Page 10 of Always Mine
She straightened.
He asked, “What happened?”
“You had a dream. Or a flashback. I assume it was about that night.”
His head sank to the pillows.
“Could you tell me about it?”
Dark eyes widened. With the same fear. “No.”
She crossed to the sink in his room, got a cloth and wet it. She went back to him. He was sweaty and his hair was damp. He still looked scared. She bathed his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. But talk to me.”
Accepting that—she didn’t know much about PTSD—she sat again and held his hand for a while. The gesture was so familiar it hurt. After a while, she stood. “I have to leave. Your family is coming soon, and I don’t want to give them the wrong message about the two of us.”
He seemed too drained to object. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and walked out the door.
* * *
Diego was shaken by the dream. It was so real. All his men…the cries… Nope! He wouldn’t go back there. He buzzed for the nurse. When she came in, he said, “I need to use the john. You ordered me not to get out of bed alone.”
“I’m here. Let’s see what you can do by yourself.”
Sliding his legs to the floor, he stood, pushed away the dizziness and settled himself. She held his arm to the bathroom then afterward helped situate him in the big recliner. His mother had brought him some clothes, so he was decent.
Someone knocked on the door and opened it. Maybe Annie came back. But the police chief walked inside. “Hey, Rodriguez.”
“Hello, Chief. I’d get up but—”
“No need.” Mick Thomas had been the police chief for ten years. He was dressed in his uniform of black pants and a white shirt—with several epaulets. For as long as Diego remembered, he himself wanted those epaulets. The chief pulled over a straight chair and sat.
“How’s it going?”
“Slow. My shoulder hurts like hell without pain meds. It’s okay right now because I took some. I’m meeting with PT this afternoon. Do you know that I had surgery?”
“Yeah, of course. I was out in the waiting room.”
“You were?”
“One of my best gets shot on a call? Of course I was there.”
He realized then that the man had to be suffering the same loss he was.
“Thanks then.”
His craggy face turned sad. “I’m sorry about our guys. You know it wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that here.” He touched his head. “But not here.” His heart.
“Survivor’s guilt.”
“I suppose.”
Thomas got a faraway expression in his eyes. “I had it once. Because of a call that went bad. I lost people, too. You can heal from that, Diego.”
