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Although both women attempted to include him in their conversation, he was fine hanging in the background and letting them enjoy each other’s company. Besides, after making a determined effort to be more open in group tonight, he was mostly talked out. So, he gathered up their empty plates and carried them into the kitchen. He’d rinsed them in the sink and was loading them into the dishwasher when Barb toddled in after him with their mugs.

“Polly’s using the powder room. I can tell she’s exhausted. We probably need to call it a night.” She nudged her arm against his before instructing him on the proper placement for the dirty dishes.

“We’ll get out of your hair as soon as she’s ready,” he promised, amused by a woman who didn’t even reach his shoulder bossing him around.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy the company, Sergeant.” Barb rested her gnarled fingers on his arm. She lowered her voice, the humor gone. “That girl’s as brave as anyone I’ve ever known,” she murmured. “Including my Chet. But she’s scared out of her mind. And she needs you to help her not feel so afraid. Can you handle that?”

Daniel gently covered her hand with his own. “Yes, ma’am,” he said simply. He thought of his therapy session earlier that evening—the calm he’d felt when he’d finally said out loud what he wanted from life beyond the nightmares and guilt. How he treasured Pirate’s companionship and had signed up to train him to become his certified service dog. And of how being near Polly made the noise in his head go quiet.

Barb squeezed his arm, her grip strong for a woman almost old enough to be his grandmother. “Good. As much as I like her, I’d hate to see you compromise your own recovery.”

“Not with Polly,” he said. “She’s good for me.”

Something softened in her face. She patted his cheek. “You’re good for her, too. Now go on. Get her home and take care of her.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Be careful on the porch and sidewalk in the morning until I get them salted. They might be slick.”

Barb’s response was interrupted as Polly joined them in the kitchen. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just saying our goodbyes, dear. It’s past my bedtime.” Barb beamed her a smile and motioned Polly over. “Now come give me a hug.”

Several minutes later, they’d grabbed their coats and leashed the dogs. They didn’t bother bundling up since they were only going next door. “Ready?” he asked.

Polly’s eyes met his, uncertain but trusting. She slipped her hand into his grasp and nodded. “I am.”

As they stepped back out into the cold together, her hand held securely in his, Daniel felt something shift deep inside him. It was quiet, sure and steady. Like healing.

After unlocking his duplex, Daniel pushed open the door and reached for the light switch, instinctively scanning the shadows before letting himself relax. The space was more functional than stylish—a master bedroom suite, a smaller bedroom where he kept his weight system and a treadmill, a powder room with a stacked washer and dryer, and a living area that opened to a small kitchen and dining space. Pirate ambled in first, tail wagging, while Luna bounded after him with puppy clumsiness, nails clicking against the wood floor.

“This is nice. Big TV. Comfy-looking sofa. A little bachelor chic without any pictures or decorations, but nice.” Polly paused just inside the door while he hung up their things in the front closet. She nodded to the bright red-and-gold knit blanket hanging over the back of the couch. “A gift from Barb?”

He felt his mouth try to smile. “Marine Corps colors.”

Polly completed the smile he couldn’t. “You two are lucky you found each other.”

And then the smile faded. The exhaustion in her eyes wasn’t just from the long night—it was everything that had led up to it. Fear, loss, her adrenaline crash.

He wanted to take every bit of it away. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

The grand tour took all of three minutes, and they ended up in his bedroom where he opened a dresser drawer and pulled out some old workout clothes. “Here,” he said, keeping his tone easy as he handed them to her. “They’ll be big on you to sleep in, but they’re clean. Oh…” He opened another drawer and pulled out a rolled-up pair of white cotton socks. “They’re not colorful, but I noticed you like to run around in your stockinged feet once you get home.”

“I do.” She looked down at the soft gray sweatpants and a faded Marine Corps T-shirt, then hugged the bundle to her chest. “They’ll be perfect,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

While she ducked into the attached bathroom to change, he grabbed a fresh toothbrush from the unopened multipack he kept under the sink in the hallway powder room. When she emerged, he held it out to her.

Her expression flickered—just a second—but he saw it. The reminder of the missing toothbrush at her place. The violation.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. Her voice trembled, but she tore open the plastic and started running water over the bristles. Brave, through and through.

He took a few minutes for himself, brushing his teeth, then cleaning his prosthetic and eye socket. She leaned against the doorway, watching him. Medical curiosity, he supposed. He got no sense of the morbid fascination some strangers seemed to have when they saw the extent of his injuries up close and personal. She asked a couple of intelligent questions about the process, and he lost any inhibition about doing the task in front of her. She even picked up the tube of cream he’d set out to treat his scars and minimize the appearance of his damaged skin. Brushing his hands aside, she stepped up to him and gently applied the medicine to his face. He couldn’t feel the brush of her fingers against his skin, but he could breathe in the smells of the minty toothpaste she’d used, and the faint scent of green apple that still clung to her hair. He could feel the heat of her body mere inches from his own. He could see the caring that darkened her eyes and hear the soft gasp of compassion as she stroked his skin.

“I’m sorry you lost so much, Daniel,” she whispered. “But I’m so proud of the man you are despite those losses. Thank you for your service. And thank you so much for being here for me. Please tell me that your PTSD group helps you, that Pirate helps you, that Mrs. Maynard helps you.” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his chin. “I know there are some wounds that are too great to bear—that can never fully heal. But please tell me you’re getting better. It hurts me to think of you suffering.”

Daniel shifted to press his lips to her forehead. He held them there for several seconds before he pulled back to wipe the tears from her face. “I’m better,” he promised. “Don’t you cry one of those tears for me. I need your smiles, and your gentle touches, and the purpose you give me.”

The tender moment was interrupted by the big yawn on Polly’s face. Daniel chuckled.

“Sorry.”