Tell Me What You Feel

by Susan Sheehey

  Fitting, this pointless conversation would happen as clouds rolled in, raising the humidity in the already stifling air.

  “Just a few times,” Riggs lied, propped against his truck’s tailgate outside the gym. “I didn’t sleep well the night before.”

  “Seems to happen more often.” D glanced at Roarke, who nodded. “Has it been like this since we returned stateside?”

  He shook his head. Two years of rough nights? Hell no. That would’ve driven him insane long ago. The lack of sleep had started recently. But exactly when, he wasn’t sure.

  “He said you went to the hospital, too.” Dorian swiped through his phone. As if checking his email or texts.

  Until Riggs noticed the website—a medical page on PTSD.

  “A horse kicked me in the shoulder. I needed a patch-up.”

  Laurel’s tantrums had gotten worse after his parents announced a longer vacation than they’d intended. But he’d continued to diligently care for the horses every day. That had nothing to do with PTSD.

  PTSD, seriously. It’s been nearly three years since that day.

  Then it hit him like a hoof to the groin.

  That day.

  With Roarke at his parents’ barn. The hot water spray in his face.

  Which had felt so much like the heat from the Humvee explosion in the middle of the desert. That trigger brought him straight back to the horrible day where he lost his XO, and one of his best friends.

  “You need to see someone,” Dorian announced quietly. “I’m no expert, but I’m observant enough to see that.”

  Riggs shook his head again. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

  His friend’s jaw flexed, but his expression was unreadable. “Why not?”

  “Nothing they say or do can change what happened. What’s the point?”

  “They can still help you with how you process it. You’re clearly reliving that day.” The way Dorian said those words—that day…

  He knew exactly which one, which moment, replayed in his mind like a violent Groundhog Day.

  How many times do I have to see Murphy’s vacant stare?

  “Stop analyzing me, man.” Riggs scraped his hand down his face.

  “There’s not much to analyze, shit-for-brains. You’re not that complex.” The smirk was back. His friend was an inch or two shorter, yet more than capable of holding his own in a scuffle. But he wasn’t here for a scuffle. As much as Riggs wished he could punch these weaknesses out with a good sparring session.

  He curled his fingers into a fist, itching to throw a punch. He’d never been the violent type. Not even in battle when required. He still did his job, and did it well. He’d never enjoyed that part.

  Nevertheless, he’d rather take another week in that hell hole than talk to someone about his feelings.

  His nightmares.

  Dredging all that up…nothing good could come from it.

  Dorian stepped forward. “If this is about your pride—some self-reliance, macho trip—get over it. You don’t think I haven’t swallowed down vomit every now and then, remembering? I can guarantee every man in our unit has.”

  “Enough.”

  “You’re not the first to need help. Trust me. You sure as hell won’t be the last.”

  Riggs pushed him back and stormed off, brushing his shoulder into his buddy’s.

  “Murphy,” Dorian called behind him.

  He froze.

  Their unit’s code word. For the one who stayed behind so the rest could escape. He’d taken six bullets in the back to do it. Now, the name was used as a promise; an ironclad agreement to help whomever used the name.

  That name meant more to Riggs than it did to the others in his unit. Because Murphy had died in his hands. He’d stared into the man’s face when the bullets ripped through his Kevlar, both lungs, and three chambers of his heart.

  A red haze blurred his vision. As if the boiling resentment spilled over the brim. He whirled on his friend, and gripped his shirt in his fists.

  “Don’t you ever say his name to me.”

  Dorian didn’t shove him off, or even glare. The stone-faced Marine didn’t back down either. “Even Murphy would call a Murphy on this.”

  Roarke and Bennett watched silently. Both alert, but their stares wary.

  He let go of Dorian’s shirt, as if dry-ice seared the inferno in his chest. Now, all he felt was drained.

  Every ounce of energy evaporated in the steam of guilt and repressed grief.

  “I know somewhere we can go,” his friend continued. “Battle Buddy meeting, over at the Red Cross building. Grace looked them up for me. Just for vets.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Let’s start with so you can have a decent night’s sleep.” Dorian grabbed his shoulder, his stare harsh, piercing, and way too intrusive. “If you go, I’ll give you a sleeping pill.”

  “You’re bribing me with drugs?”

  “If it’ll get you to come with me, hell yes. Either that, or a hand job, but I don’t think Renner’s available.”

  Riggs snorted, and shook his head. “You’re such a jackass.”

  “Don’t tell Grace.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Skylar

  Her phone buzzed in her purse as she strolled out the hospital doors. Caller ID revealed it was her sister.

  Skylar hadn’t spoken to Wren in weeks. A lifetime in their sisterhood.

  “Hey, Wren.”

  “Holy shit, you actually picked up.”

  “You caught me in a good mood.”

  “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”

  She sighed, waved to the security guard, and breathed in the Texas twilight air. “For which offense?”

  “Are you kidding me? What the hell did I do now?”

  “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I. What happened?”

