He’s right. Liam, Gage, Ivy, Celeste—they’ve all proffered the same concerns. I should apologize, but that’s not what Wells is looking for. He wants an explanation.
“It was a bad night. That’s all.”
Nodding, he exhales, his firm gaze never leaving me. “We’ve been here before, so we know what’s coming. We need to get ahead of this.”
I wave that off with a huff. “Sounds like we are. I’m straight. I’ll be fine. Thanks for looking out.”
He shakes his head, his emerald eyes narrowing. “Remember last year, when Ivy was battling her PTSD and she handed us oversight of her care so she could heal? That made all the difference. We’re not meant to fight these demons alone, Ty. It’s time.”
“Fuck that.” My exasperated breath crashes to the ground. I get it. He’s saved me from myself countless times. He knows when I’m spiraling, but right now, I want to.
“Have your flashbacks and nightmares started?”
“Yes,” I confess.
He already suspects. It always gets ugly once they begin. Especially when they all meld together into a torturous replay. Hard to tell where the past and present separate. Who I was and who I am. Who the real monster is.
At the mere mention, bits and pieces barrel into me.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong choice.
Four bodies. Cold dead eyes. Ella. Audrey. Shivering outside.
Flash and fade.
Explosions. Soldiers. Bombed and captured and chained.
Flickers of torment.
Bloody brown hair. Dead leaves. That damn squeak. I should’ve fixed it. She wanted me to fix it.
Here and gone.
Avenging that little girl. Her mother’s pleas. Screams. Stabbing. I can’t stop. Sorry, Chief.
“Ty,” Wells snaps, drawing my focus back to him. “Which ones?”
Which ones?Which flashbacks—because the more I’m having, the more calamitous the outcome. Finding my family murdered. My fellow SEAL Team members blowing up. Him and Liam and Gage being tortured beside me. Ivy and Celeste missing. Beaten. Rena caught in the explosion at the dress shop. Or me losing control. Becoming the kind of crazed demon I loathe. My failures lived as an endless nightmare. A tormenting highlight reel that never fucking stops.
My eyes flick to his, my eardrums pulsate with swishing blood flow, and my jagged breaths crash through the truth. “All of them.”
RENA
Every solid surface of this corridor is vibrating, as if the jazz musicians in the beloved vintage photographs are alive and well, memorializing a momentous occasion. A salute to the bizarre, lust-fueled exchange. Celebration is certainly in order. Maybe even a parade.
It was a melancholy pulsing at first, a less lively version of the blues, like my body was aware that something was off. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck bolted to attention, urging me to search for the culprit. And that was when I spotted him.
Ty Reynolds is what dreams are made of—tall, dark, delicious. Powerful and commanding.
So freaking sexy. His knuckles grazing my cheek, thumb dusting my hand, cognac eyes brimming with hunger.
Those damn sultry eyes, lined with long black lashes. There are none in existence that compare—deep and intense, but also clinging to hope. His whole look is different, like the world’s nationalities donated all the best features for his creation. Smooth tawny-brownskin. Soft, short brown curls, begging to be entwined around my finger. A strong jaw, lined in a layer of neatly trimmed stubble.
And his chest or … slab of steel.Holy fuck.The outline of his taut pecs through his black button-up was yummy, but the feel of those chiseled muscles against my palms was an experience. A top-notch destination.
I wanted to melt into him, coil myself around his corded biceps, and let him wear me like a winter sweater.
He’s always kept his distance—never even spoken to me if someone else wasn’t in the conversation. Standoffish is an understatement. So, while his easygoing playfulness with Ivy and Celeste has been appealing, it’s never been aimed at me. I’ve oscillated between being offended and honored, wondering if it’s because he couldn’t care less about me. Or if it’s because he cares too much—wishful thinking regarding my seven-year crush, but you never know. The heart has a way of tangling things until they morph into a pretzel of possibilities.
