Hard to Hold on To (11 page)

“Nothing to apologize for,” Shane said. And, whatdya know, his voice was full of the thin and tight, too.

Easy sat up, tugged at the hem of his shirt, and wiped his face on it. An odd lightness of being and an utter exhaustion fell over him like a wet blanket.

“I don’t want to be a liability,” Easy rasped, forehead in his hands. He heaved a shuddering breath.

“You could never be that, E. Don’t you worry about a thing,” he said, emotion bringing out Shane’s Southern accent.

So completely wrung out that it took effort to lift his head, Easy forced himself to face Shane. That glassiness in the guy’s eyes was damn hard to look at, but Easy appreciated it, too. Because it meant someone cared. It was proof Easy mattered.

“We are not losing you, too, brother. You are
not
going to be one of today’s twenty-two. Nor tomorrow’s. Nor any day’s. That’s a fucking promise,” Shane said, nailing him with a glassy-eyed stare.

Twenty-two. Easy knew exactly what that number represented. The number of American vets who committed suicide. Every. Goddamned. Day.

“I need help,” Easy whispered. Hard as it had been to say the words, the admission was like an exorcism—it left him feeling empty but more himself than he’d been in months.

“We’re gonna work on that. I want you on an antidepressant immediately. They take time to get into your system and start working, and sometimes it takes a little experimentation to find the one that works best. You need therapy, too, man. Just tellin’ it straight. But the shit of the situation is that’s gonna be hard for you to get right now. At least if you stay here.”

Those words hung there for a minute, and Easy shook his head. “I’m not leaving.”

“Easy—”

“Not just because of the mission, Shane. Part of me thinks that if I hadn’t come . . . well, something mighta happened. I think Nick’s call saved my life. How fucked-up is that?” He shuddered another breath.

“I don’t think it’s fucked-up at all. On some level, every one of us needed this. The reunion, the chance at redemption, some answers—all of it.”

Blowing out a long breath, Easy forced his shoulders to relax and reclined his head against the mattress. “I’ll take the meds,” he said. “I’ll try anything.” Anything to be a better teammate and a better man—for himself, the guys, and Jenna. Sitting here now, he had to wonder why he hadn’t done this sooner. Why he’d let the despair grow so dark and deep? The only thing he could think was that they’d reminded him of who he’d been and who he could be again. With help.

“This isn’t the kind of thing that a family doc would normally call in a prescription for without seeing you first. Let me think about it, and we’ll get that part squared away in the morning.”

“ ’Kay.”

“I hate to ask this, but do you have a weapon up in your room?”

Easy dragged his head upright again. “Of course.”

“I’d feel better if you stored it in the gym,” Shane said, regret clear in his eyes. “Depression plus opportunity plus weapons training equal up to the rampant suicide problem among vets. Add the kind of ingrained instinct not to fear pain that we had beat into us, and it’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Okay,” he said again. He understood the logic, but it still stung. “I don’t want to be benched, Shane. I’ve done my job this week. I didn’t let it interfere.”

Shane nodded and arched a brow. “I can agree to that as long as you’re checking in with me regularly about where you are.”

Another smack in the ass. But, whatever. “Fine.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Shane said, “Good man. Now, I want you to do one other thing for me. There’s an assessment checklist that evaluates the presence and severity of PTSD. I’d like to have you fill it out. It’ll give me a more quantitative baseline to work with.”

“Yeah,” Easy said. “Sure.”

Shane shifted beside him. “I’m going to have to ask Nick or Marz to borrow a printer. So I need to know if the guys can know, or we’re keeping this private.”

Easy appreciated the option. He really fucking did. “I think they gotta know.” He shook his head. “I was worried you all might not understand. But now that I told you, I know that was the bullshit talking.”

“Why wouldn’t we understand, E?”

“ ’Cause you and Nick, and Marz and Beckett, you guys still have your best friends. And I—” A knot in his throat cut off the words.

“Aw, fuck. I miss Rimes, too. We all do. I get it, though. You guys came up and were together from the beginning.”

Nodding, Easy tried to swallow. “And it was my fault,” he rasped out.

Shane clasped a hand on the side of his neck and forced their eyes to meet. “How do you figure?”

