What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,72

be nice to be the focus of that kind of attention.

Not that Bull appreciated it. Not in the fucking least. Hawk eyed Gryff, still waiting at the door. Bull was completely comfortable with a dog pawing him, demanding attention, leaning against him. He didn’t appreciate it from a female.

No, that was wrong. Bull had been openly affectionate with that ex-wife of his. Hawk shook his head. He’d only met Paisley once, but she’d seemed to be all surface beauty with nothing underneath. From Bull’s silence about his marriage, the woman had probably screwed him over.

Sympathy made Hawk feel, maybe, less annoyed Bull had secured the woman Hawk had ever-so-briefly considered making a move on.

Stupid idea, really. He couldn’t compete with his brothers. Like what’d happened when—

Bull came out on the deck, and Gryff started turning in spirals of happiness. Bending, Bull gave the mutt a rough scratching along his ribs and butt, then picked up his egg basket. They rotated egg-collection days, giving each of them a chance to restock their own larders.

As Bull crossed the lawn, he spotted Hawk. “Yo, bro. Having a quiet day?”

“Yeah.” Hawk frowned, seeing his brother’s strained expression—the same one he often saw in his own mirror. But…Bull? “You okay?”

“Sure, sure.” Bull started to walk on, stopped, and shook his head. “No, that’s a bullshit cover-up. That macho crap is partly why Mako was such a mess. Gabe, too. Hell, all of us are fucked-up in different ways.”

Hawk stared at him in shock. “What?”

Putting a foot on Hawk’s steps, Bull set his elbows on the railing and gazed out at the lake where a float plane was coming in for a landing. “Mako had PTSD. We all knew it, but he avoided like hell discussing it with us. He taught us that bullshit—not to talk about our problems. When Gabe came back with his head on wrong, he spent the winter alone in Sarge’s old cabin instead of coming to one of us for help.”

Hawk’s mouth tightened. Hiding out was pretty much what he’d done a time or two.

But…Bull hadn’t really answered his question. “What about you?”

“I’m mostly all right, but…not always. Had a few missions where everything went south—and yeah, they come back and haunt me.” Bull turned to face him. “A couple of months ago, Dante took me to a counselor buddy in Anchorage. The guy’s a vet—and uses some weird machine that helps to integrate the memories.”

“It works?” That’d be the day.

Bull nodded. “For me, at least. It’s not easy. Couple of times, I almost puked. But the flashbacks and nightmares and feeling of falling into a black hole? It’s getting better.”

“Huh.” Hawk stared at the sunlight rippling on the water.

Bull cleared his throat. “As it happens, Doc Grayson was asking about you. Said you made him a promise last year that you’d see a therapist. Said if you didn’t, he’d come up and you two would…chat.”

“Fuck.” The psychologist never made threats he didn’t keep.

Even worse, Hawk had promised. Guess he’d better man up.

Pulling himself together, Hawk realized his brother had moved silently away, heading for the chicken coop.

A few minutes later, on the way back, Bull slowed. “Let me know when you have an appointment. I’ll take you there the first time or two.” He didn’t wait for an answer.

The bull knew him well.

Her laptop in front of her, Frankie listened with half an ear to the activity in the coffee shop. And sniffed appreciatively at the chocolatey aroma of a mocha coffee.

Scowling at her emails, she thought she could use some chocolate. Two of her friends in New York had married military guys; a couple of the Bocelli models had lovers in the security business. Another friend worked in defense. After the book club meeting, she’d asked them all about finding a reputable mercenary team. Their replies were discouraging, filled with warnings about the various mercenary outfits for various reasons—bad reps, incompetent, rip-offs, criminals. Some guy named deVries had quit the business. She still had a couple of her friends who hadn’t weighed in…and really, she was only checking into mercenaries as a worst-case scenario.

Maybe the next chore on her to-do list would go better. That was doubtful, though. She picked up her cell phone, selected a contact, and tried to bolster her courage. Speaking with her family seemed to get more difficult the longer she was in Alaska. Maybe because—aside from her trips to see Nonna—this was the longest she’d ever spent away from them. She missed them, but