Page 32 of Interference

Wyatt closed his eyes and petted her. “Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s all… hard to talk about.”

“That’s okay. I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no. It’s fine.” He met my gaze. “It’s hard, but it’s also good, you know?”

“I bet. But just don’t feel like you have to spell it out for me, okay? I don’t want to make things worse for you.”

“I appreciate it.” He paused. “Ironically, the VA doesn’t seem to have that problem.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm. In order to get approved, you have to spell out exactly what gave you the PTSD.” He swallowed hard, stroking Lily’s shoulder as she kept leaning on him. “You have to spell it out in detail. What happened. When. Where.” He shivered. “Who died.”

My jaw went slack. “Wait, you have to—are you serious?”

He nodded.

“That seems…”

“Cruel? Unnecessary?” He rested his chin on his dog’s neck. “Almost like they’re trying to deter people from applying by turning the process into something that retraumatizes them? Yeah. I agree.”

I whistled and sat back. “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah. I was lucky—I still had my therapist at that point, so she helped me fill it out. Took like four appointments to get it all out on paper, and we didn’t even list every incident because it was just too damn much.”

“Unbelievable. And they still turned you down? Or, well, rated you for less than you should’ve been?”

“Yep. And I just… I didn’t—I don’t have it in me to keep fighting for the PTSD rating.” He picked up his fork and ate another bite of eggs. “The process is absolute hell. I tried, but I can’t do it. My lawyer is still working at getting them to approve the claim for my leg.”

I picked up my coffee but didn’t drink it yet. “How long do you think it’ll take to actually resolve it and get them to approve your claim?”

Wyatt half-shrugged. “Could be next week. Could be five years from now. And the answer could be yes or it could be no. There’s really no predicting it.”

“Do they know about your, um—your living situation?”

He nodded. “I’m on the list for some assistance there. But again, who knows how long it’ll actually take?”

“Jesus,” I whispered.

“Yeah, it’s…” He paused, then shook his head and went for his coffee. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to trauma dump on you.”

“No, it’s fine. I honestly had no idea how bad things are for veterans. Especially the ones in your situation.”

“It’s rough,” he admitted quietly. He took a sip, and as he put the cup back down, he turned to me. “And to be clear, the night terrors suck, but being able to sleep deeply enough to have them is a hell of an improvement. I’ll just try not to wake you up.”

“Don’t worry about that.” I gestured at Lily. “I’m just glad you have her there to help you down from it.”

At that, Wyatt finally smiled, lighting up the room like the morning sun landing on Lake Washington. “She’s amazing.” He petted her head. “The nightmares still suck, but she always manages to pull me out before they get really bad.”

Goose bumps prickled my spine. He’d literally woken up screaming last night—it could get worse from there? I couldn’t imagine living like that. Thank God for Lily.

Before I could say anything more, the rumble of the garage door almost drove a frustrated groan out of me. Christ. I was so not ready to deal with Simon today.

That sent a rock of guilt into the pit of my stomach. He was my boyfriend. We were supposed to be making this work, not turning into one of those miserable sitcom couples who wanted to bludgeon each other just for breathing. Was that where this was headed?

I hoped not.

Clearing my throat, I got up to rinse my plate. “I’d better get going. Thanks again for making breakfast.”

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