by L. A. Witt
Fraser nodded. “Anytime.”
We exchanged smiles, and I got up to leave his office. I didn’t feel a hell of a lot better on my way back to the training department, but at least I had a plan now. Maybe there was some hope of undoing the damage I’d done last night, but it would be a few hours before I could do anything.
And in the meantime, Logan and I had to work in the same office.
He still wasn’t there, but Diego and Sarah didn’t seem too concerned with his absence. They both kept giving me uneasy looks, though, as if they knew something. I doubted Logan had told them what was going on. Commander Fraser didn’t seem like the type to spread that sort of thing around.
Maybe it was me. Maybe I was radiating something that told them everything was wrong. Did they think I was crazy?
Was I crazy?
I tapped my pen beside my keyboard, staring at my screen without actually seeing anything. Crazy probably wasn’t the right word, but there was something wrong in my head. Ever since I’d washed out of BUD/S, I’d avoided a therapist because I didn’t think there was any reason to see one. I’d lost my dream of becoming a SEAL, and that pissed me off—what more was there to say?
A lot, apparently.
Maybe it was time.
By the time I made it to the office, it was almost 1130. Diego had assured me I could take all the time I needed—he insisted he owed me after getting everything fixed in time for the inspection, even if it had been by the skin of my teeth—so I wasn’t freaking out about being late. I wasn’t even in that much of a hurry because I wasn’t sure if I could face Casey.
“Hey, Logan.” Clint stepped out of his office, a hand casually in his pocket and the other on the doorknob. “You have plans for lunch?”
Oh, I could kiss you right now.
Not because I wanted to be with him like I was before, but because he was giving me a reason not to go to work quite yet.
I cleared my throat. “No plans.”
“Want to join me at the O club?”
“Sure.” I paused. “On me. I owe you for—”
“No, we’re not playing that game.” He shut his office door behind him and gave my elbow a nudge. “I invited you. We can go Dutch if you want, but one way or the other, I’m paying for mine.”
I didn’t really have it in me to argue, so I just shrugged. “Okay. Sounds good.”
Neither of us said much on the way to the O club. Not that it was very far away, but I was so simultaneously wound up and exhausted, it was hard to come up with something to talk about. My brain was still working through everything I’d discussed with my therapist this morning, and I had more feelings about last night than I could completely process. Everything had just been insane, and I was afraid there was no way I could get Casey back. One minute I didn’t want him back. He could eat a dick if he was going to come at me sideways like that during a flashback. The next, I wanted to cry just thinking about how quickly we’d come unraveled and how last night might really have been the last night. I was worried sick about him too. My therapist had pointed out that Casey had a lot to deal with these days too, and him snapping like that might mean there was more going on beneath the surface than he’d been telling me.
I desperately needed to talk to him, but the reprieve with Clint was welcome. A little time to gather my thoughts. And maybe cower, because I was scared to death of that seemingly inevitable moment when someone said—or screamed, or yelled, or cried, or just exhaustedly admitted—that we were done.
We can’t be done. Not yet. Somehow, we can pull it together.
Right?
Clint parked outside the O club, and I numbly followed him inside. Once we’d been seated and ordered a couple of sodas, Clint broke the silence.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” The concern creasing his forehead was unavoidable. “With the job and with . . . everything, I guess.”
I tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. Of course he’d caught on that I was dating Casey—that scuttlebutt had gotten around the building fast—but it seemed like he was prodding for more. Like maybe he knew something. “What are you getting at?”
Clint held my gaze for a moment before he said, “You’ve been kind of on edge lately. And you don’t look like you’ve slept much.”
I arched an eyebrow. “That a nice way of saying I look like shit?”
“It’s a nice way of saying I know what it looks like when stress is getting to you.” He lowered his chin. “Talk to me. Is everything okay?”
“It’s . . .” I was fucking wiped. I’d already explained everything to my therapist this morning, and we’d spent over an hour picking it all apart and analyzing why last night had happened and what to do now. I couldn’t do it again. “I’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately. It happens sometimes.” I paused, then softly added, “You know how it goes.”
Clint nodded. “I do. That’s why I’m worried. Is there anything in particular setting it off?”
I moistened my lips. “Stress, I think. The inspection and everything leading up to it . . .” I shook my head. “It just got to me. I talked to my therapist this morning, though, and I’m feeling a bit more on an even keel.”
“Is that all?”
“Is . . .” I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
“Everything all right with your boyfriend?”
I flinched before I could tell myself not to, and avoided Clint’s eyes. “We’re . . .” God, I was exhausted. Just utterly drained on every imaginable level. Sighing, I met Clint’s gaze again. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Like I said, I talked to my therapist, and I’m just . . . I’m tired, okay?”
“Okay.” Clint showed his palms and sat back a little. “We don’t have to. But you know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”
“I know. And thanks. Just . . . not now.”
“No problem.” He lowered his hands. “The stress should be a little better now that the inspection’s over, right?”
Swallowing, I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it will be.” And once I get everything straightened out with Casey.
