Page 42 of Being Bold
Selene snorted to herself. Whatever Bo liked was strong. She didn’t often drink hard liquor, but the stuff he’d given her had burned all the way down. If she had enough of that, she’d probably pass out. Set on her plan to find relief one way or the other, she slid out from under the covers and crawled to the ladder, careful not to bang her head. It had been through enough.
After the shot of whiskey, Bo had insisted on checking her bullet graze. Thankfully, it had scabbed over and washing it with her shampoo meant it was clean without needing more stinging antiseptic. She’d offered to tend to his cut in return, but he’d declined—adamantly. As if he were afraid they’d wind up in aliplock again. With a sigh, she took the last rung of the climb down.
As soon as she stepped onto the floorboards and turned, one of them creaked under her foot. Wincing, she glanced at Bo. He didn’t stir. Releasing a breath in relief, she crept toward the bathroom. When she crossed the threshold, she shut the door before flipping the light switch to keep it from spilling into the living room.
It was cold in the room, making her shiver. Regretting not putting back on her pants, she tugged at the hem of her sweater. It barely covered her bottom and stretching it didn’t make it any longer. Rubbing her legs together for warmth, she opened the under-sink cabinet, hoping to spot the pink package she needed. Her first glance provided no hope, so she squatted and rifled through bandages, peroxide, washcloths, and every medicine she didn’t need.
About to give up, she found the first-aid kit and lifted it out. A box of condoms had been squashed underneath it, dragging a long sigh out of her.
Not going to need those.
Unless she somehow managed to crack through the wall Bo was determined to erect between them. Shaking off the thought, she opened the kit and found what she was after.
Palming the single dose of Benadryl, she zipped the bag and replaced the first-aid kit under the sink. Opening the wrapper, she pushed the little pink pill into her hand. She searched the bathroom for a cup before she popped it into her mouth. Not seeing one, she set the pill down and turned the cold water on. About to cup her hand beneath the faucet, she stopped when a strangled shout seemed to shake the cabin.
Turning off the water, she flew out of the bathroom. Bo thrashed in his sleep as if he fought against something orsomeone. She raced to his side, then froze, unsure how to helphim. Was he having a normal dream, or was he caught in the throes of something else? She’d heard about people with PTSD and how you shouldn’t wake them during a night terror.
Is that what this was? He hadn’t mentioned having any post-traumatic stress, but if he’d been a SEAL in Afghanistan . . . she gulped. Surely, he’d seen things—disturbing things.
Another shout caused her to jump. He sounded like he was in so much pain, she couldn’t let him keep dreaming.
Sitting on the coffee table, she leaned over him and spoke, “Bo, wake up. You’re having a bad dream, okay? Wake up.”
He showed no sign of having heard her. Worry mounted, but she kept her tone soothing as she tried again. “Bo, it’s Selene. You’re having a bad dream. Please, wake up.”
His body jerked with a cry of agony, and she reared backward, barely avoiding a swinging arm. Her eyes welled with tears as garbled noises stuck in his throat. He was covered in sweat.
Since talking wasn’t working, it was time to try something else. Reaching out a tentative hand, she placed it flat on his shoulder and gently shook. “Bo, wake up. Wake up!”
After several harder shakes, his eyes flew open, and he lurched into a sitting position. His chest rose with his quick breathing while he blinked rapidly at her. His head swiveled, taking in the cabin before returning to her face. “Selene?” he croaked.
She winced in sympathy, unsurprised that his throat was raw after the screams he’d made. “Yes. Let me get you some water.”
He grabbed her hand, stopping her before she had a chance to stand. “No, wait. Please.”
“Sure.” When he didn’t say anything, just gripped her hand tightly, she felt compelled to ask, “Are you okay? That was . . . intense.”
Major understatement.
As if he knew how bad it had been, his shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” He cleared his throat. “That happens sometimes. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“How often?”
He frowned, and she figured it had to be more than he was willing to admit.
“Nevermind. It’s none of my business.” But she couldn’t help wondering if it was part of why he thought he didn’t deserve gratitude.
What did you go through, Bo?
She wanted to pry so badly, to know what drove him, that she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from asking.
But he surprised her. “I don’t sleep much. It’s why I usually end up on the couch.”
He hadn’t let go, so she brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. “Can you tell me? Maybe talking about it will help.”
His breathing had returned to normal, but he still looked lost. She gave his hand a squeeze, urging him to answer.
“I left Afghanistan after a suicide bombing. It was a woman.” He closed his eyes, and a pang of sympathy bowled over her at the strain on his face. “I could’ve stopped her, but I hesitated. The bomb went off, killing dozens, including my—” His voice broke, making her want to gather him in a hug. Instead, she tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. After a shake of his head, he opened his eyes. “A SEAL from my team, Nugg.”
