But he was strong too, and he was fine. He could be alone. He didn’t need comfort.

Becca walked over to Dad’s desk. She pulled the wax tab and opened the bottle of whiskey. Then she grabbed the shot glass Dad had always kept in the same drawer as the whiskey.

She poured a shot and shocked the hell out of him by taking it herself. She coughed a little on it, but it was clearly not the first time she’d shot whiskey. Which was most definitely a surprise.

She poured herself another one, but before he could warn her off hitting it that hard, she handed it to him.

“Your turn.”

He thought about refusing. He thought about a lot of things, but in the end, he just took the damn shot.

“Let me guess. You’re going to want to keep this a secret from Gabe and Jack.”

“I do believe you’re a genius, Becca.”

She gave him a doleful look.

“It was just a nightmare. That’s not to say they’re pleasant, but they’re rare and normal and not magically going to go away with time or therapy or whatever. So telling anyone, worrying about it—it’s pointless. Gabe and Jack have their own nightmares to deal with.”

“You don’t think talking to each other about them would help?”

“Yes, reliving the hell that was Afghanistan helps. Remembering it all in great detail. Hearing screams, smelling blood. Feeling the pain again is fantastic bonding time.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded so genuine it made him sick.

He didn’t want her to be sorry, and he certainly didn’t want to be standing in his dead father’s office talking about nightmares and war. “Thanks for the drink, but I’m going to bed now.”

“Alex?”

He didn’t say anything in return, but he did stop his hasty retreat.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. And maybe the other guys don’t want to talk about it. You’re all fine. I know you want to believe that.”

“But?”

“There’s no but. Just me saying I get it. I mean, I don’t, but I understand why you’d want to work it out yourself. Why you wouldn’t want anyone else worrying over you. That…that I get.”

Then she walked past him and grabbed her rifle. She murmured something to the dogs, and left the office, Ranger following her while Star stayed put.

Somehow it was worse that she didn’t push. Worse she hadn’t given him a reason to be angry, because he wanted to be fucking angry at everything and anything. Anger he knew how to channel.

But she just…understood.

He stared at the dog waiting for him and thought maybe understanding was the worst thing she could have done to him.

* * *

Becca rocked in Mom’s chair—no, it wasn’t Mom’s anymore. It was hers. Her house. Her chair. She smiled at that, tried to focus on the thought, but…

It had been a week since she’d found Alex shaking and out of sorts in Burt’s office, and though she hadn’t said anything to anyone, including Alex himself, she couldn’t get it out of her head. No matter how often she saw Alex being all rancher-y every day, in charge with the guys every night, she thought about that moment of weakness.

No, not even weakness. Just… Well, it made sense he’d have nightmares. If he’d been in his own room, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

Why had he been sleeping in Burt’s office? Why had he claimed he’d been drunk when he hadn’t even had a drink? Why…

She blew out a frustrated breath, wishing the stars had those answers, but all they had was light a million miles away.

“I hope you’re out there,” she whispered, thinking about Burt on this porch. Burt, who’d loved his son. Burt, who’d surely know what to do.