Page 126 of Windlass

“I’ll probably need a bit to digest this fully, I won’t lie.” Stevie glanced at the sky where distant thunderheads built and tumbled. “It isn’t fun to think about. I know it isn’t fun for you to think about either. I think as long as you’re trying to find better ways to deal with PTSD—”

“PTSD sounds like a bit much—”

“It’s PTSD, Angela. First step toward solving a problem is acknowledging it so if you could get to that step it’d be great.” She softened the sentence with a half smile. “I’ve told you I got some counseling in college, right?”

“No.” Angie turned to look at her fully, eyebrows slightly raised.

“It was helpful. You should try it.”

Angie’s face shuttered. “Therapy’s expensive.”

“It’s your life,” said Stevie. “It might be worth a little investment.”

Angie burst into tears.

Stevie pulled her into her arms as best she could while perched on a bucket and let Angie sob until she worried Angie might perish from asphyxiation.

“Breathe, girl.” Stevie rubbed her back. Angie had buried her face between Stevie’s thighs, and the scoop neck of the T-shirt revealed the knobs of her spine as her body shook itself apart. They looked achingly vulnerable. Stevie pressed her palm gently over them as if that could keep Angie safe from whatever was eating her up inside.

Angie’s breathing gradually slowed, interrupted by hiccups. At last she sat up, wiping her face on her shirt.

“Lana was wrong. You’re still gorgeous.” Stevie pulled a wadded-up piece of paper towel out of her own pocket. “Haven’t used it. I don’t think.”

Angie blew her nose with a grimace. “I am so gross.”

“I’ve seen grosser.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better about being a snot monster.”

“Have youseena horse with a sinus infection?”

A choking laugh escaped from behind the paper towel. Angie finished cleaning herself up and lifted her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks to meet Stevie’s waiting gaze.

“Please don’t show me a picture.”

“Too late. Already ordered it printed on a T-shirt for you.”

“Stevie . . .” Angie trailed off, biting her lip.

“You know you can tell me stuff, right? Even Stuff trademark?” Was there something worse than Lana? Her heart stuttered, but recovered. She trusted Angie. Even with what Angie had just told her, she trusted her. Angie would have told her if something else had happened. And if she hadn’t, she would tell Stevie now, and they’d figure it out.

They were athey, now. A we. An us. A family.

“I might lose the house.”

“What?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at all. “Our house?”

A sniffle. A nod.

“Could you, um, elaborate a bit?”

A house was a house. Yes, Stevie loved their house, but there were other houses. They could make it work. The horses would be tricky, but Ivy knew other stables.

“I can’t afford to fix the roof.”

“I wondered about that.” Stevie reached for Angie’s hand, but Angie shook her head, showing the makeshift tissue clenched inside it.

“I’ve maxed out my cards trying to cover the rest of the bills. I hadn’t realized what Lilian and Morgan moving out would do. I didn’t charge them a lot of rent, but it covered the bills. Now—”

---