Page 81 of Jagger

“I guess you thought wrong.”

“Bullshit, Jagger. You risked your damn life to go on that mountain to locate my daughter. You kept me from falling off a goddamn cliff. In my mind that shows you have grit, a salt of the earth kind of man. It also tells me that you have integrity. You have the entire world at your feet. Money. A fabulous resort to work in. A town of friendly fucking people who think the sun rises and sets on your ass and… And a woman who gives a damn about you, but you’d prefer to wallow in self-pity. I call that bullshit.”

I held my breath, waiting to see what he would do. As anticipated, his rage flared once again and he jerked to his feet. A part of me was momentarily on edge, but my gut told me and the inner voice whispered that he would never dare raise his hand to me. Not once. Not under any circumstances.

He fumed, his chest rising and falling and his face turning red. I saw hatred in his eyes. All for himself. But he remained quiet, just the little bit of ice rattling in the shaking glass creating any sound.

We glared at each other until I was certain I had to try yet another tactic.

“Fine. Have it your way, Jagger.” I turned to leave and as I’d hoped, he refused to allow me to get out of the room. He planted his flexed hand on the door, slamming it closed before picking me up. “Let go of me.”

“No.” His single word was filled with agony. He sat down again, planting me on his lap. The single act told me he’d survive this panic attack.

But there would be more. How would I be able to handle the next one? And the next.

The man was a bundle of nerves, the cords on the side of his neck thumping from his increased pulse. My doctor side almost took over, but I tamped her down. What Jagger needed right now was someone to listen. Not to bark orders or tell him how he should be feeling. While he’d admitted his previous job, information most people wouldn’t understand, there was much more to what he’d endured. Something more personal.

He had one arm around the base of my back, keeping me in place while allowing me to know his intentions weren’t harmful. Sadly, his eyes were dilated as memories plagued every thought. “Let me help you, Jagger.”

“I don’t think anyone can.” He took another sip of his drink as he stared off into space.

I wrapped my fingers around his and the glass, stretching them out so I could rub the tip of my index finger back and forth across the top of his hand. He allowed me to take the glass from his hand, finally able to look me in the eye as I took a sip of his drink.

He was starting to come down from the fog that had hardened his mind and his heart. But not enough that it would mean anything the next time he had an episode.

“A nightmare?” I asked.

His nod was so forlorn. “Nothing unusual except I thought you were…”

“Someone who hurt you.”

“Yeah. I can’t do this to myself any longer or to you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that!” The right corner of his lip curled.

“Yes, I do. It will never happen. You won’t allow yourself to do that.”

He retrieved his drink, laughing more bitterly than before. “I wish I had your confidence.” In an unexpected move, he kissed my cheek. It was also a slight dismissal. He wanted to try to shove his experience under a rug.

“I don’t know any longer.” He placed his glass on the table. Every time he looked at me, I could see another layer being peeled. He’d been so caught up in hating himself that he’d forgotten it was okay to live. To enjoy.

As he slid a strand of hair from my mouth, his face contorted and he looked away. “Few people could ever understand what it’s like to be a prisoner of war.”

Oh, shit. Another reason he hated the world. He’d experienced the worst of mankind.

“I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to try and fathom what it’s like to be deprived of sunlight, food, and water. I’d never wish the kind of torture I’d endured on anyone no matter what they’d done in their lives. There are fates worse than death. All you do is pray that death will take you, and a part of you is lost in the darkness forever. But I’ve come to understand what I had to face was nothing in comparison to the loss experienced by the families of those I killed. I deserved the months in captivity.”

He made the statement in such a cold, calculated way that I wasn’t able to come up with a decent response. At least not until I was able to process what he’d told me.

“No one deserves to be tortured, Jagger. Some, however, deserve to die for the terrible things they’ve done to others either for fun, financial or political gain. What you did as a soldier was make the world safe for others, keeping democracy alive. What you did as a mercenary was the same, only you were forced into even more dangerous situations because you were very much alone. It wasn’t your fault you were captured by some terrible people either. But do you want to know something?”

His eyes were glistening as he studied me. “What?”

“You’re not alone right now. I’m here. And unless you have other plans, this is where I intend on staying.” He was holding back some of the details, but I couldn’t press him. My heart was heavy for him yet grateful that he’d shared his horrors with me.

He’d opened himself up, making his needs and anxiety vulnerable to me, someone he barely knew. Some might not understand how special that was. Maybe my thinking was twisted, but I’d been the one to discuss murder options with my best friend so who was I to justify myself?

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