find Hayes on the ground with his hands covering his head.
Literally, the big man was burying his face in the grass as his shoulders tensed.
Everyone around us, instead of watching the fireworks, were looking at the huge man now cringing and trying to disappear into the grass.
People were starting to point and whisper, gathering Hayes more and more attention.
And with each fucking firework that went off, his shoulders would tense more and more and more.
I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I saw that he was scared, and not in the right frame of mind.
So I dropped down to lay on the grass with him, my eyes on the side of his face as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
“Hayes,” I said softly, not touching him because I wasn’t sure whether he would welcome touch just yet. “Hayes, look at me.”
His shoulders went a little less stiff, but he didn’t open his eyes.
That stiffness once again ratcheted up when another firework went off.
In desperation, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, keying up the latest audiobook I had downloaded on my phone.
It was one of my favorites. One I listened to on repeat when I didn’t have enough money to buy more credits, or when I was in a reading funk and just wanted something that I knew would be good.
I was about a quarter of the way through the very last book in the series, and I was at a fight scene.
It was a sword fighting scene, so I hoped that it wouldn’t also cause his PTSD—and I knew that this was post-traumatic stress disorder rearing its ugly head—to worsen.
Hitting play, I sat it next to his head and hoped that the story would help.
And, miraculously, it did.
The fireworks kept coming, but the book kept playing.
And one muscle at a time, he finally became unlocked.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He swallowed hard but nodded. “Yeah,” he croaked.
He wasn’t okay. Not even a little bit okay.
Not for the walk back to his truck. Not for the car ride home. Not for the minutes that it took for us to sit there in awkward silence as he tried to decide how to proceed.
In fact, I would say he was so far from okay that it was downright depressing.
“Can I come with you?” I asked softly, breaking the silence. “To your place?”
He jerked.
“No.” he said. “No.”
I sighed and shifted in my seat, reaching for the door handle as I did.
When I got out, I looked at him through the open passenger door.
“Listen, Hayes,” I said quietly, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m a big girl. I know that you’re not perfect. More so, I can handle you saying ‘you’re not ready’ and ‘you don’t want me to come home with you.’” I paused. “What I can’t handle is you shutting down, going hot and cold, and pretty much ignoring me for two days and then turning into a happy person. Only to turn back into an ogre at the end of the night when I invite you to stay the night.”
Hayes didn’t say anything.
So I took that as an ‘I’m not going to say anything’ on his part and walked into my apartment and closed the door.
I kind of expected him to stay. To tell me I wasn’t reading too much into it.
But he didn’t stay.
He went home, and I went to bed pissed.
Not because he wouldn’t stay, but because I knew something was wrong and he wasn’t telling me what it was. Or, more importantly, admitting that there was something bothering him and telling me he had a problem, but didn’t want to discuss it.
You know, like a motherfuckin’ adult.
Still, that night, I researched PTSD.
Oh, and I also might or might not have contacted a few agencies that had PTSD awareness dogs that helped people in the case of a PTSD attack.
Chapter 12
Sorry, I don’t do quiet.
-Ares’ secret thoughts
Ares
“When can I come get him?” I asked.
The young woman on the other end of the line laughed.
“Your boyfriend will have to be registered as…” she started, but I interrupted her.
“I already have that happening as we speak,” I said. “Officially, he can get one.”
“You’re on top of things, I like it,” she