Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,161

stand with my back against the wall and wonder what would stop the pain inside my chest, what sort of damage I could do outside that might ease the hurricane of pain inside.

Good guy…

He was. He was.

Breck was a good guy. Breck should be alive.

“Aw now, I thought I had lost you.” Sean’s right there, his hand on my back, tapping. I blink, turning to him.

“Sorry.” I look down at my feet. He must think I’m such a fucking loose cannon. Not much of an Operator if I can’t even—

“Want to come back up? Tell me what set you off?”

I swallow back the urge to snap at him—or turn around and run the other fucking way.

“I don’t,” I say stiffly.

“You don’t have to.”

“You said he’s a good guy. How’d you know that?” I look him in the face because I want to see his eyes.

“Read the obit,” he says.

“And the obit told you he was a good guy?”

I can see the hesitation on his face. “Just heard in certain circles. People talk, you know.”

“When an Operator dies. Yeah, they talk.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“People talk. Opinions, assholes…”

He chuckles. “Opinions are like assholes, and most of them stink. Come back upstairs with me, and tell me what the talk was about Breck’s death.”

I look him up and down. “How long were you a Ranger?”

“Thirteen years,” he says. He lifts his shirt up, revealing a long, jagged scar along his ribs.

“Blown up around the time that Baghdad fell. IED our bomb guy couldn’t get.”

I nod, forcing myself to look at the ruined skin. Because I know how much it sucks when someone looks away. If they can’t see it, how can you live with it?

I nod.

“It blows.” He chuckles. He heads inside, and I follow him up. Not because I have to, but because I know I need to try. For Gwen, and maybe me as well.

I feel like shit the whole walk up, and when I sit back on his couch, I feel that detached cold come over me.

I see him roll his chair over and feel him tap my forearm.

“Hey, guy. Look up here at me, will yeh?”

It takes some effort, but I do it.

“I’ve got white eyelashes. Blond, really. Since birth. Can you see them, or does it just look like I don’t have any?”

I look down at my hand, where his finger is tapping, then back up at his eyes. I can see eyelashes. I nod.

“See them?”

“Yeah.” Embarrassment moves through me, followed by a wash of prickly heat. Somewhere distant, I know I should say something to explain my weird behavior, but I can’t think of anything. My brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton.

Sean moves away. “Can you tell me how many blue things you see in this room?”

I frown. Did he say blue things?

“Just look around the room and point if you see something blue?”

“The clock,” I manage. Then it’s just too hard to shake it off. I feel too numb.

I see him reach into his pocket. That makes me flinch.

“Oh, okay. No reaching into the pockets. I think I can handle that.” He hands me something small. “Can you open this?”

I feel a pinch of panic through the cool blanket that’s over me. I hold up my left hand, shake my head.

“That’s right. Let’s see…” He opens it and holds it out to me. “Smell that?”

It smells like peppermints.

My head starts to hurt. I’m startled when I look around, at where I am. At— Who is— Oh. Sean.

“Doc,” I murmur.

“How do ya feel? I think you took a little trip. Dissociated. People do that often here. Must be the décor.”

I give a shaky laugh. Is this guy serious?

“I’m going to guess you didn’t start doing that yesterday,” he says. “Keep that peppermint oil up by your nose. Smells can help. I want to ask you a few questions about your body, how it feels right now. They’re easy ones. Then we can talk about football.”

“Cold and…foggy. Like I’m under a blanket. Or a cloud.” I rub my forehead.

“Hard to talk?”

My chest feels heavy and numb, even now, but I manage, “Yeah.”

Doc’s face is kind without pity, blunt but not exaggerated. “Look,” he blinks and leans forward, “it’s not unusual. It’s a learned response to trauma. Anyone who’s been to war, they’ve got some trauma.” He lifts a shoulder, like we’re talking about sports. “It’s something I see all the time. Something we can work on.”

Fuck, that’s kind of good to hear.

“Hard to move around