Tyler took the seat facing the door, his eyes tracking the movement around us. He picked the position with the best view. I watched him, my heart aching at how hypervigilant he still felt he needed to be.
“Do you want to order, or should I?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Could you?” Tyler asked, fingers tracing anxious circles on the table surface.
“Of course.” I placed our order, returning moments later with two steaming cups. Setting his cup before him, I retook my seat.
He took a cautious sip, relaxing as the warmth spread through him. “It’s nice,” he admitted.
“I was worried maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” I confessed. “Maybe staying at Guardian Hall would’ve been better.”
Tyler shook his head, meeting my eyes with unexpected clarity. “No, this was perfect. I need to do this.” Someone walked close to the table, their sudden proximity causing Tyler to flinch, his breath hitching. His eyes darted, shoulders tense, and he tugged at his hair, trying to hide his scars. I watched, heart aching, as he slowed his breathing and calmed himself, his chest rising and falling as he battled for control.
“Tyler?” I asked, placing my hand on the table near his, offering support without forcing contact.
He hesitated, then extended his fingers to brush mine, the simple touch grounding him further. Gradually, the tension eased from his shoulders, and he met my eyes again, offering a shaky but genuine smile.
“Sorry,” he murmured, red-cheeked.
“Nothing to apologize for,” I assured him.
“Yes, there is.” He sounded so tired. “I can’t even sit in a fucking coffee shop. Jesus, why do you even want to do this whole date thing? Is it pity? Is it even real? Or am I in a hospital somewhere, and this is… I don’t know… like a fever dream. I’m fucked up, scars inside and out.” He took a shaky breath, his words tumbling faster, raw and honest. “I’m not a real person anymore—” He stopped, eyes wide with fear. “I’m not real. This isn’t real.”
“You’re real; I’m real,” I said. I reached out, my hand still on the table, allowing him to touch it if he wanted. Tyler placed his fingertips against mine. He stared at our fingers so close together, his breath evening out, shoulders relaxing.
I changed the subject to something I knew we’d both love to talk about. “Oh, I meant to ask, can I get your advice on guitars for the music program?”
Tyler looked up, surprised but intrigued. “You got the funding for it?”
I knew I was grinning like an idiot. “Yep, we got the money. Cole came through for us.”
His expression shifted. “That’s great news.”
I pulled out a notebook from my jacket and flipped it open. “I have some ideas, but I could use your input.”
He hesitated before his lips curved into a genuine smile, the tension draining from him. “I’d like that. I’dreallylike that.”
“You want to talk here? Or back at Guardian Hall?”
He lifted his chin, glanced left and right, exhaled, and nodded. “Here is good.”
ELEVEN
Tyler
Something brokein me that day when I sat opposite Marcus in the coffee shop. The fragile shell I’d built around myself cracked, not because of what was said but because of what wasn’t. No one stared, no one whispered, no one pointed at my scars or asked invasive questions, and I’d breathed easier for the first time in what felt like forever.
A few visits later, when stepping into the café was becoming less of a battle against my anxieties, a woman approached. She seemed familiar with Marcus and assumed I was staying at Guardian Hall. Her gentle eyes met mine, warm and respectful, and she thanked me for my service. I stumbled over a response, unsure how to handlegratitude when I felt undeserving. But it was nice, I guess.
Our coffee shop dates became easier with genuine conversations, ranging from mundane topics to things that didn’t threaten to unravel me. It felt good, comfortable, and happy at times. With every passing date, I relaxed a little more, opening myself up bit by bit and growing closer to Marcus, letting him see more of who I was beneath the scars.
We worked on the music therapy program at Guardian Hall. Each visit to the coffee shop was spent poring over papers and notebooks, working our way through decisions and planning. With each discussion, each idea shared and refined, my confidence grew. We researched, considering everything Guardian Hall could offer: music therapy sessions, tailored group workshops for the guests, private counseling, mindfulness practice, and specialized outreach programs for veterans dealing with trauma. With each option we explored, I felt I was doing something worthwhile.
“Have you heard about the delivery timing yet?” Alex asked, glancing up from his notebook. He’d taken to sitting in on any meetings at Guardian Hall so that he was in the loop.
“Yeah, they’re bringing it later today.” Marcus leaned back, tapping his pencil against the table. “We need to finish clearing out that room.”
“I still can’t believe it’s a piano, of all things,” Alex huffed, eyeing the patio doors to the yard as if imagining how movers would get a piano inside. “We’ve been friends for… what?”
