Page 77 of Tameron

“Sometimes I don’t either.” I shifted closer, and he turned the burner off and twisted to face me. The food wasn’t done, but I wasn’t hungry.

I let him wrap me in his arms and guide me out of the kitchen and onto the sofa. We sat in the curve of the L, me between his legs, my head resting on his chest. His fingers painted lines up and down my back until I felt like I could breathe again without falling apart.

“It’ll be easier tomorrow,” I told him, looking up so he could see my lips. “And easier the day after that. But I’m really glad you’re here, and I’m sorry I’m raining on all the reasons you came to see me.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Thisiswhy I came to see you. To be this for you when you and everyone else have been holding me up for so long.” He held his breath, then let it out on a soft sigh. “I started group therapy.”

I sat up a little straighter. “Sweetheart?—”

“Yeah, yeah. Nash has already given me the insufferably long I’m proud of you speech, okay. And I get it. I should have been doing it for a while now.”

Cupping his cheek, I shook my head, then let go and signed, ‘No. It’s on your time.’

He mouthed the words, then offered a small smile. ‘I know. But it’s hard.’

‘It will always be hard.’

“Always?” he clarified aloud.

“Yes.” I picked up his hands and pressed one kiss to each palm. “Always. But you did it, and that’s what matters.”

“Now you sound like my therapist,” he complained.

I grinned at him as I fell back down against his chest. “What a fucking pair, eh?”

“You and me?”

“Mm.”

His hands tightened around me and he sucked in a breath like he wanted to say something else, but in the end, there wasonly silence. I didn’t mind. How could I when I had him like this, in my arms, exactly how I wanted.

There was no telling how long it would last—another day. A month. A year. Maybe until I drew my last breath. I was surviving on hope and waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in this moment, I was content.

There were no dead strangers, no lonely past, no uncertain future.

There was just his breath and mine, and his heart beat steady against my ear.

“I’m happy right now,” he said softly.

I knew what he was saying. I knew how big those four words were. Lifting my face, I met his gaze, then kissed him for everything he was worth.

CHAPTER TWENTY

TAMERON

How did people even survive before the internet? It had taken me an hour or two to do some solid research into what would have been the most awkward conversation on the planet if I’d had to ask someone in person.

Nash. I would’ve had to ask Nash, and the thought alone made me break out in a sweat. I trusted him with my life and then some, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to explain the ins and outs of anal sex to me. The ins especially—and I snorted at my own lame joke.

Things were good between Dayton and me. Something had shifted, though it was hard to pinpoint what. It helped that he’d allowed me to be there for him instead of me always being the one needing help. Like that had restored some kind of invisible balance in our relationship.

Or maybe it was because I was making an effort to open up more. Jesus, that shit was hard. Four sessions of group therapy, and I still resented every moment of it. Though I suppose that was a step up from my initial vicious hate, so there was that.

Either way, I was trying to talk to Dayton more about things, including the stuff he couldn’t possibly be interested in yet seemed to be. He patiently listened to me talk about restoringcars, about why I decided to enlist, about the friendship with Nash, Creek, and Bean, about my continuing struggles with ASL. Not only that, but he asked questions and gave advice when I asked. The man was either a saint or a masochist. I hadn’t decided which one yet.

He talked to me more too, including about his work, and I felt privileged to be able to listen to him when he needed to vent or unload. I’d seen my fair share of shit in combat, so his stories didn’t bother me. While I might have PTSD in some form, it was mild in my case and mostly related to the accident. I wasn’t easily triggered, and thank god for that.

But all that talking and sharing was bringing us closer. And nine out of ten times, after talking, we ended up in bed. Kissing, making out, swapping blowjobs and hand jobs. Two days ago, we’d made each other come with the most insanely hot frotting session ever. I’d come in my pants like some high school kid, but with zero regrets.

---