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After a moment, I saw a slight movement of her head that resembled a nod. Her forehead rested on her knees. She was repeating a breathing pattern that I was sure was something she used to cope when these moments happened.

“Here’s my hand. Can you hold it?”

With some hesitation, her small trembling hand slid from covering her head and found mine. Her hand was soft and delicate against my larger calloused one. I threaded her fingers through mine. She rested her temple on her knees as she turned toward me and regarded me with glassy red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s going to be okay, Pretty Girl.” I would have asked if she was okay, but it was as if she needed to be assured that everything was fine.

My thumb stroked the silky skin on the back of her hand. She took in a choppy deep breath.

“I’m sorry. Was that Lane? Please tell him I’m sorry. He’s going to think I’m crazy.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Don’t worry about Lane. I’ll talk to him. He’s a loud bonehead sometimes.”

This brought out a small watery laugh, and my heart began to slow from the breakneck rhythm it had been beating at. I would do whatever I could to keep a smile on her face. I didn’t fully understand C-PTSD, but I was going to change that. I wanted to be someone she could count on, and how could I do that without knowing more about something that affected her this deeply?

We sat for a few minutes before she was comfortable enough to stand. I made her a glass of iced water and after a couple of sips, we walked into the family room as if nothing had happened. Lane’s eyes met mine, and I knew we’d be talking tonight. Rob had connected the dots to who Lane was, but other than saying he had one hell of a career, no one made a big deal. We talked for another thirty minutes or so, and then everyone made their leave. I walked Sawyer out and hoped with everything inside me that we could try this again.

Lane:

Gym at 10 p.m.?

Jonah:

There.

Soren:

Yeah.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Soren

I knew I’d be getting the third degree, but I also knew I had to explain. I changed into navy joggers and a white t-shirt and headed to the gym. After parking, I pulled the keys from the ignition and flipped a coin down my knuckles as I collected my thoughts. I wasn’t nervous, but this thing with Sawyer felt massive, even as I fought the voice that said I should stay away from her. She had enough going on without my regrets. I wasn’t sure how to encompass what it was about her that felt like she had a string tied to my heart, even though I barely knew her. Lane and Jonah both knew I hadn’t had a woman in my life in years, ever since my life blew up and the metaphorical shrapnel nearly annihilated everyone around me. I also was thoroughly aware of how foreign this was for them to see me with someone. I was protective of Sawyer and wanted to make sure they understood that, without sharing too much. I made my way to the glass doors, ran my key fob over the sensor, and went inside. The sound system blared rock music, which was most undeniably Lane’s choice. Jonah was jumping rope while Lane obliterated a punching bag. Sweat trickled down from his dirty blond hair and soaked his gray, vintage concert shirt with cut-off sleeves.

They both paused when they saw me. Jonah cut off the roar of music from his phone.

“Damn. I’m so sorry, man.” Lane’s face was overtaken with anguish. No doubt he had been beating himself up over what had happened. I raised a hand to cut him off because he didn’t know the whole story, and I felt partially responsible that I hadn’t said anything. I wasn’t sure what I would have said anyway. I didn’t know all the ways in which she had been impacted by trauma.

Jonah nodded toward the table with chairs in the far corner by the water cooler. “Let’s grab some water,” he said.

We all took a seat and I began.

“It wasn’t you so much as what you did that surprised her. Sawyer has C-PTSD.” Jonah’s expression barely shifted, but an understanding lit his eyes. He knew firsthand the effects of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Lane scrubbed a hand over his mouth.“She was upset and asked me to apologize to you, which I told her wasn’t necessary. The messed up thing is she couldn’t help her reaction any more than you could have known you’d cause a reaction.”

Lane wasn’t a stranger to mental health struggles either, but at his core he had a tender heart, like a tagalong puppy, that he covered with his class clown routine.

“What does the C stand for? I’ve heard of PTSD, but not the C part,” Lane asked, rubbing his towel across his forehead.

“Complex. It means she’s had multiple traumatic events in her life that caused Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“Dammit, man. I’m sorry. I know you don’t just bring women around. I know she’s special. I hate what happened. I won’t ever make that mistake again. I should have chilled the hell out.” It didn’t matter what I responded with, Lane would beat himself up over what happened.

“I should have said something, but I wanted to protect her privacy. I want to get to know her better, and I haven’t felt that way about a woman in a long time,” I stated as I rested my forearms on my knees. Admitting that out loud was terrifying, but they were the truest words I’d ever spoken.

“What can we do to help Sawyer be comfortable when she’s around us?” Jonah asked.