Page 76 of Better Late Than Never

He seemed to think about that. “I guess it doesn’t.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, skin scuffing over stubble. “I keep thinking it’ll get better, but…”

“I know the feeling. Especially when it happens out of nowhere.”

“Seriously. And when thereisa trigger, it’s usually the stupidest shit that sets it off, too.”

“Right?”

Alex huffed a humorless laugh. “I was a ball of anxiety for a whole damn day once because someone was driving one of those street racer cars, and the NOX system backfired.” He groaned. “For fuck’s sake. Iknewwhat it was, too.”

“You knew,” I said. “But your subconscious didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you consciously knew it was a car backfiring. But that lizard brain that’s still fucked up from the war heard a bang and didn’t know what to make of it.”

He sighed again. “Maybe? I guess?”

“It’s happened to me too.”

“Has it?”

“Mmhmm.” I thought for a second. “I took my boys to a sandwich shop once, and you know those big cooking sheets? The ones they use to bake the bread?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone dropped a stack of them.” I sighed, my stomach knotting at the memory and my face burning from the past embarrassment. “One of the boys had to text their mom to come get us.”

“Really?” Alex breathed.

“Yeah. It was the stupidest thing, you know? Especially since Iknewwhat it was. But it hit one of those tripwires in my head, and I just… I didn’t trust myself to drive. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn’t text Aimee, so…” I cringed. “I had to have Quinn do it.”

“How old was he?”

“Fourteen. And they were both pretty rattled from the whole thing. I feltterribleabout it for a long time.”

“But it wasn’t something you did,” he whispered. “Something triggered your PTSD—that’s not… I mean, it’s not a character flaw, you know?”

“I know.” I kissed his shoulder again. “But in the moment, I felt like it was. Which is probably what you’re feeling right now.”

He tensed, then relaxed. “Okay, okay. Point taken.” He found my hand and clasped it gently in his. “And… thanks.”

“Of course.”

“Dealing with this shit would be so much easier if we could get some goddamned therapy,” he muttered.

“I know, right?”

The military had made some token efforts toward letting us access mental healthcare. The Brandon Act was a good start, but there was still a long, long way to go.

“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” I said. “The military gives out PTSD like it gives out Good Conduct Medals. We can all name at least a dozen people who very obviously have it, ourselves included. But if we get diagnosed, suddenly we’re not fit for duty anymore.”

Alex grunted unhappily. “You’d think we’d be better fit for duty after getting diagnosed and treated.”

I gave a sharp, humorless laugh, but said nothing. What was there to say?

After a while, he whispered, “One of the things I’m looking forward to the most when I retire is being able to get therapy. Like, without worrying it’ll affect my job.”

“I’m glad you’ll be able to get that. I’m looking forward to it myself.”

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