Page 108 of Cowboy SEAL Homecoming

“Becca would,” Alex replied stubbornly.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t wish it on her, would you?”

Alex tried to push that icy ball of dread away. “I appreciate the concern and all, but what happened to you… Becca isn’t like that. And I’m fine.”

“Look at yourself, Alex. Really. Look.” And with that, Jack walked up the stairs, favoring his better leg. “And for fuck’s sake, talk to the therapist when she gets here.”

Look at himself? He knew things weren’t perfect, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working on it. What would looking at himself do? The only thing that could fix anything was to keep moving forward and leave all that haunting past in the past, where it belonged. A therapist would only stir it all up.

He rubbed at the tightness in his chest that never seemed to loosen anymore. He’d get there. Soon. He just hadn’t found the key yet, but he would. He would.

* * *

Becca didn’t go down for dinner. She was too nervous to eat. The past few days had been…crappy, and she didn’t know exactly how to explain why. Everything was the same. Everything was exactly as it had been before the other night when she’d asked Alex to spend the night with her.

Except, that was the problem. She couldn’t take the same. She couldn’t take lonely nights after he left, and she couldn’t take the way the weight seemed to be dropping off him. She didn’t think he was sleeping at all.

Something had to change, and she’d finally accepted that change had to come from her. Because she needed this, even if she shouldn’t have. If she was thinking about a future, their future, she needed him to let her in. Not just to the parts he thought were healed or worthy, but all the parts.

She loved Alex. She wanted to be able to love him all the time. Not just in the select times he deemed it okay. She wanted to be able to feel like this was real, and she wanted to be able to feel like…

There was a future in it. Not just the present. She couldn’t imagine a reason things would go poorly, but she could imagine—all too clearly—living in this space forever. Stagnant. Pretending.

She didn’t want that, and more, she couldn’t take much more of it. Knowing things weren’t changing. She needed to know there was a chance, a possibility that—

A knock sounded on the door and she took a deep breath. “All right, Hannibal. Now or never,” she muttered, knowing it would be Alex wondering why she hadn’t come down to dinner.

She was going to tell Alex what she needed, and she was not going to back down this time. She couldn’t keep being too afraid to ask for what she needed because he was struggling.

Because what she needed wasn’t for him to stop struggling. She needed for him to share that burden. To give her the opportunity to be there for him. Otherwise, this was nothing but…

Well, it wasn’t a relationship and there wasn’t a future in it if all this was going to be was sex and him trying to protect her from something.

Bolstered, she opened the door. Alex stood on the other side, holding a plate of food. All that drive faltered.

He was so sweet to her. Caring and good. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t just enjoy it?

“You didn’t come down for dinner, so I bought dinner to you.” He smiled, but there were such awful shadows under his eyes.

“No, I…” She bit her lip and took the plate. She gestured him into the room and put the plate on her nightstand. The physical evidence of all that was plaguing him, and the fact that nothing was getting better, had to spur her to action.

This was about her and what she needed in a relationship, but it was also about him. She couldn’t keep being complicit in whatever was slowly killing him.

“Alex, we need to talk.” She hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out what to lead with. She wanted to start with “I love you,” but she was afraid it would sound too much like an “I love you, but…”

“Something wrong?” he asked, easing onto the edge of her bed, glancing suspiciously at Hannibal, who stared right back.

“Maybe you should tell me.”

She watched the tension creep into him, that hard, stoic soldier posture taking over. “I don’t care for riddles, Bec.”

She hated that tone of voice. Hated that blank look in his eyes. She wanted his smiles and his warmth and it seemed… She wanted to cry because it seemed like being together had only extinguished that part of him. Inch by inch.

“You aren’t well,” she said, her voice scratchy. “I’m starting to think I’m some sort of…cause of that.”

He softened at that and took her hands in his, pulling her closer. Him sitting on the edge of her bed, her standing there, not that much above him.

“Why would you think that, Bec? I’m happy with us, what—”

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