Page 57 of Hot Doggin'
Riggs crouches down in front of Mac. “Hey buddy, I just wanna check you out. I’m glad you’re okay.” Mac nods before Riggs shines a pen light in his eyes. “Looks good,” he confirms after finishing his assessment.
Rhett snorts. “Bet no one’s told you that in a long time.”
McCormick actually chuckles at that. Which lightens the tension and everyone has a good laugh.
Nash sits to my right and reaches out for Mac’s hand. If anyone knows what he’s feeling, it’s Nash. He suffers horribly from nightmares and flashbacks. So does West, who rubs Mac’s shoulder soothingly. One by one, the rest of the guys complete the circle around us, enclosing Mac in love, friendship, safety, and acceptance. His tears start slowly, silently, but I feel the tremors throughout his body as he shakes against my chest. I think he’s feeling relieved, and letting go of the fear and adrenaline he was holding onto. Cathartic tears.
I’ve said it before… This circle, these men, are healers. They may not look like it, but they can reach inside of you, and find the very thing that hurts the most, and beat it into submission. They can hold your hand while you cry about it. And they can help you dry your tears and remind you that you’re loved.
Nobody asks Mac what happened. They already know.
No one asks him to talk about it. It’s irrelevant.
Not one person tries to placate him with sympathy and empty words.
Instead, they give him what he actually needs. Validation.
West clears his throat. “Two days ago, I couldn’t get out of bed. I woke up sometime in the early morning from a nightmare. It was the day of the bomb, and I was reliving every horrifying moment, but it was different. It was like I was the one who died. Like my body was hovering above them, and I was watching theentire scene, knowing what was about to happen, but helpless to stop it. I couldn’t save them. I never can. No matter how many times I dream it, not in any scenario, do I ever get to save them. I pulled the covers over my head and stayed like that all day. Brandt actually fed me under the covers. I didn’t even care that I was lying in grilled cheese sandwich crumbs for hours. Finally, he put that stupid fucking movie on in the living room at max volume,Top Gun, which he knew would get me out of bed just so I could find the remote and shut it off.”
“Worked like a charm,” Brandt laughs.
McCormick chuffs and I can’t see his face, but I know he’s smiling.
“Last week, I dreamt of the blast,” Mandy murmurs, his voice almost a whisper.
He’s never told his story to us, and everyone is listening as hard as I am, hoping to uncover bits and pieces of his past, so that it begins to make sense.
“In my dreams, it always pauses right before the moment of explosion, and I play it all back again and again, on a loop that never ends. I wake up with that same tension from that moment coiled in my belly, and it never fails to make me sick. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. Then I went to the gym and burned it off and hit the group but I didn’t share about it. I never do. I guess I just want to focus on the good stuff, the healing stuff that comes afterward. Not the stuff that I can’t change.”
Nash nods and reaches for Mandy’s hand. “That’s the same reason I don’t go to Brewer’s addiction recovery group. Rather than dwelling on past mistakes, I prefer to concentrate on improving my future. To tell you the truth, I was in the middle of a bad nightmare when Brewer woke me up after he got your text. I was down in the tunnels with G, and all I could hear were those fucking rats and those fucking dogs.”
Cold fear snakes up my spine just hearing him relive pieces of his captivity. He’s never told us the entire story, and I’m not sure that I even want to hear it. That’s the kind of story you can’t ever forget once you learn it, and I know for a fact I don’t want that tainting my head. I have enough ugliness in there already.
“The therapy I did with Brewer to overcome my flashbacks helps, makes them less frequent, but the nightmares… They’re always there, always waiting for me to close my eyes. It helps, knowing I’m not alone, and that my closest friends have lived through some terrible shit, and that I’m not the only one with nightmares. I only hope that my terrible shit can help you with yours in the same way.”
“It does,” Rhett murmurs.
Jax and Pharo keep silent, on opposite sides of the kitchen. Neither shares, they never do. Someday, those motherfuckers are going to crack wide open and sing like canaries.
“I have the same nightmares as West,” Brandt admits, “but I shake it off and keep it to myself because I don’t want to trigger him.”
“You motherfucker,” West spits. “I figured that was the case. You and I are gonna talk when we get home.”
“I don’t keep it to myself completely. I talk to Brewer about it, and it helps.”
Brewer nods, confirming Brandt’s story.
Rhett shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I relive that shit all the time. Sometimes in my sleep, sometimes while I’m awake. The moment my body hit the ground and I heard my bones break before I felt the pain of it.” He does a full-body shiver, like he’s remembering again. “When I’m asleep…” He swallows hard and opens his eyes. “That’s when I remember Brian‘s bloody body free falling to the ground on top of mine.”
Riggs pulls him into his side. “I think about that day all the time. Your bloody, broken body, all of the bones in yourleg poking through your torn skin, the pain you were feeling. You were so brave, hurting so badly, yelling at me to save Brian instead of you, and I couldn’t. I wanted to, for you, but I couldn’t.” His head hits the cabinet behind him, and he stares up at the ceiling, seeing the present while stuck in the past as tears roll down his cheeks. “Sometimes when I watch you sleep, I can’t help but see the blood on you. I know it’s just in my head, but I feel like I’m jinxing you, like bad shit is gonna happen if I don’t stop thinking it. I know that’s ridiculous. It doesn’t work that way, but tell that to my head.”
Rhett presses a kiss to Rigg’s throat. “I’m alive because of you. You’re the one that keeps me safe, that fights for me. No bad can ever come to me because of something you did or thought. I love you.”
“I love you too, soldier.”
Fucking tears. I swipe them away and reach around to swipe Mac’s away because I know they’re falling just like mine. He laughs and tries to bite my thumb playfully. I want to kiss him so badly, to press my lips against his warm skin, and reassure him that I’m here. Ride or die. But I’ll wait until we’re alone. When it’s safe.
It’s like he knows what I’m feeling because he grabs my hands and wraps them around his chest, making me hug him.
