The others nodded then did a group hug that brought Hailey peace.
“I love you ladies. Just saying.” Hailey hiccupped a laugh then stood back to wipe her tears. “And on that note, I think I’m going to go home and take a long, hot bath. I really just wanted you all in one place to tell you. I know you all have families and work to go home to. But, yeah…”
She said her good-byes as the group broke up and wiped their tears. It had been harder, a hell of a lot harder, to tell Sloane, but she was glad she’d told the others. They would tell their men, tell the Montgomerys, and then she wouldn’t have those secrets anymore.
She was free.
Free to go home alone and figure out what the hell she was going to do with Sloane. Ten minutes later, she stepped inside her house and stood in her living room, a little too lost for comfort. What if she messed everything up? What if he did? Why was she so scared of what could happen with him. He liked her for her, but what if they made a mistake. What if this ruined what she had with him before…with the Montgomerys. What if…
She cursed at herself.
She was putting herself in a corner when she didn’t need to be. This was so unlike her that she hated it.
The knock on her door surprised her, and she looked through the peephole. As soon as she saw Sloane’s large form she relaxed, even as her body warmed at the thought of him.
“Hey,” she said once she’d opened the door.
He had a six-pack of beer in one hand, a pizza in the other, and a smile on his face. “I heard your girls’ night ended early. What do you say about a movie?”
She stepped back and ran her hand down the hardness of his stomach as he passed. “Okay,” she said simply.
Okay. They would be okay. If she didn’t think so hard, they would be okay.
They had to be.
The heat from the bomb flayed his skin and he screamed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. The weight of part of the Humvee pushed at his chest and he placed his hands on the edges, growling as it burned his flesh.
He turned to the side, his body going still at the sight of what shouldn’t have been.
The five other men at his side stared at him with dead eyes, their mouths hanging open, their jaws unhinging as they screamed a soundless scream. They reached for him, clawing at his body as he tried to break free.
But he could never be free.
The chains of memory, of guilt for living and finding the happiness he was never supposed to find, tightened around his chest, his neck, his gut. He started to suffocate. The five bodies shifted back to their whole forms, young men with no hope in their gazes, only death. They’d been too young to drink but old enough to die in his arms.
Sloane woke up again, his body shaking.
Thank God he’d slept at his own home that night. He’d yet to sleep at Hailey’s even though they’d been together more than a few nights already. He knew his dreams well enough that he couldn’t predict when they appeared. He didn’t want Hailey to have to experience them, or rather him when he had them. And God forbid if he ever woke up swinging, he wouldn’t be able to deal with the consequences.
It’d been a couple of years since he’d talked to a professional, but it might be time to do that again. He wasn’t afraid of shrinks, but sometimes the ones who hadn’t been over there just didn’t get it. They said the right things, nodded at the appropriate times, but until they saw their friends dying or a little kid being shot in the head because he’d crossed the street at the wrong time, they just didn’t know.
He was fine most days. In fact, he was much better than he used to be. He could sit in busy rooms, deal with loud noises. His symptoms came later, in dreams. He didn’t have it as bad as other guys, but he knew the nightmares and the fact that sometimes he broke out into a cold sweat, even during the day, may not ever go away. He’d never been violent, other than needing to box for stress relief sometimes, but he was like that before he’d seen what he’d seen, done what he’d done. Before he’d had Hailey and had opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready to face—let alone let Hailey see.
He didn’t usually wake up swinging, but it could happen if he weren’t careful. Things weren’t rainbows and unicorns. Things didn’t just get better. And even if he had the ability to self-reflect and knew he was in pain and knew he had to move on, it wasn’t going to happen overnight. It might not ever happen.
And that was something he had to live with.
But it wasn’t something he had to force on the woman he loved.
He had brothers who had gone through worse. He knew others had gone through hell. PTSD wasn’t something someone could wear a ribbon for and call themselves a fucking ally. It was something that afflicted way too many people, and yet others who didn’t understand said to just get over it.
He wouldn’t get over it.
And hell, if he got over it, what would happen then? Would he forget his brothers? Forget the ones he’d lost?
He growled to himself, frustrated with the path his thoughts had taken.