She slowly lowered her hands and shook her head. “No.”
“Thank fuck.” He studied the red marks for less than a second before he covered the evidence of his stupidity with the ice. “This will reduce the swelling.”
“Thank you.” She covered his hand with hers, holding the towel in place. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Are you shitting me? I hurt you, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, you did. But I should have known better than to startle you awake.”
At least she wasn’t trying to take all the blame. If he could kick his own ass, he’d do it. He made a mental note to tell Talon not to go easy on him when they sparred tomorrow.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” If she asked him to take her back to Marco’s sister’s hotel right now, he’d give it serious consideration. Given the circumstances, she might be safer there.
“Will you tell me about them?” She moved the ice to the other side of her neck. “Your nightmares.”
He sat back down on the couch to buy himself some time. He wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss the reel of horrors which visited him in his dreams. There were way too manyto even pick just one or two. He dropped his head onto the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s usual shit for me,” he said finally. “All soldiers have nightmares. Some worse than others.” He turned his head to see the profile of her face as she stared straight ahead at the darkened TV. He could tell something was bothering her, but didn’t know her well enough to figure out what it was. He was just about to ask when she spoke first.
“What branch did you serve in?”
“Navy.” He could tell her that much. It was probably the only bit of his career which wasn’t classified at this point.
“Yeah, that’s what your records said. But when you said soldier instead of sailor, I was confused.”
He squinted at her for a second before understanding dawned. “You’ve seen my service records?”
“Redacted ones, anyway.” She moved on the couch until she too was leaning against the back next to him. “It’s all I could find online.”
“I’ll have to tell Remi that he’s slacking,” Gunnar muttered. “None of our records should be available online. Where did you find them?”
“I figured as much. I’ll show Remi where to find them tomorrow. He can plug the gaps.”
“Thanks.” Silence settled between them. He was expecting it to be somewhat awkward, but somehow, here in the room where the only light came from the small lamp, it wasn’t. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.
“Will you tell me a story from when you were in the Navy?”
Disappointment creeped through him. People always asked for stories. He hadn’t pegged her as someone who wanted to know if he’d killed anyone or what his body count was. He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again when she continued.
“Nothing gory. Something funny. If there is something funny,” she clarified.
Thank fuck. She isn’t like the gory seekers.
That mattered more than he wanted to admit. “Lemme think.” There were so many funny stories he could tell, but most of them probably weren’t fitting to tell a woman who was sat on your couch, wearing only your t-shirt with an ice pack to the throat you’d bruised by almost choking her.
“No rush.”
He thought about it for a full minute before inspiration struck. “There was this one time in Kandahar when a cook lost his shit over strawberries.”
“Strawberries?”
“Yeah, Kayce was a wizard at getting his hands on the hard-to-get stuff that most of us missed from home.”
She made a noise in the back of her throat which went directly to his balls as she shifted on the couch, making herself more comfortable.
“There was this one time he managed to get us strawberries.” Gunnar remembered that day so clearly. If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell the strawberries. “He was gonna melt down chocolate bars and make something to give us for dessert.”
“You can never go wrong with strawberries and melted chocolate.”