“He was covering me. And then he got hit, and I couldn’t get to him. When I finally could, he was already so far gone. I just watched him die. For me.” The words flew out of his mouth, a rush of guilt and shame that had been eating at his soul for more than a year.

“Not your fault, Easy. Not any part of it. Was only by the grace of God that the five of us walked out of there. Actually, only two of us walked.” The intensity of Shane’s gaze willed him to believe.

The words “
I didn’t see any grace that day
” perched on the tip of his tongue. But they weren’t true, were they? Marz very probably should’ve died out on that road. When that grenade sheared off everything below his right knee, the blood loss was massive, and the shock was immediate. Yet he’d lived. And the shrapnel had very nearly taken out Beckett’s eye, but he could still see. But, all this time, those weren’t the things his mind had been able to recall.

Easy shook his head. “I don’t know, man. My head hears what you’re saying, but my heart . . .” He shook his head again.

“It’s gonna be a process, but you’re going to get through it. And I’m going to be there for you every step of the way.” Shane squeezed his neck and sat back.

“Thank you,” Easy said. “It’s not enough, but it’s all I got.”

Shane smiled, a smaller version of his trademark crooked smile, the one that earned him guy friends and swooning ladies in equal measure. “It ain’t even a thing. Now, how do you wanna do this with the guys? One by one, all at once, do you wanna wait—”

“Now,” Easy said abruptly. “All of them.”

“I’ll see if they’re still out there. If not, I’ll round ’em up. Gimme five?” Shane rose to his feet, waited for Easy to nod, then walked out the door.

As the dim murmurs of voices from the living room reached him, Easy’s stomach went topsy-turvy again. But it was less the terrified anxiety of before and more just the anticipation of getting it over with, so he could take the first step down the road to healing.

Years later, and not nearly long enough, Shane knocked softly at the door. “Ready?”

Easy went to push off the floor when Shane’s hand appeared in his line of sight. Easy clasped hands with the guy and let himself be pulled up. And wasn’t that the perfect fucking analogy for what was really happening here.

“You got this,” Shane said. And then Easy followed him out to the living room.

Everybody was there, pretty much in the same seats as before except for Marz, who now sat by Beckett. But all the slouchy relaxation was gone. There was a tension in the air and in the guys’ posture that said they knew something serious was up.

Easy braced his hands on the back of the empty recliner, Shane standing next to him.

Shane cleared his throat. “Do you want me to—”

“No. I gotta do this.” One by one, Easy made eye contact. Nick, Marz, Beckett, then over to Jeremy, Charlie, and Becca, who’d returned from upstairs. They might not have been part of his Special Forces team, but they were a part of this now.

“What’s up, E?” Nick asked, concern plain on his face and in his voice.

“I’m, uh, I’m in trouble,” he said, palming the top of his head. Questions shaped everyone’s expressions, and Easy knew he’d have to do better than that. He crossed his arms and focused on a point in the middle of the room. “I’ve been, um . . .” He licked his lips and shook his head. “Shit, I don’t think I can do this.” Restlessness suddenly crawled through his limbs, and he paced toward the door. When he turned, Nick was right there.

“This is just me and you,” Nick said. “Whatever this is, I will have your back in a heartbeat.”

Easy met the guy’s pale green eyes and saw the truth of his words. Silence rang loud in the room, and Easy was present enough in the situation to understand that what Nick offered was a proxy for talking to the group as a whole. Smart damn guy.

“Suicidal,” Easy finally forced out. “Thoughts, mostly. A lot, actually. Some basic planning. No attempts.”

Somehow, the silence got quieter, like Easy’s words had deadened every bit of ambient noise, too. He couldn’t even hear the sound of Nick’s breath.

So everyone had heard him loud and clear.

Thank God.

Easy swallowed hard. “I should’ve said something sooner—”

Nick stepped closer and grasped Easy by the shoulders, and then he nailed him with a stare. “You are my brother as surely as if we shared the same blood, and I will help you beat this thing however I can. However long it takes. Whatever backup you need. I am
here.
”

Easy nodded. Marz and Beckett offered similar words of support, the latter of whom showed more raw emotion on his face than Easy had seen since the moment Beckett had learned about Marz’s amputation. Jeremy and Charlie gave silent nods of support, and Becca a big hug and a whispered offer of help anytime. He appreciated every single expression of concern and support.

