Page 40 of Holding Out

“Sorry—Jesus.Sorry.”

Griff got to his feet, a little shaky.

“I have these flashbacks.”

He was obviously sheepish, and at once, her compassion returned.

“PTSD,” she said.

“That’s—yeah.”He shook his head.“That was probably really scary for you.I’m so sorry.”

It had been, a little.Her hands were shaking now.But the last thing he needed was to worry about her.“I’ve heard about it, so I figured that’s what you were going through.And you weren’t—you didn’t do anything.You just crouched down.Does it happen a lot?”

“It’s happened before.When something startles me, usually.Loud noises, bright lights, things flashing.Look, um—if you could maybe just not mention this to Nate and Alia?Or Jake?”

“They don’t know?”she asked, surprised.

He shook his head.“It just not something I talk about.”

That struck her as odd—and not quite right—but she left it alone for the time being.He could do without the third degree in the state he was in.

He took a deep breath and sighed.“Thanks for not freaking out.For just bearing with me.”

“Of course,” she said.“Seems like the least I could do in exchange for a big favor.”

That made him laugh, shakily.“Just so you know,” he said, “that favor one hundred percent paid for itself.Seriously.You don’t owe me anything, and you never will.Besides,” he said.“Friends look out for each other.”

It was her turn to laugh.“I guess that makes us pretty good friends then, huh?”

“Yeah.”He took her hand firmly in his, looked both ways, and guided her across the street.“Yeah, I’d say it does.”

His voice was warm, and it warmed her.

Friendship was good.

It was perfect, in fact.Safe.Simple.

Because Griff was obviously, patently, completely still in love with his ex-wife.

19

On Monday afternoon, Griff plopped himself down at R&R’s peer support group.

He tried to make it to the groups as often as he could, even though he rarely, if ever, talked about himself.He figured someone had to do the listening.And that wasn’t going to change today, even as his conversation with Becca from the other night echoed in his thoughts.

They don’t know?

It just not something I talk about.

Most of the chairs in the circle were full, and Jake was already seated across the circle, making the folding chair under him look like a kid’s potty.He was the perfect stereotype, physically, of an Army Ranger—over six feet tall and big, muscled, tough as nails.Except that if you looked closely—andonlyif you looked closely—you’d see that one of his legs was prosthetic from mid-thigh down.And Jake wasn’t the only one; a bunch of the guys in group had prosthetics.

Griff had been coming to group for longer than anyone besides Jake.Sometimes Griff half expected Jake to kick him out, or at least chastise him for still taking up space, two years on.But no, Jake greeted Griff with the same welcoming grin every time, the same one he was shooting him right now.

The door opened and CJ sauntered in.Griff raised his eyebrows in Jake’s direction, and Jake nodded, a half-smile creasing his face.This was CJ’s first time.It was a good sign when a guy showed up.It meant he was starting to open up, let the toxic stuff drain away, at least as much as any of them could.

CJ settled into a seat near Jake, then looked up, saw Griff, and gave him a friendly nod.

Jake called the room to order.“Most of you know how this works, but there are a couple of new guys here today—”

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