“No,” his voice calm. “I don’t think you do.”
I open my mouth, but he keeps going,
“That boy is carrying enough trauma to sink a fucking fleet. He wears it everywhere he goes. Every time someone moves too fast. Every time a voice gets too loud. Every time someone stands too close.”
His eyes locked with mine. “It owns him right now.”
My breath stutters. The urge to protect him rises fast and violent. Something rips into my chest. “I know.”
“You know it happened.” Deck says quietly, “I don’t think you understand how deep it runs.”
I look away first. That alone tells me he’s right.
He continues, “If you did, you’d understand how scared he is.”
The words hit harder than they should.
“And you have to be gentler, CJ.”
Fuck.
“There’s something about him, Deck.” I say as I scrub my hand across my face.
Deck doesn’t speak, just waits.
“I want to find whoever put that look in his eyes and make them fucking disappear.”
Deck nods slowly, “I know.” His voice softens. “I get it.”
He pushes away from the wall. “But that’s not what he needs from you right now.”
I frown.
“He needs space,” Deck shrugs. “He needs safety and somewhere to breathe without looking over his shoulder.”
Something about that makes my stomach tie up in knots, and Deck sees it.
“Maybe that’s all this is, CJ.”
“What.”
He shrugs, “Maybe you’re not supposed to fix him.”
The words grate against every instinct I have. My jaw tightens until it aches. I hate that answer right away, and his mouth twitches at that.
“I know. You hate that.”
“Damn right I do.”
Deck is silent for a bit, then says, “Maybe all you’re supposed to do is give him somewhere safe to land. He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
Deck points at me, “And when he does, shut the fuck up and listen.”
“Righto, Doctor Phil.”
“Fuck you.”
Deck heads for the door before stopping with his hand on the handle.
