Page 62 of Secret Twins for My Ex's SEAL Best Friend

I stepped closer to him, trying to worm through the gaps between his body and the doorway. “No,” I said finally, stepping back and looking him in the eyes, “I got curious, okay? And I’m glad I did because I don’t know how else I would have found out that you’re…” I glanced past him, where I knew his daughter could hear, and whispered, “…entertaining guests in here. Or worse. Maybe you’re a murderer.”

Robert’s expression softened, and he leaned his head against the door frame. “Is that really what you think?”

“What part? The murderer thing? No, not really. But I do think you’re handcuffing women to your bed and then telling me you want to be with me, which is so…” I grappled for the words and ended up with, “messed up!”

“Messed up? That’s what you’re going with?” I could hear a smile in his voice, and it frustrated me even more that he wasn’t taking me seriously. It was like I’d always been a joke to him.

“I guess so. I don’t want to curse near your daughter.” I set my jaw, glaring into his smirk.

“That’s very thoughtful,” he said, stepping toward me. He lowered his voice and whispered, “But what if she’s in on it? What if she helps with the murders?”

“That isn’t funny.”

His smirk melted me, and I ignored my instinct to fall into his arms even as he reached out for me. I shook his hands from my body, stepping back.

“Delia,” he said in a strained voice, like he was trying not to laugh, “Come sit with me for a moment.” Brazenly, he walked over to the bed, sat down, and patted the spot next to him.

In disgust, I said, “I don’t want to sit on the old sheets you hooked up with women on, thanks.” Finally, I turned to leave, my path unobstructed.

“For fuck’s sake, Delia, that’s not what the handcuffs are for! Come in here and close the door!” he boomed, so loudly that I jumped. I could see a hard swallow traveling down his throat.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I closed the door. I sat next to him and felt the immediate pull of his body. Even being near him felt like a trial. His heat, his smell, was magnetic.

“Delia,” he said, gathering my hands into his lap and stroking the backs of my hands, leaving little zaps of lightning under my skin.

“I—how do I say this?” He looked up at the sky, considering his words carefully. “Lately, my PTSD has gotten worse. I told you about my daughter and her crush and how it’s been a lot on me. Well, I’ve been having these nightmares, nightmares where I’m fighting off her mother’s murderer or nightmares where I’m trapped on enemy soil, and I need to claw for my life. I don’t know where I am when I have these, and theyfeelreal.”

Swallowing hard, I said simply, “I’m sorry that you suffer. But that doesn’t give you the right—”

He put up a finger, shushing me, and I bit my tongue as anger sparked in me. “They feel real, and I have a daughter to take care of. Do you know there are men out there that hurt their loved ones when they’re in the middle of a flashback? Men who even kill their loved ones?”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I felt like my stomach was hollow. I didn’t understand his point, but I felt his pain. “So,” I cleared my throat, “what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you that at night, I set that chair up against my bedroom door. And then I take double the recommended dose ofsleeping pills. And then I handcuff myself to that bedpost. And I put the key somewhere that’ll be hard to reach in my sleep. And only by doing all of that can I be certain that my daughter is safe.”

He looked at me with a serious stare, his jaw squared and his eyes clear. His hands were on mine, but still now, like he’d forgotten he was holding them.

“That isn’t a part of some kinky sex ritual, Delia. It’s about survival.”

All that hollowness in my stomach, and it still dropped. “Oh.”

“Do you understand now why I couldn’t let you sleep over that night? I couldn’t risk your safety. And… I couldn’t risk you finding out that this is where I am in life. That I’m not always a strong guy who will keep you safe. Sometimes I’m a guy who could hurt you. And I can’t risk being that guy.”

He pushed my hair back behind my ear while he talked, his fingers trailing down my back, and I shivered in an automatic response to his touch.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered back, my voice hoarse.

“Well. You should be,” he responded simply, his eyes still on me.

I wanted to argue, but I’d overseen and participated in hundreds of therapy sessions with veterans, and I knew what he was talking about.

I felt tears swimming in my eyes with compassion for Robert. I could feel the pain in his admissions, the fear of failure, and more than failure. Something that people struggled to say out loud. That fear that our fears are stronger than our love.

I had wanted to tell him I was pregnant, but as I looked at the man before me, broken by fear, I realized that he was barely handling the small changes in Corinne’s life. I needed to be sure that he could handle the news.

I reached out and hugged him, whispering, “I’m sorry you’ve carried this alone.”

His arms circled around me and squeezed me tight. His chin rested on my shoulder, and he nuzzled his face into the crease of my neck. He kissed me lightly and murmured into my skin, “It’s mine to carry.”

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