“It’s okay,” I whispered, petting his hair. “It’s okay.” I never knew what else to tell him when he was having an episode.
“I’m so sorry,” Calvin cried.
“No, don’t be sorry,” I insisted.
I couldn’t hold us both up anymore, so I awkwardly maneuvered Calvin back against the wall and eased him to the floor. He pulled his legs up, and I sat on my knees between them. I leaned over to grab a paper towel from the dispenser, then pulled his hand from his face and wiped his cheeks dry. The muscles in Calvin’s neck tightened as he clenched his jaw.
Calvin let out another breath after a moment, a gasp like he was drowning. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “He was a nineteen-year-old kid on his first tour, and I watched him get blown to pieces.”
I didn’t move. I hesitated even to breathe. This was the first time Calvin had really said anything about his terrors, the memories he relived over and over that seemed to be haunting him in his waking hours now.
His fragile composure broke again, and Calvin began to cry once more. He didn’t say anything else about what the dropped plates had reminded him of. I didn’t want to know about the boy Calvin had seen die, but if it meant taking that pain away from him, I’d soak in every god-awful detail.
Once Calvin began to calm down, I wiped his face dry again.
He reached both hands out, put them on my waist, and tugged me close enough to kiss. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he whispered.
I combed my fingers through his thick hair. “Cal… is there anything we can talk about?”
Calvin didn’t reply, looking sort of lost.
“I mean—and please, I’m not trying to upset you, I swear—I think Quinn is concerned about you.”
That made him frown.
“You have a stressful job. We don’t want you to get hurt, is all.”
“It has nothing to do with my job,” Calvin said sternly.
“No. I know that. But… maybe it’s wearing you out mentally and making you more susceptible to these moments.”
“It’s not,” he said with a tone of finality.
I sighed and looked down at the paper towel in my hand. It always ended this way. Always. No matter what I said. “Calvin, this scares me,” I whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“You’renotfine,” I said quickly. “You just had an epic meltdown in a diner bathroom. All I’m asking is to consider going to a VA—”
“Stop it.” Calvin maneuvered me back so he could stand.
“Calvin,” I said, getting up after him.
He ignored me, opened the bathroom door, and walked out.
I threw my hands up, watching the door close. This was like beating a dead horse. I didn’t know how else to get through to him. I couldn’t force Calvin to seek help, but he wasn’t even willing to look at how much this concerned me.
I’m fine.
Like hell.
I tossed the paper towel and walked out. I turned right, walking back to the booths in time to see Calvin buttoning his coat and Quinn standing, following suit. “Where are you going?” I asked gently.
“Back to work,” he said, not looking at me.
“But—Calvin—”
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and put a few bills down on the table. “This should cover breakfast.”
