a hippy and gave the Kent children what Shiloh called Hippy Names. Echo hated his name. River, too. Phoenix was glad his name wasn’t Echo but didn’t love the name Phoenix. But Shiloh secretly liked her name but she’d never told her brothers that.
She’d been resolute in her love for her brothers. They were all she had and she loved them more than anything but she felt the weight of their love. She lived under a cloud of worry she’d in some way disappoint them.
Shiloh had been completely open about her lack of a sex life and explained in great detail the reasons why she didn’t want a man or a relationship. She was afraid of failure. Not a failed relationship but failing in a career she’d worked hard to have. I understood her worries and misgivings about distractions. When I was in the Navy, I had those same fears.
None of that was the issue. She’d been hilarious when she’d told me she’d given up “self-love” as she called it. Her forehead had been adorably crunched when she said she’d given it up because she was so bad at it she was more frustrated after she tried than she was to begin with.
Throughout the commentary of her misadventures in masturbation, I managed to keep my cock in control—more or less. That didn’t mean as she told her stories I wasn’t sporting an erection, but I’d done what I’d promised and kept it far, far away from her.
It wasn’t until I was driving her home that the night took a sharp turn from fun to bad.
Five minutes after I put her in her car and she gave me her address she passed out. Ten minutes after that she jolted in her seat and scared the shit out of me when she started screaming. It got to the point where I had to pull over and get her out of the car to calm her. I got her settled back in the car and home. I carried her in and got her into bed without her waking up. While I was deciding what to do, she woke up again, this time crying and talking.
Nothing she said made sense. Someone had died and she felt it was her fault. That was all I knew. After the second nightmare, I couldn’t leave her drunk and alone in case it happened again. I hadn’t slept on her couch. I sat next to her in bed and watched over her.
I knew Shiloh Kent well enough to know she would not be happy I’d witnessed her nightmares.
And there was my dilemma.
Lie and tell her I stayed because I didn’t want to leave her alone while she was drunk or tell her the truth?
Fuck.
I hated liars.
I made it a point to tell the truth.
I couldn’t withhold what I knew even if in my gut I knew it was going to upset her and she’d likely tell me to leave.
“Last night you asked about the scars on my face. I know you don’t remember asking nor do you remember my answer.”
“Why aren’t you—”
“I was in Lebanon on a mission. We were tracking a bomb maker. He had an S vest strapped on and detonated it. The senior officer had given me a move-out order and I didn’t listen. I was caught in the explosion. That’s what fucked up my vision. That’s why I med boarded out of the Navy. Trey got it worse. I know you’ve seen him—he had a face full of scars. He blamed himself for not moving and taking me with him. And I blamed myself for the same. Trey almost lost his leg and according to Uncle Sam, I lost my ability to be behind a spotting scope. We were flown to Germany and for weeks I had nightmares—”
“Luke—”
I spoke over the panic in her voice. “At one point they were so bad my hands were strapped to the bed so I couldn’t tear the bandages from my eye.”
“Luke—”
Fucking hell, more panic.
“By the time I left Germany and got home they’d calmed but I still had them. Last night I didn’t tell you why I hadn’t had a woman in my bed since I left the Navy. Part of the reason is that I didn’t want anyone to see me vulnerable. The other part is because I was so fucking pissed I hated pretty much everything. Until I saw Trey drowning under an ocean of guilt that was not his to carry did I finally