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“Okay,” Pallas turned his head and looked up at the wall.

Buck turned to look in the same direction.

It was a part of the room he hadn’t looked at when he’d walked into the room.

There was a group picture on the wall. Something bigger than an eight by ten. Something just shy of a poster, but not much.

It was them.

The group.

The group before the crash.

Buck’s eyes skimmed over the faces, focusing on the faces of the men that weren’t there anymore.

Twinkie.

Wolf.

Jester.

POS.

And… the face he’d tried to ignore but couldn’t possibly avoid.

Chicago.

The face that still swam up in his nightmares.

Nightmares that happened more often than he’d like to admit.

“It’s not a black mark against you if you go and see someone about this. We’d support you.”

“We?” Buck shook his head. “Even Axl?”

The two shared a look. Cameron Cox, who they called Axl, could be a caustic sonofabitch when he wanted to, which was often.

“Yeah,” Pallas nodded. “Even Axl.”

Buck didn’t know what to think about his answer.

“He’s still recovering. Going through physical therapy. He’s behind you, but working at it.”

Buck swallowed hard at the thought. The lump in his throat felt bigger.

“Part of me wants to come back, but I’m not sure my head would be in it.” Buck felt a weight bear down on his shoulders. “I don’t know what kind of good I’d be to anyone if I’m not… If my head’s not in the right place, I don’t think it would do anyone any good to have me around.”

Pallas shook his head. “Don’t say that, man. Don’t.”

“If I can’t pull myself together, I could freeze up. I could… I could give up when someone else needs me, Pallas. I can’t…”

Buck could feel his face tingle and knew that his blood pressure was rising.

It was what he feared would happen.

A panic attack.

A mild one compared to what he’d experienced during his physical recovery, but still an attack that proved he just wasn’t going to be ready to go back to the Raiders any time soon.