When it was all over, Easy felt like he’d humped a thirty-mile ruck march with a sixty-pound pack on his back. At least. But it was the absolute best kind of exhaustion, because it left him feeling free.

Chapter 8

I
T WAS THREE
o’clock in the morning, and Jenna couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t scared, at least not by the memories and images of her kidnapping. She and Sara had drifted off while talking—an old habit from way back—so she wasn’t alone. And she was in her right mind enough so that her sister’s presence here, Easy’s presence somewhere nearby, and all the other Hard Ink guys being here, too, made her feel safe enough to slip into unconsciousness.

That wasn’t the problem.

What was scaring her was that Easy had never returned. Not to check on her. Not to get ready for bed. Not for nothing.

Shane had come, though. To check on both Sara and Jenna. And something about him hadn’t looked . . . right. Maybe it was the exhaustion on his face, or the way he seemed to regret parting from Sara, or the way his gaze didn’t quite meet Jenna’s.

Something was up.

Jenna’s gut-deep certainty had her peeking at the time on the new phone Shane had apparently given Sara. Tiptoeing to the door, Jenna held her breath as she turned the knob.

“You okay?” came Sara’s slurred voice.

Damn. “Can’t sleep. You go back to sleep, though.”

Rustling in the covers, as if her sister had sat up. “You sick again?”

“No,” Jenna said. “Probably just screwed up from sleeping most of the day.” Partially true, anyway.

But it wasn’t all of it. Sara didn’t need to know that, though, especially after the conversation they’d had about Easy—the one where Sara had urged Jenna not to rush into anything. Her concerns stemmed entirely from the fact that Jenna had been kidnapped, and Jenna got that. She did. But what’d happened to Jenna during her thirty-hour imprisonment hadn’t been anything like the horrors of the almost-week Sara had spent in the basement of Confessions.

“I’m gonna go downstairs and watch some TV.” Sara had made Jenna memorize the codes to the Rixeys’ apartment and gym doors so she wouldn’t ever be prevented from finding her in the building again. “Since you’re awake, you can go back down with Shane if you want.”

Feet hit the floor over by the bed, then Sara’s phone lit up as if she were using it as a flashlight. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be. Aren’t there six people living in that apartment right now?”

Sara chuckled. “Yeah. It’s like a college dorm.”

“See? Come on, we can walk down together.” Making sure she was decent in case they ran into anyone, Jenna tugged at the legs to the boxers she’d stolen from Easy’s duffel, though his Steelers shirt was so long it covered them entirely.

They crept through the space, not wanting to wake the guys who apparently had rooms in the unfinished apartment, too. Downstairs, Sara had Jenna punch in the code to make sure she knew how the pad worked.

Even in the moonlight streaming in through high windows, the Rixeys’ apartment showed off how awesome the upstairs would be when they finished it. High ceilings, red brick walls, and polished plank flooring extended in all directions.

“My door is the last one on the right, but are you sure you’re sure?”

Jenna kissed Sara on the cheek. She’d been incredibly cool and supportive through all of this, worrying and all. “I’m sure that I’m sure that you’re sure that I’m sure of being sure.”

The darkness didn’t hide Sara’s smirk. “Good night, smart-ass.”

“I love you, too,” Jenna said.

Sara pulled her into a hug. “Me, too. Try to go back to sleep if you can.”

“ ’Kay.”

Moments later, a soft click down the hall told Jenna she was all alone. She padded over to the kitchen and opened the door to the fridge. A can of Sprite looked like nirvana, so she grabbed that and closed the door.

On the opposite side of the room, Jenna approached a wall of electronic components. So many little red and orange lights were illuminated that it could’ve been mission control. The moon highlighted the big rectangle of the flat screen and the red power button on the corner. Flickering blue light filled the space when she turned it on.

She cracked open her soda and searched the top of the shelf for the remote, then she turned to check the tables near the couches.

Jenna froze. Because Easy was lying asleep on the nearest couch. Stretched out, shirtless, and utterly gorgeous.