  “In the future, please don’t use Phoebe's death as leverage to meddle in my personal life.”

  The line turned silent. Car horns blared in the background, proving Wren was still on the line. Probably walking home from work.

  “Oh,” she finally responded. “That.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Did it work?”

  Skylar’s heart warmed. Yes. “I miss you.”

  “Oh, deflection! That’s a yes. Please, tell me what happened. I miss you, too.”

  She could almost picture her sister bouncing down the sidewalk with the energy in her voice. She hated admitting when Wren was right, and this is the closest she’d ever get.

  Riggs had spent last night with her, although he hadn’t slept much. After their multiple rounds of more hotter-than-sin sex, he’d been restless. He’d left shortly before her shift this morning, giving her a sweet kiss and asked for another date. This casual relationship had started to feel more serious every day. For an odd reason, that didn’t scare her as much.

  “You need a connection with someone down there, who knows what happened,” Wren carried on. “Who can help recognize any triggers as you learn your way around a strange place. I wanted you to feel safe as you enjoyed life.”

  Big sisters are relentless.

  “When did you become the happiness police?”

  ‘The second you were born. Your happiness is as important to me as my right to annoy the shit out of you.”

  “That part you’re very good at.” Skylar maneuvered between cars to her vehicle, and noticed two men standing at the far end of the row. One in a graphic T-shirt and blue baseball cap, the other one older and taller, with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail.

  Her gut tugged inward, but she kept moving.

  “Riggs is a great guy. Please, tell me you’ll see him again,” Wren pushed.

  “I have.” As much as she loved her sister, now was the not the time to reveal how much further she’d gone with the man who filled her thoughts. The knowledge would make Wren’s head inflate more than it already was. “We’re going to a concert this wee
kend.”

  “Fantastic! Has he given you a taste of what a real man can do in the bedroom?”

  Her cheeks flushed with heat. I’ll say.

  The men at the end of the row turned and looked at her. The one with the dark ponytail looked Hispanic, with a gruff, wrinkly face.

  She swallowed.

  He smiled and waved. Then turned more. In his other hand was a small bouquet of yellow roses.

  Skylar waved back, and forced a deep breath. “Those are beautiful.”

  “Thank you. My wife just gave birth to our daughter. Our first.” A gentle Texas accent filled his voice.

  “Congratulations. What’s her name?”

  “Paloma Rosa.”

  “Very pretty. What does that mean?”

  “Rosa is rose, Paloma is dove.”

  “Congrats, my best to your wife as well.”

  “Gracias.”

  She climbed in her car and turned the key.

  “That was sweet,” Wren announced, the phone still against Skylar’s ear. “Paloma Rosa.”

  “Dove. Another bird name. Mom would’ve liked that.”

  “So would’ve Phoebe.”

  Skylar took a deep breath. Yes, she would’ve.

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “What are sisters for?”

  “Great, ‘cause I have some news, and a huge favor to ask.”

  Oh, God.

  Skylar tossed her bag in the passenger seat. “You have no shame.”

  “I thought we established that back when Mom threatened to disown me after I quit college for a tattoo internship.”

  “No, that was because you crashed her car after a night of partying.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, I was never the responsible one in the family. Do you have an extra bedroom for your newly unemployed sister turned entrepreneur?”

  Skylar shook her head, and could only laugh.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Riggs

  He stepped out onto the curb from the Battle Buddy meeting. His heart was heavy, back to the same raw feeling as during those months of physical therapy.

  Dorian clapped his shoulder. “Wanna grab a bite?”

  He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

  A strong wind dragged the clouds across the sky, a storm clearly imminent from the darker horizon.

  Riggs welcomed it.

  “Then let’s go sweat it out.’ Dorian unlocked his car with the key fob.

  “How many meetings does it take until it doesn’t feel like this?”

  His friend crossed his arms. “A few. Depends on how much you share. But this was your first meeting. You did exactly what you’re supposed to do. You listened. The next meeting, you might feel comfortable enough to share.”

  “There’s nothing comfortable about the topic.”

  “I said comfortable enough.”

  Riggs dragged his hand over his face. Praying for rain. Thunder. Even lightning, crack open the sky to avoid dealing with the feelings.

  “Your penchant for comedy clubs and jokes aren’t enough to get through this, Riggs.”

  “They’ve worked so far.”

  “They’ve masked things. Delayed the inevitable.”

  He squeezed his truck keys in his fist. The metal edges dug into his skin. He focused on that sting, directing all the energy and ferocity into that bite. “We saw a lot of shit on that tour, man.”

  “Yep.”

  “So much hatred. Spewing at us from every direction, including from the sky.”

  Dorian rested against his car. “And you’re still here.”

  I’m still here.

  “Murphy isn’t.” The name felt raw in his throat. The first time he’d said his friend’s name since that day.

  “True. But I like thinking he’s up there on our side. Putting in a good word for us, before it’s our time.”

  “Since when did you turn religious?”

  He smiled. “Grace says that a lot about her daughter. It stuck with me.”

