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“I understand that, but it’s not unheard-of for a Bull, or a family member, to be in therapy. My mom and dad did couples’ therapy for a while when they were struggling with Duncan wanting a patch. Aunt Leah made Uncle Gun go into therapy when she was pregnant with Aidan and he kept having panic attacks about it.”
“Couples therapy is different. And Gun’s a soldier. He’s not an officer. It’s not the same.” Despite Gun’s many years as a Bull, he’d never been promoted to officer, and he’d never wanted it, as far as Dex knew. He’d heard stories about Gun being the club nutcase, always flying off half-cocked, always looking for trouble, usually finding it and needing a rescue, but that wasn’t the Gun he knew. He was still a goofball and on the hyper side, but he’d obviously mellowed.
Possibly around the time Aidan, Gun and Leah’s oldest, had come into the world. Dex had been in Afghanistan then, so he didn’t know for sure. But he’d never heard Gunner or anybody else talk about him being in therapy.
“I disagree. You don’t have to talk about club business to talk about what happened to you before you were a Bull. That’s in the past.”
“It’s not. It’s never in the past. That’s the problem. And … you said you know what I do as SAA. Do you really?”
“I know you’re in charge of security and enforcement. You hurt the people the club needs hurt.”
Hearing her speak those words was like hearing Mother Teresa sayBurn it all down.It grated harshly against what he knew of her. But she wasn’t wrong.
“That’s right. I hurt people. The shit I did as a Raider is a lot like the shit I do as a Bull. It overlaps weird in my head sometimes. Tonight, I reacted the way I did because my head was already dark and I was fighting it off. When I’m like that, and something intense happens, something emotional, all I see is the worst of it. My whole perspective goes dark. It’s almost like I literallyseedifferently. So I saw Zach with his hands on you, and I couldn’t see it was innocent. All I saw was … well, you know what I saw.”
Wishing again that he had a drink, he cleared his throat and tried to walk a very fine line with what he said next. “I was like that tonight because I’ve got a job coming up in the next couple days. One that’s got my demons frisky, and right now … I don’t know. They’re friskier than usual already.” Before she asked about that, he said, “I can’t talk more about the job.”
“I know. I understand.”
He narrowed his eyes and really looked at her, trying to see beneath the blue sea of her eyes to the depths of her mind. “Do you? Do you understand me?”
She shocked him by crawling onto his lap and framing his face in her hands. “I understand. So much better. I see why you struggle, and I see why you try so hard to save people. You’ve been trying to save people all your life. There’s as much light in you as there is darkness, Dex. I still trust you. I still want you. I need you to trust me to accept you for who you are. You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have tofightalone. Please let me in.”
In the bright light of her beautiful eyes, Dex felt seen—more than that, he feltknown. What she wanted was what he wanted. He thought it might be what he needed. Dangerous or not.
He pulled her close and kissed her.
~oOo~
Dex woke with a start, his heart pounding, his nerves firing, muscles strung taut. He was in a soft bed, in a dark room, but not his bed or room. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced his mind to rouse and clear. Kelsey’s room. Right. In fact, she’d been sleeping in his arms, her head on his shoulder. His abrupt waking must have disturbed her, though, because she sighed and rolled away, putting her back to him and snuggling under the covers with a small, breathy moan.
The sound of automatic gunfire not far away made Dex sit bolt upright—and then he understood what it really was. Fireworks. Roman candles. Because it was New Year’s. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and checked the time. Yep, just past midnight.
After that heavy, emotionally charged talk, Dex and Kelsey had gone to bed, but they hadn’t had sex. Neither had even brought it up. By tacit agreement, they’d simply gotten into bed, into each other’s arms, and gone to sleep. That couldn’t have been more than maybe two hours ago. Probably less.
Another barrage of explosions set his nerves twitching again. He heard the jingle of dog tags, and Mr. D’s snout appeared at the end of the bed. He’d climbed the little ramp Kelsey had placed there so he could get up on his own. Dex held out a hand, and he came over for a head-scratch.
“Hey, dude,” he whispered. “Don’t like fireworks, huh?”
Mr. D yawned in answer and then made a nest behind Kelsey’s knees. She slept on, undisturbed.
None of Dex’s dogs were fans of fireworks, either. But they were pretty used to being on their own, night or day, and they had each other, so Dex didn’t feel too guilty for being away.
Nottooguilty, but notnotguilty. Guilt was pretty much a steady state for him.
More fireworks, more flinching. Somebody in the complex, or nearby, had gotten a bulk discount on Roman candles.
That kind of noise—fireworks, backfiring trucks, sudden blasts of nearby thunder—was a PTSD trigger for a lot of vets, but not for Dex. He didn’t know why—maybe because gunfire remained a significant presence in his life? However, the sound did pluck at his instinct for battle readiness, so he always flinched.
If he were home, he’d get up, grab some whiskey, do a couple of shots, call all the dogs onto the bed, put on his Bose headphones and a white-noise app, and settle in. But he wasn’t home.
Kelsey said she had vodka. He considered getting up and locating that. But then she moaned again and shifted under the covers, and he didn’t want to leave her. Instead, he watched her sleep.
As emotional and intense as it had been, their talk hadn’t necessarily resolved things. She’d climbed onto his lap and told him she understood him, told him she trusted him, told him he didn’t have to be alone, and Dex had abandoned any idea of continuing the talk. She’d given him exactly what he needed, and love had raced through his body, firing his nerves and sinews, filling his heart and head. They’d said almost nothing thereafter.
She’d given him exactly what he’d needed, despite his earlier display of irrational, violent anger and jealousy. He believed her wholeheartedly.
But could he give her what she needed?
