Page 55 of Scout’s Honor

“Hey, girl,” Bonhi said. “Tell me, how exactly do I do magic? Is it a ‘mind over matter’ thing?”

Dallas grinned, thinking she did believe, or at least was starting to. He couldn’t wait to see her fling blue lightning around like Dakota, and kill—

Dallas stiffened. Shit. Keeping Bonhi safe from vampires was going to be a hell of a lot harder for him than keeping her safe from humans. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he failed and the vampires got—

Dallas gripped the table hard, as dark images played through his mind, and then dark memories came, of times he’d failed before. Pain flared in his leg.

He looked left, whipping his eyes that way, focusing on his surroundings, not the images in his mind. He looked forward, then to the right, studying one of the flowers on the table, its petals and leaves, the edges of the bud, anything to keep him from falling into that vicious void where he had no control.

“Okay, thanks. I'll try it,” Bonhi said, her voice sounding far away.

She put the phone on the table. “Dallas?”

He wanted to respond, but he couldn’t.

Bonhi spoke brightly into the phone. “Thanks guys, for everything. We’ll call you back.”

The phone beeped like she’d hung up.

Dallas bent over the flower. Bud. Leaves. Stem. Here. He was here, not there. He was safe, not dying. That was the past. Now was different.

Bonhi put her hand on his arm and held it still. Dallas moved his attention to the sensation of her skin. It felt calm… good… soothing.

The danger passed, draining from his thoughts like murky water down a pipe and leaving his limbs hollow and heavy.

Good job, he told himself, meaning it. Now that he was healthy, side-stepping an ‘episode’ really was a skill, like his shrink had said, and he was getting better at it.

Bonhi didn’t know what was going on, but she noticed the sweat on Dallas’ forehead and she kept quiet, giving him a minute.

He nodded to himself, then sat straighter and met her eyes. “I’ve struggled with PTSD,” he said flatly. He picked up a napkin and wiped his forehead.

“Oh,” she said, her heart going out to him. She couldn’t imagine what he’d endured, and the strength he’d needed to overcome the physical and mental obstacles of being shot and everything that’d come after.

“But I’ve been treated. I have tools and I’m better than I was.”

She nodded and caressed his arm, blinking back tears.

A waiter came by with a vase and put the wrapped flowers in it. “I'll have these delivered to your room, Sir.”

“Thank you,” Dallas said, nodding at the waiter, morphing the pain on his face into acceptance.

“This, too, please,” Bonhi said, handing over her laptop.

Dallas took a few more deep breaths, then stood and offered Bonhi his hand. She took it. Instead of heading for the elevator, Dallas steered them toward the street.

“Can we walk a little?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah.”

He took them through the tunnel that separated the garden from the sidewalk, then turned right. People walked on both sides of the street in couples or small groups, laughing and singing along with the music playing from each lit-up storefront.

Dallas didn’t speak and Bonhi didn’t either. She held his hand and enjoyed his strong presence, trying not to think about what he’d been through. After twenty minutes, they were back in front of the hotel. Dallas took her to the elevator.

“Thanks,” he said, once they got inside and he’d pressed the button. He leaned against the back wall and pulled her close to him, staring into her eyes.

She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.”

“That was perfect. You didn’t try to make me talk about it. You didn’t leave or freak out, and now…” His eyes darkened. “Now I feel better.”