Should she stay? Should she go? Neither the light nor the sound seemed to be disturbing him, and her only other choice was to return to her room alone.

Which was all kinds of a no.

Besides, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Decided, she curled up in the recliner nearest to the couch and surfed through the midnight underbelly of cable-TV programming. About once a minute—or at least it felt that way—her gaze drifted over to where the low light outlined the broad, inverted triangle of Easy’s muscular back. Part of her yearned to lie down behind him, her body tight up against his, her arm around his stomach, her knees tucked up against his quads. Her skin could almost imagine the warmth of his just thinking about it.

She sighed. Why hadn’t he come up to at least say good night?

Finally, she settled on a marathon of an old vampire series. She lay there so long, her eyes went bleary, and her left arm fell asleep. Unthinkingly, she shifted around to rest against her other side, which jarringly reminded her of the bruises on her face.

How she could’ve forgotten them, she didn’t know, since now that she was thinking about them, they seemed to throb to the steady beat of her pulse. She ended up in sort of a contorted position with her head on the arm of the chair and her legs curled up against the back, but the pins and needles in her arm demanded the change.

And, nicely, however awkward the new position was, it offered the distinct advantage of giving her a clear view of Easy.

The next thing Jenna knew, she was floating.

She forced her heavy lids open and, sure enough, the ceiling moved above her. “What’s happening?” she mumbled.

“Shh, just putting you to bed.” Easy. Carrying her.

She put a hand on his chest and, lured by the warmth and the smooth expanse of hard skin, turned her face toward him. She breathed the masculine scent of him deep inside. “I missed you.”

The next sensation that registered was the softness of the bed against her back. Her hands clutched his shoulders, not wanting him to go. But then she did. If he stayed, she wanted it to be because he chose it. Not because she asked, or pleaded, or because he felt a duty to do so.

Jenna wanted Easy. Simple as that. And she wanted him to want her in return.

His heat disappeared, and the bed shifted. Jenna’s heart squeezed. He was leaving. Ah, well, guess that was her answer. Her mind was still playing that song when the bed shifted again.

“You awake?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep with you, Jenna?”

Goose bumps erupted over her skin at the question. She knew he meant
sleep
sleep, but even that thrilled her. “I was hoping you would,” she said.

He slid under the covers. They didn’t touch. And the proximity without contact was
killing
her. Her mind became ultra aware, her skin almost tingly in anticipation of his touch, her body yearning to seek out his.

“Jenna, can I tell you something?” came his hushed voice in the darkness.

“Of course,” she said, shifting a little closer.

“You may not like it,” he said, an odd quality to his tone. Worry? Sadness? Fear?

“Okay.” She couldn’t imagine what he wanted to say, or what could’ve happened in the past few hours, but instinct insisted it was important.

The thick sound of a tortured swallow. “I talked to Shane and the guys tonight about something, and I want you to hear it from me.” Jenna’s heart tripped into a thumping beat that made her body vibrate. “I haven’t been well, Jenna. Ever since everything that happened to us in Afghanistan. The friends we lost. Our careers ruined. Our reputation. It all weighs on me so much that some days it’s a load I can barely carry.”

Sadness and sympathy formed an aching pressure in her chest. Such terrible things had happened to him, and the injustice of it surely made it an especially bitter pill to swallow. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “It was horrible.”

“It was. But what I’m saying is, sometimes I just wish I could escape it all. I think about that, Jenna. Sometimes even how I would do it.”

The words hung there . . . and slowly seeped into her brain.

She gasped. Was he saying . . . ? “Do you mean, like, hurting yourself? Or killing yourself?” Heart pounding and eyes stinging, she felt powerless and maybe more scared than she’d ever been in her life. For him. Arms screaming to hold him, she moved closer until her hands found his arm. His muscles went rigid, like he didn’t want to be touched, so Jenna froze, not wanting to make him feel worse than he did.

He blew out a long, tired breath. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. I told the guys because I need help. Medicine and maybe talking to somebody. We’re gonna figure out a way to make that happen in the midst of all of this.”

