Page 155 of Secrets on Ice

“Fuck,” he says when I’m done. “That’s a lot.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry you haven’t felt comfortable enough to talk to any of us about what you’re going through.”

“I’m not going through anything, Ember is,” I tell him.

“Man, I think you might have PTSD.”

I still. “No, I don’t.”

“Look, I’m no shrink, but if you are having nightmares, I don’t think you’ve processed it.” Maybe he’s right. “You could talk to the team psychologist, they might be able to help.” He gives me a look. “I also think Ember should talk to someone. She sounds like she’s suffering from PTSD also.”

“You think?” I ask as I sip my beer.

He nods. “Again, I’m not a professional. You don’t have to deal with this alone, man. The boys and I are here for you.”

“Thanks,” I tell him. “I appreciate you listening to me.”

“Anytime,” he says, sipping his beer.

“You know how you said it could be PTSD? Do you think I might be a trigger? Because she said she’s scared of men, even though she knows I wouldn’t hurt her. She flinches when I’m around, and I feel like shit, and I know it’s not my fault but maybe I’m making things worse for her.”

“That’s a tough one,” he mumbles. “On one hand, that is your apartment, and on the other, it’s hers too. And you both should be comfortable there, unless one of you moves out … but I think you both should seek help navigating this situation as it has traumatized you both.”

“You think I should move out?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just saying it’s a shit situation.”

“Maybe I should move out.”

“Seems drastic,” he says.

“Or maybe it’s what she needs to heal because it seems like being around men triggers her at the moment, and maybe that’s a reason why she’s not healing.”

“I don’t know. I get your logic, but …”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks.

“I want what’s best for her, and hearing what I heard earlier, she isn’t comfortable around me.”

“As long as it’s temporary,” Fish says.

“Maybe I need my own space.”

“Really? I thought you liked living with them,” he asks.

“I do … but…”

“I think you should talk to Cassidy. I don’t think you should make any snap decisions right now.”

Maybe he’s right. We continue drinking our beer and changing the conversation onto work.

Cassidy’s in the kitchen when I come in, on her own, and I’m glad, because I need to tell her before I lose my nerve.

“Where’s Em?” I ask.