Page 18 of Stryker

“Yeah, bringing back oldmemories never helps. Do you want to talk about it?” He’d heardsometimes that helped, even though Stryker didn’t discuss his own.Nuh-uh. No way was he going down that slippery slope to opening up“feelings.”

“I think I’ve alreadydestroyed your sleep enough for one night.”

Stryker motioned for John to move overand sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He still had hisshorts on, so he wasn’t buck-naked in front of the alreadytraumatized guy.

“Don’t worry about mysleep. I’ve learned to live on very little sleep over theyears.”

“I imagine you have withall that you do and been through. It couldn’t have been easy foryou and the other team members. I appreciate what all the membersof the armed services do for our country in keeping ussafe.”

“Don’t worry about it. Itwas my job,” Stryker said dismissively.

“Again, you refuse toaccept that you might be a good person and a hero after everythingyou’ve done,” John said.

“I wouldn’t be throwingthe word hero out around me because it doesn’t apply.” He wasn’t ahero. “So, let’s get back to the question at hand. Your nightmares.What do you see?”

“The usual. Gunshots,blood, my parents lying on the street dead, pain, funeral, youknow, all the highlights,” John said.

“Yeah, I’ve been there.All the gory details. Why can’t we ever dream about the good stuff?I’ve always wondered that myself,” Stryker mused. He shifted on thebed, making himself more comfortable, the scent of John’s sweat andwhat was likely a lingering shower gel from the day strangelycomforting. It had been a while since he’d been this close toanother man—in their bed, half naked.

“Yeah, me too. It’d beokay if I could dream about, you know, the fun we had when theywere alive, the special times, but no. I get the shit stuff andnothing else. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not fair. None of itis. But we have to deal with it or at least try to.”

“Is that what youdo?”

“This isn’t aboutme.”

“Well, if you want to diginto my brain, then it’s going to be a tit-for-tat situation, or wecould just end the conversation right now.”

“You’re negotiating withme?” Stryker was enjoying this back and forth, which was odd forhim. People who challenged him were normally told to fuckoff.

“Yes,” John saidsmugly.

“Damn, you’re not so softafter all.”

“Warned you. I can be hardwhen I want to.” His face flushed at those words and he looked asif he wanted to take them back. “I mean, you know what I mean, Ididn’t mean—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Strykersaid with a grin. Damn, the man was adorable when he wasflustered.

He didn’t like talking about himself,but what the hell. He could give John a little something. “I’vebeen told to try to process why I’m having the nightmares. Was itthe event itself? Was it what I saw or what I had to do? Was itanything in particular that stood out, anythingunresolved?”

“That’s easy for me. Thefact I lived, and they died. The doctors called it survivor’sguilt, as if that explained everything and made everything okay. Itdidn’t.”

“It never will. Sometimespeople are in such a hurry to give you a diagnosis that they forgetto treat the reasons it’s happening in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” Johnasked.

“Take me, for example. Mynightmares don’t revolve around what I’ve done. It’s what I failedto do.”

“In what way?”

“Nope. It’s your turn toanswer a question,” Stryker said.

“Okay, go ahead, fair’sfair.”

“What do you think yourparents would want for you? To feel guilty that yousurvived?”

“No. My father tried topush me out of the way when the shooting started.”

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