Honestly, I’d be shocked if he didn’t have PTSD after being through such a traumatic experience. And I’m right there with him, with the nightmares. But I knew it wasn’t just that, because I was feeling the same niggles of insecurity.
“I have to take off my implants every night,” I told him, “so I can’t hear anything. That might be weird for you. But,” I added lightly, “You won’t wake me up if you have a nightmare. Although I might wake you up with one of mine…”
As soon as I mentioned my own concerns, Indy did a complete one-eighty. He got this super intense look in his eyes and hugged me even tighter. “I’m staying,” he announced. “If you have a nightmare, I’ll be here to help you through it.”
Which,awwww.
Indy might be tough on the outside, but on the inside? He’s a big softie.
And really, it’s not like I haven’t seen him without his prosthetic on before. So it wasn’t a big deal at all.
“I’ll have to think of some things to hide,” Indy says, still stuck on the wholesearching the bedroom while nakedidea. Interest brightens his gaze. “Maybe we can make it intoa modified Jenga game. With the pieces hidden around the room…”
He kisses me again before going back to the other side of the island. “I’ll have to grab one of the Jenga sets,” he muses. “I’m sure Ace won’t mind if I… repurpose one.”
“Probably not,” I agree while squeezing my thighs together against the ache building between them.
For just a millisecond, I consider attacking Indy right here in the kitchen. Yara’s already at work, Ace is off doing his morning jog slash surveillance, and Tyler is busy on his laptop in the office. So, technically, we’re alone.
For now, at least. But all it would take is Ace running faster than he usually does, or Tyler getting thirsty, and I wouldn’t just be worrying about Indy’s friends hearing us, they’d get a live view, front and center. Which I would very muchnotenjoy.
“So,” Indy continues as he takes an egg from the carton and whacks it hard against the side of the mixing bowl. The egg shatters, sending tiny pieces of shell falling into the bowl, along with the broken yolk spreading into the white around it. But he’s sweetly oblivious to it and just grabs the next egg and keeps on going. “Do you want to see what I look like without a beard? I have some old photos from before I became a GB.”
I fight back the urge to jump over the island and save the poor, innocent eggs from a grisly slaughter. “Yes. I’d love to see them.”
He cracks another egg—more like demolishes it—and moves on to the third. “The rules about personal grooming weren’t as strict for Special Forces. So I could have a beard. It was easier to blend in that way. But before that, I had to be clean shaven.”
After adding a fourth egg to the rest, Indy goes over to the sink to wash his hands. Then he rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone. He taps away at it for a few secondsbefore handing it over. “I was home for Christmas that year,” he explains. “I think I was twenty-two then. Maybe twenty-three.”
All interest in the eggs disappears as I study the photo on his phone. Indy’s standing in front of a mantel with three stockings hung from it, with a younger Eden on one side of him and an older woman on the other.
He looks young. His face is unlined, and there’s a confident lift to his chin. His hair is much shorter, which makes sense considering he was an enlisted soldier back then. And yes, hedoeslook sexy without a beard, just as I suspected.
But I like this Indy better.
“You look good,” I tell him. “But I think you’re even more handsome now.”
Indy smiles, his face lighting up with it. “I’m glad you think so.”
While he whisks the eggs—or should I say, trying to emulate a small tornado—I ask, “So this is your mom, right?”
“Yeah.” He flicks a quick look at the photo. “That Christmas was good for her. Since Eden and I could both be there.”
Indy doesn’t talk much about his mom, aside from that she lives in Florida, he talks to her once a week, and he tries to visit her at least a few times a year. And I know his dad passed away when Indy was just a kid. But it was never a topic that came up during our PT sessions, and there hasn’t been a ton of time to talk about personal things like that with everything else going on.
Indy grabs the nearby bag of shredded mozzarella and dumps about half of it into the mixing bowl. “You know my dad died when I was young, right?”
“Yeah. You mentioned that before.”
“I was in middle school. Eden was still in elementary. His heart had been bad for years. Cardiomyopathy.” He looks across the island at me, his eyes going sad. “He was a great dad. Andreally smart. That’s where Eden got it from. Me, on the other hand…”
“You’re smart.”
“Not as smart as Eden. Or my dad.” Indy puts the mixing bowl aside and plucks a paper napkin from the holder nearby. He starts folding the paper origami-style as he continues, “That’s why Eden went into medical research. So she could try to find a cure for what killed our dad.”
“Indy. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s been a long time, you know. And Eden, she did it. The drug is still working its way through FDA approval, but once it passes… hopefully it’ll save people like our dad.”
