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There was no way, as tired as he was, as much as he was hurting for Annie, as often as he’d been reliving their marriage—and the way it had fallen apart—that he’d been in any state to watch a violent movie.
He’d known better.
Glancing at his watch, seeing that it was only three in the morning, Blake rose slowly from the chair. Reached for the keys he’d dropped on the table beside him. Slipped into the loafers he’d worn to work the day before. If he was careful, he could be home before either Annie or Cole woke up.
“Hold it right there, cowboy.”
Still lying back in the opposite chair, Annie was staring straight at him, wide-awake.
Hand hovering over his keys, Blake froze.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home.”
“Not tonight you aren’t. It’s an hour and a half drive.”
“It’s an hour with no traffic, Annie, and I’ve done it hundreds of times. You know that.”
“Not after going through what you went through tonight.”
His heart sank. Blake dropped into the chair, staring at the darkened room. He might have had a waking nightmare earlier, but it was no comparison to the living nightmare he was having now.
Annie knew.
“You were here,” he said. He’d been hoping that her voice had been part of the illusion. It always had been in the past.
“Just at the end.”
Like that made it any better. From what he’d read and understood, from what he’d been told, these occurrences were all the same from beginning to end.
Humiliated at the thought of Annie seeing him thrashing about like a wild man, at the very idea that she would ever know the things he saw inside when these things happened, Blake was pretty certain his life had reached an all-time low.
“It’s okay, Blake. No one holds it against you. We just want to help.”
“I don’t need any help.” That much was true. As long as he helped himself.
“Becky was here, did you know that?”
He grunted.
“She explained a lot of things to Cole and me.”
Blake listened as his beautiful ex-wife reiterated points he’d read—and heard—hundreds of times. And in the end, though still humiliated, he was at least impressed with Becky’s accuracy.
“I want to help, Blake,” Annie said again. “Becky says you obviously used thoughts of me as a coping tool during your captivity.”
No longer so impressed, Blake wished the other woman had minded her own business. Deciding the best defense was silence, he didn’t respond.
“That being the case, I can help now, too,” she said. “If I give you a sense of peace, it stands to reason that you’d have fewer episodes if I were—”
“No.” He couldn’t sit here and listen to this. Couldn’t even consider the idea of Annie in his life on a personal basis. “You don’t bring me peace.” He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, but he had to put a stop to this.
Now. “You coming back into my life has brought on these episodes.”
Annie’s gasp brought him to his senses. Told him that he’d just said something he was going to regret for the rest of his life. He’d hurt her again. In an attempt to save her from hurt.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” he said, choosing his words with more care. “Most of the time life sails on with relative normality.”
