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“What was it?”
He shook his head, pushing her away. Not physically, but in every other way. She felt him forcing an island between them, and memories of before, of two years ago, splintered through her. Whenever she’d asked about Iraq, he’d done this. Whenever she’d mentioned anything about his time there, his deployment, his decision to enlist, he’d clamped up, so she knew, shejust knew,that his nightmare had something to do with his time in service.
“You were in Iraq again,” she said gently, hating that he tried to push her away even when she vowed she wouldn’t let him this time.
He stood up, pacing towards the window, his back shifting with every deep breath he drew.
“You were dreaming about Iraq,” she repeated, not going to be put off so easily.
“It happens sometimes,” he said, dismissively. “And it’s probably best not to wake me when it does.”
She frowned. “Because you think you might hurt me?”
He didn’t answer but his silence spoke volumes. She got up, moved towards him, hesitating for only a moment before she pressed a palm to his bare back, feeling his breathing with her hand.
“You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
“But not these dreams.” His voice raised a little, and he dragged a hand through his hair, spiking it at odd angles, as he turned to face her. They were toe to toe, so she had to tilt her face up to his to meet his eyes. “Not these dreams,” he repeated.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
She ached for him. It was obvious that he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. “You don’t want to talk to me about it,” she said quietly. “That’s okay. But please tell me there’ssomeoneyou talk to?”
“Like who?
“A therapist, or a friend.”
“I make a point of never talking about it with Noah or Ashton.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t need to. We all know…”
She compressed her lips, and when he didn’t continue, she sighed softly. “You might have shared the same experience, have lived the same nightmare, but that doesn’t really help you process what happened over there.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She flinched at the cutting tone to his voice.
“See? I’m hurting you.”
“It hurts me when you push me away,” she said, honestly. “It always has.”
He stared at her, lost, confused, disorientated.
“But it can’t be helped. You don’t want to tell me certain things. That’s not what our relationship is, or ever was. I can live with that. But I’m telling you, as a…friend,” she said, searching for the right word, and knowing ‘friend’ fell wildly short. “That you need to consider getting some help.”
His eyes glinted when they met hers. “I’m fine.”
“Clearly.”
“You know what helps?”
