Page 21 of The Darkness Within

Nash’s face can’t hide the stark pain he feels. It’s written all over his face so clearly that even I can feel it standing six feet away.

“Yeah,” he croaks, his voice barely there. “I know your daddy. I worked with him.”

“Can you tell my daddy I said hello?”

“I’ll try. Your daddy is a brave man. A good man. Don’t ever forget that.”

He’s about two seconds away from breaking down. It’s in his unsteady voice and watery eyes, and his gaze finds me over the boy’s shoulder, begging me, pleading for an interruption, for a life preserver.

“Let’s go find your mom,” I offer, laying my hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“She’s in line getting food. I’ll go get her,” the boy says, running off before I can follow.

“Brewer,” he breathes, “you’re here.” I take the seat next to him, turning my body towards his. “I mean, why are you here? What are you doing here?”

Biting back my smile, I realize this is the second time he’s become tongue tied around me. It’s becoming a habit. “I was invited by one of my patients. This is a hard day for her, and she didn’t want to face it alone.”

My words barely register on him. Instead, all of his attention is focused on my face, on my eyes and my mouth, despite the distracting noise and chatter echoing off the cinderblock walls of the battalion’s basement. His awareness and his scrutiny sends a jolt straight to my nuts. Like a lighthouse shining its beacon through the dark fog, my words penetrate his brain slowly. Recognition dawns in his icy blue eyes.

“Who is your patient?” He’s realizing that it must be someone he works with. Nash follows my gaze to the woman sitting at the table, now surrounded by family members from the unit, but my gaze returns to him, waiting for his reaction.

“Violet Gutierrez.”

A choked desperate sound crawls out of his throat, and he squeezes his eyes closed, like he’s trying to block out painful images. And then, at the worst possible time, someone’s service dog begins to bark, the sound echoing like a shrill alarm throughout the basement. Nash grabs his head, his large frame rocking back-and-forth as he tries in vain to block the sound. My heart beats in triple time as he begins to growl—there’s really no other way to describe the sound coming from his mouth—and I realize he’s losing it. He’s about to fall apart in front of all these people.

Leaning in close so my voice is in his ear, I ask with gentle urgency, “Nash, listen to my voice. Can I touch you?”

I almost miss that he’s nodding his head with the way his body is rocking and shaking.

“Nash, you’re not alone. I’m here with you. Right here,” I reassure, squeezing one hand as I wrap my other arm around his shoulder. To anyone else, it looks like a simple embrace, a friendly hug. His skin has a natural musk that I breathe into my lungs, and I immediately want to take another hit of him.

“Take a deep breath, Nash. Stay with me right here in the present. In the here, and the now, in the battalion headquarters basement. Take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs. Feel them burn as they stretch. Ten… Nine…” I count back the numbers slowly, giving him time to get a hold of himself. “Eight… Seven… breathe out slowly. Open your eyes, Nash. Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

His baby blues snap open and lock onto me and everything around us, the noise, the hustle and bustle, fades into the background as we become the only two people in the room. He looks panicked, desperate, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out over his brow. “Take another deep breath and hold it in your lungs.” When I see his chest expand and his shoulders rise, I begin to count. “Six… Five… Feel your heartbeat slow down with my counting. Four… breathe out one more breath, Nash. Breathe with me. Good, hold it. Three… Two… One…”

I squeeze his shoulder and his hand as he blows out a rush of warm air against my cheek. The sour stench of alcohol teases my nose, a familiar and unwelcome scent. “Slow, steady breaths.” His throat works furiously as he stares at my face. “Slow and steady.” I pass my hand over his chest, and I can feel his heart beating through his T-shirt, trying to claw its way through his ribs. “Slow and steady, Nash. Breathe with me.” He nods. “You’re safe. I’ve got you, you’re not alone.” He nods again, his thumb rubbing over the worn and dirty cord wrapped around his finger.

“What is she doing here?”

“She’s going through a hard time. Not only did she lose her son, but she also lost her husband. Sitting home alone isn’t doing her any good, so I suggested she come and be surrounded by people who knew him. People who can offer her support.”

“Her husband? He died?”

“Shortly after losing their son, Alfred’s heart gave out from the heartbreak and the stress. He was a patient of mine, healing from his own war wounds. Violet sought me out for counsel and help after she lost him.”

“She lost both of them?” He seems to be stuck on that fact.

“She did.”

His gaze constantly darts back-and-forth between Violet and me. I can still feel his rapid heartbeat beneath my palm, and I worry that he’s taking in too much information too quickly. My goal is to keep him calm, but there’s really no way to do that while having this conversation.

“Is she—Is she okay?”

“Not yet. She’s suffering and struggling, like you. But she will be because she’s not afraid to ask for help.” Nash catches the meaning behind my pointed look. Worry doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about him right now. His world must be spinning in circles in his head, making him dizzy and disoriented with panic and confusion.

“Did you know who I was when we met yesterday?”

I take a deep breath into my lungs before I can answer. “Yes, as soon as you told me your name, I recognized you.”

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