Page 24 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

She froze. He wouldn’t be satisfied with an excuse. She swallowed hard and decided to give him the truth. “I don’t know.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything at this point. All I know is that if I throw a few sticks of dynamite out into the lake in the morning, I’m able to function the rest of the day. But if I don’t, well, I’m pretty much a mess.”

“So, get some help, or talk to a friend, or one of your relatives.”

“No, there’s no way I’m saddling my friends or family with the nightmares haunting me waking and sleeping. As for professional help, I’ve considered it, but there’s no one local I feel safe enough with to talk about it.” She pushed her empty plate aside. “I guess that’s what happens when you stay in the same small town all your life.”

“You could try talking to me.”

“Have you talked to someone?”

“Yeah, I saw a military psychologist four or five times after I got home. It helped give me some perspective.”

She stared at the back of her right hand. There were four tiny cuts on it, reminders of how close she’d come to dying.

They weren’t the only scars on her hand.

“I need some time to think and my brain is getting fuzzy.”

“You’re coming down from the adrenaline high. Why don’t you have a nap?”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” She got up and put her plate in the sink. When she turned around Smitty was standing right in front of her with his arms extended.

“Hug?”

“That is my new favorite word.”

She took the half step it took to press herself against his big, warm body. His arms came around her and he pulled her in so her head was tucked up against his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on like she was drowning and he was the only stable thing left in the world.

She could have stood there in his embrace for hours, but pulled away after several seconds. The last thing she needed was to get too attached to having him around. He wasn’t staying for long, just until she stopped playing with explosives and proved she wasn’t going to harm herself or anyone else.

“Thanks.”

“Any time.” His voice was low and one corner of his mouth tilted upward. It hit her hard in the gut, knocking the lingering fear out of her diaphragm and replacing it with something far more dangerous. Need, deep and intense.

“I’m going to sleep now. There’s a bed in the spare room next door.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab my gear.”

She nodded, climbed the stairs, and got into bed.

Bedtime was the worst time of day. Darkness hid ugliness, worry, and danger. The moment she closed her eyes she was back in Syria, the smell of smoke and blood in her nostrils, the sound of fire, moans of the injured and the metallic scream of their truck dying in her ears.

Then came the gunfire, the ping of bullets hitting the debris around her and the gibberish of men speaking a language not her own. Coming closer, their weapons busy killing her team members, they laughed. That was the moment she broke, grabbed the weapon of the dead marine beside her and opened fire on the enemy.

Now, she shivered as fear gripped her throat, closing off her air, making the hair on her arms and neck stand on end.

She knew there weren’t any monsters under the bed because she was the monster.

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