“Then what?” I wish I could see his face, but I have a feeling he’d say no to FaceTime.
“Bad anxiety day. Really, Graham, I’m fine. Just a mix-up with the groceries again. I’m handling it. I’ll...I’ll text you later, okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be working, but I’ll have my phone on me. If you need anything—”
He’s gone before I finish the sentence, and fuck. This is more than a bad anxiety day. This is serious PTSD shit. I know the signs. I’ve lived them.
The only problem? We’re so new, I don’t know how much I can—or should—push. Too much, and I’ll overstep. He’ll shut down on me. Possibly for good. Too little, and he suffers alone.
Back inside, West and Inara are sparring, and I head into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I should see if Ripper’s around. And if he’ll talk to me. There are days he still goes dark—even on Ry. But he’s so much better than he used to be. Even jokes around once in a while. And he might have more experience than anyone else with Q’s brand of trauma. As well as mine.
In the boxing ring, West flips Inara onto her back and jabs his fist within half an inch of her windpipe. “You’re distracted,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Royce had three seizures last night,” she says as West offers her a hand to help her up. “He doesn’t want to up his meds.”
“He’s not driving, right?”
Inara snorts. “Hell, no. That’s what Lyft is for. It’s just hard watching him struggle to form words when I know switching up his meds would help.”
The SEAL tosses her a towel and rubs a second over the back of his neck. “You work with the most stubborn man on the entire planet. And you’re surprised when Royce acts like a typical guy?”
“No. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.” Inara ducks out of the ring. “He’s been working so hard with Cam and Wren on the new surveillance equipment, he hasn’t taken a night off in weeks.”
“They’re almost done, aren’t they?” I ask. Only one box left to unpack. The fancy beef stew variety with the brownies West always saves for Cam.
“Thank God,” West says. “After this overnight training, Cam and I are taking a few days up in Snoqualmie. You and Royce should get away.” He glances over at me. “You too. Take your guy somewhere.”
The look on my face must reveal a hell of a lot more than I think it should, because West narrows his eyes. “Trouble in paradise already?”
“No.” I set the mug down and tug on a few short strands of hair. “He doesn’t leave his house.”
“At all?” West joins me in the kitchen and cracks open a bottle of water. “Agoraphobia?”
“Something like that. He had a crazy ex who did a number on him. Tried to control everything he did, cut him off from his friends—Q said the guy didn’t feel emotions. That everything—the gaslighting, the abuse, and whatever he’s not telling me about yet—was all a game to this asshole.”
“Antisocial Personality Disorder? Or just a complete sociopath?” When I nod, West frowns, and his eyes unfocus for a breath. “I knew a guy—Anton something or other. He washed out of BUD/S because he literally gave zero fucks about any of us. SEALs are a team. You don’t get your trident by leaving a man behind. That asshole almost killed three of us in training and never felt an ounce of remorse. He couldn’t. If your guy—Q?”
“Quinton.”
“If his ex is like Anton, Quinton’s probably lucky he got out with a shred of sanity.”
Fuck. I need to do a hell of a lot of reading. Draining the rest of my coffee, I rinse out the mug and brace my hands on the sink. “I just called him, and he’s off. Whatever triggered him was bad. And we’re so new, I’m not sure if I should beg off work and go check on him or let him deal with it on his own.”
“What does your gut say?” West asks.
“It says I need to finish stocking that last case of MREs. Because otherwise, I’m going directly to his place to make him talk to me, and I think that would just make things worse. I’ll text him before I clock in at the Unicorn and decide then.”
West claps a hand on my shoulder and jerks his head towards the door. “Get out of here. Go see him or at least take an hour or two and get your head on straight. I’ll finish the MREs. But every brownie you get on our training mission? You save for Cam.”
Chapter Seventeen
Graham
Get my head on straight?West’s intentions were spot on, but there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to sort out all these emotions battling for dominance in the three hours before I’m due at the bar.
So I park myself on my couch with my laptop.
What makes a person a sociopath?