“Good.” He smiled. “And hey, now that you’ve been through an inspection, you know what to expect. Between that and you all staying on top of those training records this time, the next one will be a breeze.”
My breath hitched.
The next one. The next inspection. Next time.
Clint said it so casually, as if it was just a foregone conclusion that I’d be here a year from now when the next inspection happened. After the last few years of holding on to jobs by my fingernails, and after almost screwing up this job too, it was mind-blowing to imagine that in a year, I’d still be sitting at that desk.
I smiled. “Yeah. I guess I will be.”
Bring on the next inspection—I’ve got this.
After lunch, we walked together until we reached his office, and I was about to continue toward my own department—and Casey, oh God, Casey—but Clint gestured for me to come in.
“Just for a minute,” he assured me.
I followed him in, and he closed the door behind us. He was quiet for a long time before he said, “Before I let you go, I need to ask you something.” He looked me right in the eyes, inclining his head. “And I need you to be honest with me.”
Defensiveness tried to surge to the surface, but I tamped it down. “I haven’t been drinking.”
His eyebrow flicked up.
“I promise, Clint. Yeah, I was tempted.” Especially last night. Holy shit. “But I haven’t touched anything. I swear.”
He held my gaze long enough to make me think he was going to grill me, but then he nodded, and his features relaxed. “Okay. You’ll call me if you get to that point, though, right? Anytime?”
An ache rose in my throat. It always made me feel guilty as hell when he reminded me he was willing to scrape me up, day or night, if I backslid. I didn’t deserve one ounce of the support I got from this man.
“I know,” I whisp
ered. “Thank you.”
His smile was warm and genuine. “Anytime.”
I got up. “I should, um, get to work.”
“Okay.” He nodded and, to my surprise, gathered me in a tight hug. “Good luck. I really hope this works out for you.”
“Thanks.” My voice tried to crack, but it held steady enough for the single syllable.
He let me go and squeezed my shoulder. We exchanged tired, uneasy smiles, and I started to go, but paused in the doorway and turned around.
“By the way, I . . .” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I met Clint’s gaze. “I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry for being such an ass when we were together. And after we split up.”
Clint’s smile was warm and genuine. “I know. You’re a different man than you were then.”
Sometimes I wonder.
But I just returned the smile, and then left his office.
When I walked in, Casey wasn’t there, and no one said anything about me strolling in this late. Diego handed me a few files to deal with, and my email was overflowing, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle and there were no crises happening. Everything seemed fine.
Right up until Casey came back from lunch.
The second I heard his uneven gait—his leg must’ve been bothering him more than usual—I clenched up all over. When he stepped into the office, the air seemed a hundred times thicker. Sarah eyed both of us, but said nothing. I was thankful as hell for that.
From the glimpses I caught in my peripheral vision, he looked about as shitty as I felt. Dragging ass. Barely keeping his eyes open. Practically worshipping his coffee cup.
An opportunity to talk . . . didn’t happen.
For one thing, Diego and Sarah were almost always around. For another, what could I say? I was a fucking coward. Even when we crossed paths in an otherwise deserted hallway, we didn’t do a damn thing to connect. No eye contact. No slowing down. No words exchanged. In fact, I was pretty sure he walked faster. Limped a little, actually, which made me feel even more restless and guilty—he was losing it enough to strain that injured leg.
Come on, Logan. Don’t be a fucking idiot.
The afternoon didn’t get any better as it wore on. Casey was gone for most of the last half of it, just swinging in and out to swap some binders before heading off to other classes, but those brief moments of being in the same room were excruciating. We couldn’t look at each other. Neither of us said a word to each other. Or Diego or Sarah, really.
Around four, while Casey was teaching his last class of the day, Sarah left to go to a meeting. I just tried to concentrate on the training schedule I was supposed to be coordinating for the security department, but then Diego came out of his cube, and when I glanced up, we locked eyes. He didn’t have any folders or binders in his hand, and he was coming right toward me.
So I wasn’t surprised when he said, “You have a minute?”
I gulped. Something about his tone said I wasn’t going to enjoy this conversation. Sitting back, I said, “Yeah. What’s up?”
Diego rested his forearms on the waist-high cubicle wall and inclined his head. “You want to tell me what’s going on between you and Casey?”
I closed my eyes and sighed. There wasn’t a lot of point in playing stupid. He’d known for a while I was dating Casey, so if he was asking now, he’d probably felt the thrumming tension whenever Casey and I had both been in the office today.
“It’s . . .” I looked at my boss. “We just have some things we need to work out.” Understatement of the goddamned eon.
Diego’s lips tightened.
“It won’t keep affecting things here,” I said. “I promise.”
“I hope not. Because I can’t have this kind of tension in my department.”
“I know.” Fuck, I was about to choke on my own voice. “I’m sorry.”
He scrutinized me for a long, uncomfortable moment before he pushed himself up and nodded. “All right. Because you’re good at what you do, Logan. I like you, and I want to keep you here.” His eyes flicked toward Casey’s empty desk. “If you guys can’t work together . . .”