“Good,” she said, wiping away a tear that spilled from the corner of her eye. “I’m so sorry, Easy. Have you been holding this inside all these months?” Imagining the loneliness of those feelings hurt her as surely as if someone had punched her in the stomach. When he didn’t reply, she had her answer. “Well, I’m glad you told your friends. And me, too. How can I help?”

“What?” he asked.

“How can I help? What can I do to make this better?”

A long, tense silence she didn’t understand, and then he said, “You . . . want to help?”

The doubt in those words pounded a raw ache through her veins. “Would you mind turning the lamp on, please? I’d really like to be able to see you.”

When the golden glow illuminated the far corner, she found Easy standing there, not quite facing her and not coming close to making eye contact.

“Come back,” she whispered. For a moment she thought he was going to question her, but then he stalked toward the bed and climbed back in. He lay down on his back pretty much as far away from her as he could and still be on the mattress. Fine. Then she’d go to him. “I’d like to hold you,” she said. “Would that help, even a little?”

His head rolled toward her, and the low position of the lamp cast shadows across his dark face. “You heard what I said, right? You understand what I’m talking about?”

Jenna frowned. “Yeah. I get it.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, then crossed his arms tight over his chest. Everything about his body language radiated tension and defensiveness. When he didn’t say anything, her brain whirled to make sense of what he was asking? Or, maybe even what he
wasn’t
asking.

And the only thing she could come up with nearly broke her heart.

She grasped the bulge of his biceps. “Wait. Did you think if I knew this about you, I wouldn’t want you?” Her memory resurrected his voice insisting he wasn’t a good person, too. And the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together. He was hurting, unsure of himself, adrift in a sea of pain, clear from the tense set of his muscles and the lost expression on his face.

God.
Here she’d been thinking about how
she
could’ve died. When, really, they
both
could’ve died. And never even had the chance to meet. Sadness weighed down on her shoulders at the thought.

Jenna fitted her body tight against the side of his, propping herself up on his shoulder so she could look into his eyes. “Easy, even if we are only ever friends, you will remain important to me for the rest of my life. You saved my life and Sara’s life and gave us a chance at something real and free and safe. So if that’s all we ever are to each other, I’d still want to help. I’d still want to hold you and ease your pain. I’d want to repay the way you saved me by saving you in return. If I could. That’s not a question.”

His eyes unshuttered, and his expression softened, like she was surprising him.

“But if you’re as interested as I am in seeing what this thing between us might be, what you told me doesn’t change my mind at all. It makes me care for you even more. It makes me want you even more. It makes my urge to help even stronger.” Jenna stroked his face with her fingers and prayed she was getting through to him. “My situation was so different, of course, but I understand loss and betrayal. My father introduced me to the joys of those at the age of fifteen. Carrying that pain inside you doesn’t make you any less of a person, Easy. Not in my eyes. Not in my heart.”

Slowly, his big arms unfolded, one opening up to invite her in.

Relief flowing through her, Jenna eased herself against the crook of his body, laid her head on his chest, and wrapped her arms around him as far as they could go. His arms came around her in return, and they held each other like that for a long time.

Finally, she pushed up again so she could look at him and propped her head up on his chest. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

He nodded. “You really don’t . . . think . . .”

She stroked her hand down his face. “What?”

“This makes me feel weak, cowardly, self-indulgent. I just didn’t see how you could find me . . . attractive, given all this.”

“Oh, Easy, I don’t see a single one of those when I look at any part of you. And I will tell you every day until you believe me. You are the bravest, strongest person I know. And the fact that you’re doing all this while you’re feeling this way? Just proves it. Okay?”

He just looked at her.

She twisted her lips, returned the stare, and wondered how to convince him that she believed in him. “Repeat after me: I believe that Jenna believes in the good in me and always will. Your turn.”

More staring.

She leaned in closer. “Come on, now. I believe that—”

“I believe that,” he mumbled.

She gestured with her hands for him to continue, relieved that he was going along, however begrudgingly. “Jenna believes in the good in me and always will.”

He sighed. “Jenna believes in the good.”

“The good
in me
and always will. Come on. Almost done. Make ya feel better, I promise.” And she needed to hear it, too. She needed to know he believed what she’d said and how she felt.