  A bitter taste filled his mouth. Every time he thought about Dorian’s girlfriend, Grace, he was sad. She was a widow, her husband and young daughter had been killed in a car accident years before. She’d since become a strong advocate for pediatric transplants and organ donation, her daughter’s heart now in the body of a little boy, the son of a famed Hollywood celebrity to whom she’d grown close to.

  Dorian’s relationship with Grace had evolved from neighbors in the same high-rise condo, to toxic, second-hand limelight, to finally true love.

  He was happy for his friend. No other man deserved better.

  The rest of unit had seemed to all move on with their lives without so much as a stumble. So, that was the way he’d carried on. Moving forward, going back to the familiar…horses.

  When that hadn’t held the demons back, he’d tried Dorian’s path with the Knights. That’d seemed to be sufficient enough the last two years. He’d not had any nightmares until recently. Riggs had assumed because of pleasing women, turning lamenting into laughter.

  “What’s your gut telling you right now?” Dorian asked.

  “Run.”

  “Where are you running to?”

  “Anywhere, man.”

  He tilted his head, and paused for a long time. Then he shoved his keys back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s see where you end up.”

  Riggs blinked. “Are you high on something?”

  Dorian jogged down the sidewalk. “Catch up, slow ass. I’m beating you already.”

  “Storm’s coming.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Better outrun it.”

  “You’re so juvenile.” Riggs followed, his legs felt like weights from the gym.

  “Says the guy who still thinks pull my finger is funny.”

  Skylar

  An incessant knocking pounded on her door.

  A downpour hammered her roof. Only a complete idiot would be out in this. Or someone with more nefarious reasons.

  Skylar grabbed the baseball bat from behind the door, and opened it.

  Riggs stood on her porch, dripping wet and heaving as if on the verge of cardiac arrest. He slicked back the hair that’d dangled over his eyebrows. “Skylar,” he panted.

  “Are you all right?” She set down the bat and stepped out onto her porch.

  Another man stood at the end of the sidewalk, also soaked to the bone. And smiling. He was shorter than Riggs, but broader shoulders, with dark hair and goatee.

  “What the heck’s going on?” she demanded.

  “I ran here,” he managed between breaths.

  “I can see that. Why didn’t you drive?”

  “No, you don’t understand.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I ran here. I had no idea this is where I wanted to go, but I ran until my feet stopped. I looked up, and we were here.”

  “You’re not making any sense.” Skylar pulled him forward, out of the rain. “Who’s that?”

  “Dorian. Marine buddy of mine.”

  “You’re just letting him stand in the rain?” She stepped to the side and called to the man. “Come inside.”

  He came to the porch, and shook her hand. “I’m Dorian. Nice to meet you.”

  “What’re you doing out in this?”

  “Just some training.”

  “Get inside, both of you. It’s a nasty storm.”

  “What, this? This is nothing.” He held out his hands, letting the water soak him further. “Tell Riggs I’ll meet up with him later.”

  A crack of thunder vibrated the walls. “Please, let me at least drive you wherever you’re going.”

  “No, thanks. I’m good. I think he will be, too.” He winked, and started jogging down the sidewalk.

  Skylar closed the door behind her. “You have some weird friends.”

  Riggs peeled off his shirt, standing in her living room with a sheen across his bare chest. A small water spot emerged under his feet. “Dorian’s a pain in
the ass, but he knows what he’s doing.”

  He stepped forward, and cupped her cheeks. His skin was cold.

  “We have to get you out of these clothes, or you’ll catch—”

  His frigid lips covered hers. Moved across her mouth, and his tongue dipped inside to taste her.

  Giving in tasted so sweet, kissing him back. God, the way this man made her feel. Safe, and simultaneously in danger of losing her heart.

  When he finally pulled away, his eyes were full. A flurry of emotions swirled in those blue irises, with a touch of gray lining the pupils. “I was so angry. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. Dorian dragged me to a Battle Buddy meeting, and it only made me angrier.”

  “Angry about what?”

  “Everything. The shit I saw, the hatred all around us…started to grow in my heart. I tried to bury it with humor all this time, but I’m really just deflecting. My mind was so cluster fucked, and I just ran. And this is where it led me.”

  She placed her hand over his heart. “Slow down, Riggs. What happened?”

  He covered her hand with his. “You trusted me by sharing your grief. I haven’t shared mine with anyone.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I didn’t let any of it out because I thought it was weakness. I didn’t want to disrespect him by complaining about anything. What right did I have to whine about what happened, when I lived and he didn’t?”

  “Who?”

  Riggs moved her hand over his scar. “Craig Murphy.”

  A strand of hair fell over his forehead.

  She brushed it back. “Tell me about him.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Riggs

  Three years earlier.

  The Afghan heat stifled the air, even inside the Humvee. The vehicle jostled over the rocks along the dirt road barely visible among the shimmering rays emitting from the ground. Renner Shaw’s focus as he drove was on the wheels of the Humvee in front, everyone in full field gear.