“At least once a week,” she says without skipping a beat. I rub your back until the nightmare goes away and I choose not to bring it up in the morning fearing that it will spark whatever memory you were living through in the middle of the night. “Last year, during the fourth of July celebration, someone was shooting off fireworks down the street. For the next ten minutes, you were breathing heavily and sweating in silence.
“Then there was the time when a pair of headlights on a dark icy road nearly forced you into a tree. You were out of it for five minutes, and I thought you were hurt, but you were lost inside your head.”
“I—”
“I know you have to sit in the seat facing the door whenever we’re in a restaurant. I know if someone whistles in a strange way, you duck and spin around. I know you’re afraid to be alone in a dark room. I know you can’t watch war movies. I know you walk away from a conversation when someone says they’re thinking about enlisting. I see the way you look in every car window when we are on a highway.”
“Why the hell are you even with me?” I ask, my voice broken, croaking with the pain seething through me.
Melody’s bottom lip quivers. “I knew all of this within the first six months we were together, Brett. I’ve asked questions, and you have changed the subject. I know it isn’t because you want to keep me away from that part of your life. It’s because it’s too painful for you to speak about. Me supporting you is silently being next to you when you don’t think you need me. I love you even with the shattered pieces in your heart that you carry around like fresh wounds.”
“I went too far tonight.”
Melody sniffles and nods with agreement. “You did. And we will talk to someone together.”
“Like marriage counseling?” I ask, terrified of her answer after only being married for six short months.
“No,” she says, her face screwed into a look of offense. “Like I’m going to be by your side, quietly, and be however much you need or however little you need. If I sit in the waiting room, I sit in the waiting room. If I sit beside you and hold your hand, so be it. You said no one was there for you when Abby died. It’s not fair, Brett. It’s not. I can’t turn back time, but I can make things right going forward. No matter what it is you are dealing with, I will be there right next to you without judgment, with no grudges or disappointment. That’s the least I can do for the man I love—for the man who has been beside me at my lowest moments over the last couple of years, holding me up and giving me strength.”
I don’t remember the last time I cried. It might have been when Abby died. But hearing every word Melody just said to me, knowing it’s everything I have ever needed anyone to tell me, tears fill my eyes because a love like this … it’s beyond any form of perfection; it’s surreal and almost undeserving.
“I had to kill six people while I was over there. I’ve never told anyone that.”
I wait for her face to contort with disgust, but her expression doesn’t change at all. “And you’re alive because of it.”
“I’m a murderer.”
“No, Brett, you’re a hero who sacrificed his life to protect his country.”
“Please don’t call me a hero. Please. I might lose faith in humanity if I see myself that way.”
“Okay,” Melody says, reaching her hand over to mine. “I know more about PTSD than you think I do. I have done more research than I care to explain, and it wasn’t out of fear. It was because I love you so much that I want to do whatever I can to support you, if and when you need that kind of support. I also know that everyone experiences PTSD differently, and there is no telltale sign of any one person’s symptoms. PTSD won’t go away, which is why I want to embrace the reality of what you live with, so you will know that you are never alone.”
My gaze falls to my bouncing knees. “I’m sorry for anything I said to you tonight that sounded rash.”
Melody pushes herself up on the couch and scoots next to me before pulling herself onto my lap and wrapping her body around mine. She places her hands on my cheeks and kisses me so gently her lips tickle mine, forcing me to smile the way she knows I can’t control.
“I wanted to go out to dinner tonight for a reason,” she says.
She pulls back and stares into my eyes. “What reason?” I ask.
Melody doesn’t respond. Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me harder. “Take me to bed,” she whispers into my mouth.
I’m not sure I understand why we would go out for dinner so I could take her to bed later, but she knows I wouldn’t argue with a command like that.
Her hands slide up my shirt, and her fingernails drag down the core of my body. “Okay, okay. Go upstairs,” I tell her.
Melody has the devil in her eye as she slides off my lap. “You need to stand up and follow me,” she says.
I do as she demands, following her quietly up the stairs. I’m thankful that we moved Parker’s bed to the other side of her bedroom, so she doesn’t notice when we come upstairs together.
We walk into our room, and my heart thuds for a quick moment before Melody’s hands are sweeping up beneath my shirt again. “I think it was you who once told me that distractions are the best way to switch our thoughts,” she says.
I want to tell her I’m not sure if any distraction in the world will make me forget about what happened tonight, but I’m willing to try for her. She unbuckles the belt on my pants, pulling them down to my ankles as she kneels in front of me.
I close my eyes, blocking out what the darkness usually holds and I replace it with the sensations of Melody’s mouth, bringing my mind to a place of pleasure. I weave my fingers through her hair as I press my head into the wall, trying not to move, breathe too hard, or make a sound. She’s good at this—turning me on, making me weak in the knees, but I can only take so much before I need to be closer. I lift her hands and pull her to her feet. I step out of my pants, and I spin her around until her back is against the wall. I pin her hands above her head so that I can reach all the right spots on her neck and collarbone. I claim her mouth, being more forceful than I can control, but she enjoys it when I lose the ability to maintain composure. I lift her shirt and pull it off, sliding my hand down the front of her pants until her knees buckle.
I lift her and carry her to our bed. Her arms are around my neck. Our lips are tangled in a frenzied motion as if we’re searching for air in the wrong places. She guides me inside of her, and I hold her against me with one arm. I use the headboard for support with my other arm. I take her in, devouring her, feeling every single movement and twitch in her body as her breath skates off the base of my neck. “Yes,” she cries out in a whisper.
