Hard

by S. R. Jones

  “What?” I look at him for a moment my mind struggling to catch up. Then I understand. Out there, if one of us was having a bad nightmare, we’d wake him up by pinching his toe hard, then stepping back. It wakes a person without you being in reach of their arms or legs if they flail or kick out.

  “I suppose I could. But there’s still a risk.”

  Ethan sighs. “Life’s a fucking risk, mate. I think this is more to do with you thinking you failed those girls. You’ve got a fucking hero complex, that’s your problem.”

  “Excuse me?” I’m getting angry now.

  “I was there, too. I failed those girls as much as you did. Why do you think you’re the only one with any responsibility for what went down? We weren’t in charge. We did our best. I did my best. As did you. It wasn’t good enough to save those girls, true, but what you did out there? Fucking heroic, and don’t you forget that. You ran into fire trying to save them, and you dragged two men out of there who would have died otherwise. You did more than any of us, and yet you took it all upon your shoulders and blamed yourself…for what? Not saving everyone. I doubt anyone could have. The people to blame for their death are those fuckers who shot them.”

  I’m at a loss for words. Ethan doesn’t normally say this much, and he says it with real feeling, too. I know he believes each word from his mouth.

  “You need to switch around how you view that day before it eats you alive. And then you need to go and see someone better than this therapist you’re with at the moment, because she’s not helping for shit if you ask me. Get your head on right, and if while you’re doing that you sleep in separate rooms from this girl then fine. But don’t let her go because you’re punishing yourself for something you see as a failure from years ago.”

  Ethan stands and puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Stay tonight, rest up, but then tomorrow, with all due respect, fuck off out of my sight and go get her.”

  The next morning I’m rested after a long sleep with no nightmares. I grab a quick shower and hear the clattering of cups and plates downstairs as I get dressed.

  I enter the kitchen and take the plate piled high with toast that Isla offers to me.

  “You going to sit down and eat with us?” she asks. “I was thinking of doing a full English.”

  I’ve thought long and hard about what Ethan said. I don’t know if I reacted the way I did because Tristan was too rough with me, or if I might still be a danger to Cara. But I’m sick of not knowing. I’ve decided to go and see her friend Mags. She’s a shrink, right? She can give me some advice on this.

  “If you guys don’t mind, I’d rather head straight off. Got someone to see about some stuff.”

  “I hope it works out for you, mate.” Ethan stands and gives me a manly back slapping hug, and then Isla moves in for a softer one. The scent of coconut surrounds me as she does.

  “Let us know how you get on,” Ethan says.

  I nod. “Will do. Still not sure I’m what she needs, but I’m going to find out.”

  “Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman.” Isla smiles at me and she is lovely. Ethan looks at her and the bastard’s soft gaze tells me he’s totally smitten. I grin at them both and head out the door.

  The scent of new leather greets me as I sit in the car I bought and got delivered to my house yesterday of all days. A spanking new BMW. I’ve not had chance to show it to Cara yet, as I had the old one at hers. I smile as I think of her scandalized reaction.

  Christ, I want her. I’m still not sure I’m good enough for her, but I’m a selfish bastard, and that woman is mine.

  So long as Mags can help me find a way to ensure she won’t be in danger, then I’m going to claim what I want. And that slimy fuck Tristan can go take a running jump.

  I can’t believe she can’t see through him, but he obviously came into her life when she was at a low point after her cousin’s death. Tristan is pompous, boastful, and full of himself. He clearly spends a fortune on clothes and image, and there’s something utterly untrustworthy about him. No way am I going to leave the field open for him to worm his way into Cara’s heart. Not now my head is on straight.

  An hour later, I’m pulling up to Laura and Mag’s house. Mag’s has a home office here, and she was in when I called. Laura is too, which is crappy, as I’ll need to explain to them both.

  It’s a nice house. An old stone terrace, but small and cottagey compared to Cara’s bigger home. I know now Cara has the home she does because she lost her mum and dad so young, and I know she’d rather have them than the house.

