Page 101 of The Beast

“You’re also the closest thing I’ve had to a father since mine decided empire-building was more important than his kids.” Gabriel dropped his hands and met Travis’s eyes. “You’ve seen more broken men than any shrink I know. Guys who came back from combat and couldn’t... Couldn’t be normal anymore. Couldn’t be with their families.” He shook his head. “How did they fix it? The ones who did. How did they come back?”

Travis was quiet for a long moment. His feet came off the desk, and he leaned forward.

“Some of them didn’t,” he said. “Some of them ate their guns or drank themselves to death or just disappeared. Couldn’t find a way back. And the ones who did come back...” He shook his head, “Gabe, man, I was just a friend to them. Just like I am to you.”

“You’re more than a friend. Hell, you’re a savior.”

“Your body, maybe. When I found you that day in the snow, I didn’t think you’d survive. Neither did Anissa, and that child of mine is the world’s foremost wide-eyed optimist. You say I rescued you, and maybe I rescued your body. Got you out of the cold. Got you stitched up. But you rescued yourself, buddy. You did the work. You can do this work, too.”

Gabriel’s vision blurred, and he cringed, realizing the cause was tears.

“It wasn’t anything I did,” Travis said softly. “But the ones who made it—they had a few things in common. They had people who wouldn’t give up on them. Who they could talk to. You’ve got me. Anissa. And I think you have Isabella, too.”

“That’s it?” That’s the solution?”

“A part of it. Mostly, I think they came through because they had something to live for. And they figured out what was actually broken, instead of just trying to beat it into submission.”

That last part landed hard. Because that was exactly what Gabriel had been doing for five years. Trying to beat the beast into submission through violence and exhaustion and sheer force of will.

But what the hell else was he supposed to do? Offer it tea and crumpets? Whatever the fuck a crumpet was.

“Honestly, boss, I don’t know if I can help you, but I’ll be your sounding board. So go ahead. Tell me what happens. Walk me through it.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, pride warring with need.

Need won out. And so he told him. About wanting her. About the tender bits falling to the side, as if the beast that lived inside him kicked them away. About the way everything in him would shift, like he was readying for a fight, when that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her. Not to hurt, but to have. Except it was as if his body didn’t get that. His mind didn’t get it. He’d end up overcome by a horrible need to strike first. To protect himself.

He shivered. “It doesn’t make sense. She’s not a threat. She’d never hurt me. But my subconscious is a scared pansy-ass with one hell of a right hook.”

Travis nodded slowly, like pieces were clicking into place. “When they shot you in that cabin, you told me they had you tied to a chair?”

The question caught Gabriel off guard. “What? Yeah. Why?” He shook off the unwelcome memory. They’d burst through the door. He’d fought—but three against one, and they had guns. The first bullet took him down before he could land a punch. He came to bound to the chair, ropes on his wrists and ankles. One around his chest.

“You were helpless,” Travis said, his voice as soft as a kitten.

The word made Gabriel’s stomach turn. “Yes.”

“Couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t defend yourself. Just had to sit there and take whatever they decided to do to you.”

He squirmed. Fighting the urge to bolt. “Yes.” His voice came out hard. Brittle.

“And then they shot you again.”

“The woman did. She had Izzy’s eyes.” He shuddered. “And she walked up and put a bullet in my chest like she was swatting a fly.”

“You barely survived,” Travis said, as if Gabe needed to be reminded. “You swore you’d somehow find and kill every one of them.”

“Damn right.”

“And the one who shot you had eyes like the woman you love.”

“He closed his eyes, nodding, hating the memory of how he’d treated Bella when he’d come back. That he’d even for a moment believed that she’d been that bitch in the cabin.

Except some part of him still believed it. Some terrorized part of his subconscious. That’s the point. That’s where Travis was leading him.

“But it wasn’t her,” Gabe said. “I know it wasn’t. No doubt, no question. Not anymore.”

Travis shrugged. “Your nervous system learned a lesson in that cabin—vulnerability equals death. And it’s been keeping you alive ever since. Problem is, it doesn’t know the war’s over. It doesn’t know how to turn off. And add her eyes into the equation….”