heard every word the brother had said and had gone out to fight anyway, fully aware of what was waiting for him on the field of combat if the guy was right.

Guess that was the definition of suicidal, wasn’t it.

Which meant that he was …

Oh, fuck.

As Rhage’s head began to implode with a reality that was only now dawning on him, Mary continued talking in a slow, considered way about what she was going to do for the little girl, what staff consults she needed to have, and then there was something about an uncle somewhere … and Rhage just let the conversation of hers go on its one-sided way.

In all truth, he was infinitely grateful she felt better and more connected to him. That shit mattered. Unfortunately, he was back to being far away from her again, the inside part of him floating off even as his body stayed where it was.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had everything he wanted in life—and she was in his arms at this very moment. He’d had a death scare and come through it. There was so much to live for, fight for, love for.

So why would he do something like that? Why would he run out into an all-but-guaranteed casket? And why was the distance from her back?

Well, there was one explanation. Something that tied everything up with a big, fat, psychotic bow.

He’d often wondered whether he was crazy. Like, intrinsically so.

His emotions had always been so extreme, jumping from mania to anger, that he’d sometimes worried that one day he was going to spiral off on the top end of one of those pendulum swings, never to return to sanity again. Maybe that had finally happened. And if it had? The last thing Mary needed after what had gone on last night was to learn that he was clinically insane.

Because, shit, why else would he feel so damn weird in his own skin?

Damn it, it was like he’d won the lottery only to find out he was allergic to the cash or some shit.

“Rhage?”

He shook himself. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do you want me to get you some food?”

“Nah. I’m still full.” He retucked her in against him. “I could use a whole lot more of this, though.”

Mary snuggled up close, stretching her arm around his shoulders as far as it would go. “You got it.”

I tried to kill myself last night, he said to her in his head. And I have no idea why.

Yup. It was official.

He’d lost his mind.

FOURTEEN

“It’s up here.”

Jo Early eased off on the accelerator of her Volkswagen piece of crap. “Yeah, I know where it is, Dougie.”

“Right here—”

“I know.”

There was no reason to hit the directional signal. At seven in the morning, there were no other cars around, nobody to care as she went through the off-kilter, paint-flaking iron gates of the old prep school her mother had gone to a million years ago.

Wow. The Brownswick School for Girls had seen better days.

Her mother would so not approve of this landscaping at all. Or lack thereof.

Then again, the woman could throw an aneurysm over a single dandelion head in her five-acre lawn.

Driving down the pitted asphalt lane, Jo steered