  We’re both without our parents, and maybe that’s one reason we have such a connection, despite our many differences. Same as the way despite being close to all the guys, it’s Ethan I’m closest to, due to our similar set up with our sisters and nieces. Sometimes, these big life experiences can form a bond that no philosophical or political differences can divide.

  “Hello, Luka.” Laura greets my knock with a big smile and gestures me to follow her into their home. “I’ll leave you and Mags to talk, but do you want a cup of tea?”

  I nod. “Cuppa be great. Thanks. Just milk, no sugar.”

  I’m relieved she doesn’t want to hear what’s going on. I thought she might want the details. She makes the tea quick, and with no fuss, and then she’s heading out of the room, and Mag’s is coming in and taking a seat next to me.

  I’m fucking nervous. Stupid nervous, like a kid. The sort of feeling I never get anymore. Talking about this shit is not easy.

  “You want to talk, and that’s great, I’m happy to talk to you, but if after we’ve had a chat I think you need further help, I’ll refer you, because I can’t see you myself. I’m too close to Cara, it wouldn’t be ethical. Right now, this chat is me being here as your friend.” She lays it on the line.

  “I understand.”

  I take a sip of tea and look up to find her watching me. Her face is a careful blank and I wonder if she’s already talked to Cara? Or if she’s simply trying to not judge until I’ve spoken. “You talked to Cara?”

  “Laura did. But not for long. The gist I got is you had a nightmare. Attacked Tristan after he manhandled you, and then you walked out.” Her eyes narrow at the last words.

  I nod. “Pretty much sums it up.” I take another look around the kitchen trying to line my thoughts up. There’s a nice little garden beyond the back door with pots full of what I expect are bright flowers in the summer. It’s a cozy house, full of love. And yeah, that might be soppy, but it is.

  Mags watches me looking around, but she doesn’t push. Sipping at her tea she waits me out.

  Finally, I clear my throat and start to speak. “I have night terrors. I think I might have been heading down the road of impending PTSD, but I got into therapy, quit drinking anything more than a pint or two once or twice a week, upped my workouts. Did all the right stuff, and it helped with the daytime shit. The rage and the pent-up anger I was feeling. But it didn’t stop the dreams. I can act them out. Shout out. Move about in my sleep. I know because when I first got back, I slept with more than a few women and they told me.”

  I watch for any reaction to my admission of my slutty past but there is none, she simply nods. “And did you hurt any of these women you slept with and had night terrors in front of?”

  “No. One girl said I thrashed about, but she moved over and I didn’t hurt her.”

  “If you had hurt them, then maybe there’d be more of a concern, but perhaps the violence of the other night is purely because of the way Tristan grabbed you? Maybe not. Are the dreams all related to one thing, or do they vary?”

  “I was involved in an incident out there. In Afghanistan. There was an IED blast and we were ambushed. Some young girls were killed and some of our men. I dealt with it. Or thought I did. More recently, I was on a mission, covert. Off the books.”

  I sigh, take a sip of my tea, and carry on. “It went wrong, and a few of us were hurt. I got injured the worst. I got hit by a blast in a cave syste
m. Suffered a head injury. Traumatic Brain Injury they called it. It’s left me with migraines, and my specialist says it might also be why I might be more prone to PTSD symptoms as there’s a possible link. It didn’t matter because I was dealing. I don’t need to spend the night with anyone…or I didn’t. I stopped staying over with any women. Stopped having sex altogether to be honest. Then Cara came along.”

  I stop and place my hands on the worn wooden table. “Cards on the table, Maggie. I’ve fallen for her. I want her, in every way. But I’m scared I’m going to mess up and hurt her.”

  “Do you mean physically, or that you’ll let her down?” Maggie speaks for the first time.

