At some point, the trauma is going to catch up to her. Like the nightmare she had the other night. I’m no psychologist, but this is similar to situations I saw in the military. Guys who were too proud to seek out help after some of the shit we experienced in the Middle East, so they went home and tried to pretend nothing happened. And it rarely worked out well for them.
Even me.
I didn’t think I needed to talk about it until I did. In my case, it was more about losing myself in the work and not having any kind of work-life balance. The harder I worked, the less time I had to let my demons get to me. Then my sister got involved and knocked some sense into me. In turn, I dragged Rage with me to group therapy for veterans and it turned out to be a good thing.
I’m a better man for it and I think Allora will be better too.
It just might be too soon to push for that kind of thing, especially since we’re still trying to protect her while we search for the guys who did this.
By the time I get to the kitchen, she and Rage have put everything in the dishwasher and cleaned up.
“You guys packed?” Rage asks.
I nod. “Yup. Ready to hit the road.”
“I think Allora should ride with me,” he says. “Just a precaution. I’m the wild card in this scenario. I’m also going to go straight there. I think you should make some random stops. Drug store. Gas. Whatever the case may be.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
I see Allora frown. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s thinking that I’m trying to avoid her or something because we kissed.
Not the issue at all.
“Allora, I want you to change.”
“What?” She looks startled. “Why?”
“Come with me.” I go into my bedroom and straight to the closet, pulling out a Dodgers baseball cap and a blue hoodie Courtney left here once that I almost forgot about. I toss them at her. “Put your hair up so it’s under the cap and put on the hoodie even if you’re not cold.”
“Why?” She asks the question again even as she follows directions.
“So that from a distance, you might not look like a gorgeous blond and maybe pass for a teenage boy.” I wince even as I say it. “I said at a distance,” I add hurriedly.
But she’s not upset. She’s smart enough to understand the plan.
“Got it.” She wastes no time stuffing her hair under the hat. “I should wipe off the makeup.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just thought of it now.”
“No worries.” She walks into the bathroom and quickly takes off most of the makeup. “Better?” she asks when she comes out.
“Perfect.” I nod and grab her luggage.
“Let’s do this.” Rage takes her bags. “Let’s leave together but you take the stairs and we’ll take the elevator.”
We separate in the hallway, but I give her a quick wink before I turn away. I trust Rage with my life and that of my family, so why am I unhappy about this change of plans? It’s the right move but I’m unsettled that she’s not with me. Rage would die before letting anyone get to her, so I know she’s safe, but I can’t explain this soul-deep feeling that it’smyjob to protect her, not anyone else’s. Not even my best friend.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This is a job.
Protect the client.
Find the bad guys.
Get paid.
End of story.
