Page 155 of Buried Too Deep

She kept on massaging, working from his skull to his neck. “You really did. If you roll over, I’ll rub your shoulders. You look tense.”

He laughed again, this time bitterly. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Roll over, Phin. Don’t make me full-name you.”

He opened his eyes, one side of his mouth lifting. “You’re bossy, Cora Jane.”

“I am.” She stroked the side of his face. “I’m supposed to hydrate you, too. Hold on.” She got him a bottle of water and dug in her nightstand drawer for some pain reliever. “I know there’s some in here somewhere,” she muttered, removing items and piling them on the nightstand as she searched.

Phin watched her, his eyes growing wide. “Why do you have a mousetrap in your drawer?”

“Because I don’t have a cat.”

“That makes no sense, Cora.”

She sighed. “I set the traps out but then I trip them on purpose and put them away. I don’t want to hurt any mice.”

“That makes more sense.” He reached over and grabbed a small mesh bag. “Why do you have twenty-sided dice in your drawer?”

“They were my mother’s. I found them in one of the boxes in the attic and I remembered her fiddling with them when she was sad over my father leaving. She told me once that she and my father played with them in college.”

“Dungeons & Dragons,” he murmured, and she was surprised that he could remember details given how shaken he was.

“Yes. She taught John Robert and me how to play. We had game nights. Did puzzles. It was our fun time. Oh, here it is.” She checked the expiration date on the bottle of pain reliever, relieved that the pills were still good. “Take these and drink.” She waited until he’d swallowed the pills and drunk half of the water in the bottle. “Now, roll over.”

Shaking his head, Phin did as he was told. Cora scooted closer until her hip rested against his and began kneading the muscles of his back.

“You have very nice muscles,” she said. “I like what I see.”

He just hummed, groaning a little when she dug her thumb into a particularly tight muscle. SodaPop sat on the floor at Cora’s feet, looking concerned.

She hadn’t thought a dog could look concerned, but Phin’s dog did.

“Good girl,” she said softly. “You’re such a good girl. He’s okay.”

Phin reached over the side of the bed and stroked SodaPop’s silky ears. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Is she your sweetie or am I?” Cora asked playfully.

Phin winced. “Um…both?”

Cora chuckled. “That’s okay. I know where I stand.” She continued to work on his back and shoulders until he began to relax. “If you want to tell me about the dream, you can. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

He sighed. “You haven’t asked why I have PTSD.”

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

He turned his head so that his cheek pressed into the pillow. “If you don’t stop the massage, I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t have to bribe me, Phin. You don’t have to tell me at all.”

“Not a bribe.” He made a little noise. “There. That feels good.”

She focused on that spot until the muscle beneath her hands became pliant. “What is it, if it’s not a bribe?”

He sighed again. “Armor? I can’t look at you when I tell it.”

“Whatever you need. I assume it was something that happened when you were in the army.”

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