  “I suppose both. But the letting her down shit is on me. I can control that. I can’t control the nightmares, and I had Tristan by the fucking throat. I was throttling him. If I’d done the same to her I could have killed her. He’s a six-foot bloke. He might be wiry, but he’s strong, and he punched me in the face and I still didn’t let go.”

  “Yes, true. But from what Cara told Laura, Tristan grabbed you and screamed in your face while you were in the middle of a night terror. I doubt Cara would ever do anything so stupid. It’s common sense not to do that to someone. Have you done any work on processing the memories that disturb you?”

  Her change of track confuses me for a moment and I think. “Well, I talk about shit with my therapist.”

  “You’ve not done anything called EMDR? Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing to give it the full name.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She smiles then. “I think you’d remember if you had. It can be full on. It is a way of processing bad memories, and remodeling them into a positive memory. Some studies show excellent results for veteran PTSD.”

  “I don’t have an official diagnosis of it though, only night terrors. And I if I do have it, then it’s mild.”

  “Yeah, but if you can process these memories and make them less likely to trigger the night terrors then you might remove the problem completely. I have a friend who does it and she’s good. Have a think about it. And she works with complex PTSD too, which is probably what you’ve got. It doesn’t follow the same patterns as classic PTSD necessarily.”

  I nod, and when she slips a card across the table to me, I take out my wallet and put it in there, knowing I’ll call her friend. I’ll do it for Cara. And for myself. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life sleeping alone and never getting involved because I’m scared I might hurt someone.

  I still feel weak. Why did Ethan, Liam, and Reece go through the same thing and not get the same symptoms? But I know I can’t dwell on that. It is what it is, and now I must try and fix it.

  I also need to try and fix me and Cara. I sigh and scrub a hand over my face. “How well do you know Tristan?”

  Mag’s expression surprises me. She almost sneers. “As well as I want to.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Not at all. I’ve tried to tell Cara, but she thinks the sun shines out of his arse. Or did…I think she might be less keen these days. I believe because he was there for her after her cousin died she feels beholden to the friendship. But I don’t trust him or like him.”

  “Me either. Mostly because he wants in her pants, but yeah, he’s slimy as fuck. Can’t believe she doesn’t see it, and feels she has to mind his feelings.”

  Maggie laughs. “This is Cara we’re talking about. She has terrible taste in men. Dane was such a prick, I can’t even begin to tell you. A sanctimonious wanker who went on for hours about his good works but treated Cara like crap. You’re the first decent bloke I’ve known her get with, yet you’re the one she had reservations about. She’s a funny one. Got a lot of issues when you get down to it. Which isn’t surprising, seeing as everyone she ever loves abandons her.”

  She pauses and frowns. “I shouldn’t say this, and you better never repeat it. But I think she has her own version of PTSD, and she definitely has attachment issues. She picks people who will let her down on purpose. Her mum and dad died and left her orphaned at a young age, before she was truly an adult. And then her cousin, who she loved like a brother, killed himself. She needs therapy, and I’ve told her, but she runs away from it. Don’t be another person who walks away from her.”

  “I won’t. I’m heading to the prison now. She’s teaching a class there. I’m going to tell her how I feel. I hope it’s enough after I left her and walked away. We might have a hard road ahead of us, but I want to give it a go.”

  Mag’s smiles at me. “Yeah, go get our girl, and don’t let that idiot, Tristan, persuade her to go live with him. Be the worst thing she ever did.”

  Laura comes bustling into the room, her face drawn. “Sorry to interrupt, but the Governor called me from the prison. He’s worried as Cara said she’d be in today and she hasn’t turned up. He’s tried her phone and no answer. I’m concerned. She’d not take the day off without calling in first.”

  My stomach twists and I get a strange cramping sensation I’m not used to. “I’m going to go and call at her house. I’ll let you know if she’s there.”

  I’m already heading to the door at a jog.

  “I’m coming with you,” Mag’s says. “Laura, you stay here and man the phones.”

  Laura starts to argue, but Maggie silences her with a kiss, and tells her she’ll call if we have any news.