I nodded. “I know. I understand. We’ll . . . we’ll get it together.”
“Okay. Good.” He tapped the top of the cube wall with his knuckle. “I trust you guys to work it out.”
Somehow, that made me feel even guiltier. Like Diego had a lot more faith in my ability to fix this mess with Casey than I did.
Especially after what happened the last time he trusted me to fix a mess.
I swallowed the sick feeling. I’d fixed that one. It had been close, and my screwup had almost caused an epic disaster for the department, but I’d gotten it under control. Somehow, I’d get this one under control too.
Even if that meant finding another place to work.
I flopped onto my couch and swore into my empty apartment. Today had been one of the most miserable days since my ass had landed in training. I would have killed for a few more classes to teach, even if standing for a long time had been hell on my not-quite-recovered body.
The day had finally ended, though, and now . . . now I had no idea what to do with myself. For the last several weeks, my evenings and weekends had been all about Logan. What had I done with my off time before he’d come along? What the hell was I supposed to do with it now?
Talk to him. I could fucking go talk to him instead of booking it out of the office and hiding in my apartment like a goddamned coward. I wanted to talk to him. I was just afraid to. I didn’t know if I had the balls to say what I needed to say, and I didn’t know if I could handle his reaction. What if we couldn’t come back from the other night?
I debated going for a walk. I was stalling, of course. Trying to do something other than sit here and dwell on everything I was afraid to face. And, well, my leg did need the exercise. The crutches had been gone for a while, but my whole body was still getting used to walking normally again and I was still getting the muscle tone back. So maybe if I walked down the block, that would—
A knock at the door startled the hell out of me, and before the noise had even stopped, I was swearing out loud. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was, and I seriously debated ignoring him just because I was scared out of my fucking mind to face him.
But we’d have to work together again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every weekday between now and when the Navy decided to send me somewhere else. We needed to hash this out, and we might as well do it here so Diego wouldn’t kill us for dragging it into the office. And at least here, no one would have a front-row seat to me spilling my guts and admitting to sins that made my conscience burn.
With a few more muttered curses, I got up and headed for the door. I paused with my hand on the knob, closed my eyes while I steeled myself, then pulled it open.
Logan met my gaze across the threshold. “Hey. Uh, can we talk?”
I broke eye contact. “We probably should.”
“Yeah.”
We stood there in uncomfortable silence for a painfully long moment before I moved aside to let him in. As he stepped inside, I realized he had a book under his arm, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was one of his sketchbooks. In fact I was pretty sure I recognized the black cover of the book he’d surreptitiously put away when he’d shown me the others.
After I shut the door, I faced him and leaned against it. “Okay.”
“Look, the nightmares . . .” He sighed, shoulders sagging, and my own exhaustion pressed down harder on me. “They’ve been nonstop lately.”
I shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the throbbing in my leg. “I’ve noticed.”
He kept his gaze down. “You remember that conversation we had a while back? Where you said you were going back to full duty soon?”
That wasn’t what I’d expected, so it gave me pause. “Um. Yeah. I do.”
He turned to me, then shook his head and lowered his gaze again. “It’s not your fault, okay? But that conversation got
me thinking about things. And it . . .” Logan swallowed. He looked down at the book under his arm, nervously thumbing the edge, which was weathered like he did that a lot. “The bottom line is that I’m sorry about what I said last night. I . . . It wasn’t that I wanted to make light of what happened to you, but I need you to—”
“Wait, are you apologizing to me?”
He jumped like I’d startled him. “Yeah. I am.”
I exhaled. “Don’t. I’m the one who fucked up. I . . . Logan, I overreacted. I’m sorry for—”
“Just listen to me,” he whispered. “Please.”
I stared at him. “Dude, I’m trying to apologize for—”
“I know, but there’s some shit I need you to understand, and I need to say it before I forget how.”
My mouth went dry, but I shut the fuck up.
When he was apparently sure I wouldn’t try talking again, he moistened his lips. “Listen, I really do know what it’s like to lose a big piece of your identity like that. It hurt like hell when I had to give up being a Marine.”
I had to force back the lump in my throat, but I still didn’t speak.
“I . . .” Logan’s eyes lost focus for a moment. Then he looked at the book he still had tucked under his arm. Not like he’d forgotten it was there, but like he was staring down something he didn’t want to. Lips taut and brow furrowed, he finally pulled it out and offered it to me. “I need you to see something.”
I regarded the book uncertainly. “Why?”
“Just . . .” He nodded toward it. “Please.”
I hesitated for another second, but then took it. I propped it against my forearm and slid a finger under the cover. One more glance at Logan—Christ, he was so nervous he was shaking—and then I opened the black cover.
My breath hitched. I instantly recognized his style from the sketchbook he’d shown me before. Flawless lines. Finger-smooth shading. Dramatic highlights and shadows. Impossibly intricate details. It was unmistakably his work, but I definitely hadn’t seen these before.