  I’m at a loss as to what might have happened to her unless she’s sick again. We get into the car and head on out into the traffic. “Do you have Tristan’s number?” I ask Maggie. She nods. “Call him.”

  She puts the phone onto speaker and I sigh as it rings out with no reply.

  Fuck. I hit the steering wheel in frustration. Didn’t he say he had a conference in town? “Where does he work?”

  Maggie frowns for a moment. “Stratham Solutions. Some tech company.”

  “Call them, and ask where the conference is this week, what hotel it’s being held in, and we can call the hotel. He might have his phone on silent. At least if we get hold of him, we can find out if she was okay this morning. I presume he’s stayed with her.”

  I try to ignore the sharp jolt of jealousy at the thought. It’s the least of my worries right now.

  Maggie makes a couple of calls and she finally gets through to the hotel where the conference is being held. She asks for the manager in charge of the delegation from Stratham Solutions. I hear a woman come onto the line and Maggie asks if it is possible to pull Tristan out of the current lecture. She hangs up with a curse.

  “He didn’t turn up today. No one knows where he is.”

  The knot in my stomach twists further and I shift in my seat to try and lessen the sensation. I’m starting to get a bad feeling. A buildup of dread because somethings wrong here.

  My phone trills out as we pull onto Cara’s road. I punch the speaker and snap out a yes.

  “Governer Wakefield here again. I’ve a prisoner with who wants to talk to you. Mike Celin.”

  I know Mike of course. He of the violent offence who scares Cara, but who I found to be a decent bloke when we talked. “Put him on.”

  A few seconds later Mike’s deep voice rumbles down the phone.

  “Luka?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you ought to know. Some of the men have been talking. There’s a guy in here who was involved in an attack on Cara Toulson.”

  I know as much but don’t let on. It’s a good sign he’s started with the truth, but this might still be some sort of lie he’s about to spin me. I grunt for him to go on.

  “I know there’s more than merely work between you,” Mike says. “Can tell from watching you both.”

  I don’t deny it. No point. No time.

  “Apparently this guy says he didn’t attack Cara randomly as she thinks. Some guy paid him to do it. A supposed friend of hers. A man called Tristan.”

  Maggie gasps, and that lump of dread in my belly turns into cold, hard stone.

  �
��He wanted to act the hero, make her notice him. She wasn’t supposed to be hurt. It was an accident her leg got broken. But the thing is, this guy knows this Tristan, and he says he’s obsessed with Cara. And he’s a total whacko. Been acting normal and fitting in for years, but as a kid he showed all the signs of being dangerous as fuck. He likes to play games with people. Mentally and emotionally torture them. Got done for animal cruelty as a kid, but all that’s sealed now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Right now, my supposed amazing people skills can go take a running jump because, yeah, I thought Tristan a douche of epic proportions, but this is way more than I thought him capable of. And now I’m not sure I trust my instincts anymore. Not sure I trust what Mike is telling me.

  “Military man to military man. I know you were in the service, could tell from how you held yourself and talked to the men. I looked you up, I’ll be honest. Did a bit of googling on you. As far as I’m concerned, you get all the respect for what you did out there. I fucked up when I got home, and that’s why I’m in here, but I’m not a total dick. I don’t want anything bad to happen to your lady. I know she’s not turned up today, and it was unexpected, so I came here to see the Governor and ask if I could talk to you.”

  “Thank you. I owe you one. You need anything, shout.”

  “Will do.” Mike says goodbye and hangs up.

  I blow out a long breath and look over at Maggie. She’s got tears shimmering in her eyes. I don’t know what the fuck to believe. Mike might be helping me, but this might be a trick. I need help. I punch in the number for Liam. He answers on the third ring.

  “Need your help. I need you to get some records opened on a guy called Tristan…” I turn to Maggie, my brows raised. I don’t know the fucker’s last name.

  “Hounslow.”

  I give her a curt nod of thanks. “Hounslow.”

  “You know his birthday?”