Her eyes narrowed a bit, skepticism etched across her features.
And suddenly I realized everyone was staring. At us. At me. Christ-how obvious had I been?
The master chief putting on the demonstration muffled a cough, drawing everyone's attention back to him, and continued his introduction. Cool relief and hot embarrassment both rushed over me. I didn't hear a word the man said, but at least I was back in the here and now. I concentrated on staying here. Breathing slowly. Being consciously aware of the chlorine instead of salt and jet fuel.
After the demonstration, I left as soon as I could do so without drawing attention to myself. I calmed down in my office and shifted my focus to my work, but I was still rattled. It blew my mind that something as simple as a SAR demonstration could bring so much shit bubbling up from my subconscious from years ago. For the rest of the day, my skin was crawling.
So I knew damn well that if I stayed at Clint's tonight, I was asking for it. His place was familiar, but not familiar enough to calm down my fucked-up psyche if-when-I woke up in the middle of an episode.
But I also didn't want to sleep alone. Which was weird. I slept alone more often than not, and having an episode with someone else beside me had always been embarrassing as hell.
For some reason, though, I wanted Clint there tonight. Maybe because I wanted to see if he knew what he was getting into when we'd agreed that something like this would happen eventually. If I was going to scare him off, I might as well do it sooner than later.
Around noon, he poked his head into my office and gently knocked on my open door. "You busy?"
I smiled as I pushed a binder aside. "Not really, no."
"Want to go grab lunch?"
Lunch. Food. My stomach lurched just thinking about it.
And my response must not have been all that subtle, because Clint's eyebrows rose. Then he stepped in and shut the door behind him. "You all right?"
"Yeah, I . . ." I rubbed a hand over my face. Then I got up and came around the desk, mostly because I was suddenly full of nervous energy and needed to move. I leaned against the desk and drummed my nails rapidly on its edge. "Listen, um . . ." I shrugged away a shudder. "This morning was . . . sketchy." I tapped my temple. "Some triggery shit that's still kind of under my skin."
Clint nodded. "Understood."
"Tonight's going to be rough. If you don't want-"
"Travis." He put a hand on my waist and kissed me lightly. "It's fine."
"I'm serious. Nightmares are one thing. When something has me this rattled during the day, the night is going to suck."
He nodded again. "Believe me, I know how it goes."
"I know you do." I wrapped my arms around him. "But it's not pleasant. So if you don't want to be there for it, I'll understand."
"I want to be there for you." His cheeks colored. "Okay, that sounded a lot cheesier than it did in my head, but seriously-it sucks to go through, and it's worse to go through it alone."
"True." I released a breath. "All right. We can give it a shot, I guess." Funny how it was so much easier to assure him it'd be no big deal when his PTSD took over than it was to stomach the idea of him being there when mine did.
"Maybe it would be better at your place tonight." He paused. "I mean, if it's not too weird, me staying there while your daughter is home. Just, you know, being in a familiar setting might be better for you."
"That's probably not a bad idea. And I've had people over before. She knows about you. So, it wouldn't bother her." I blew out a breath. "All right. If you're sure you're up for it."
"I am. I'd be a hell of a hypocrite not to be." He cupped my face and kissed me. "We'll get dinner, maybe watch some TV. Whatever you need to relax." He ran the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone. "And after that, we'll take the night as it comes."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Don't mention it." He kissed me again. "So, for now, do you want to go grab some lunch?"
My stomach turned. "I think I'm going to hold off on lunch for a while. Why don't you go on without me?"
His brow pinched. "Do you want me to bring you anything from the food court?"
That made me want to gag even more, so I shook my head. "No, thanks. I'll figure something out later."
"Okay. If you change your mind, shoot me a text."
"I will. Go. You've got classes this afternoon. Eat."
"Okay, okay, I'm going." He kissed me gently, and then left.
After he was gone, I still pressed my hip against my desk. I let my head fall forward. Rubbing the back of my neck with both hands, I sighed.
Tonight was going to be rough.
If we were going to do this, though, if we were going to make a relationship of some kind work, then sooner or later we had to cross this bridge. Might as well do it now, see if we could handle it, and move on if we couldn't.
And I tried not to think about the fact that relationships were dangerous territory for me anyway. What if things were okay when we slept in the same bed? What if we could handle each other's PTSD? What if . . .
I exhaled.
What if I let myself get as close to him as I had to Dion?
I rubbed my eyes and tried to force that thought out of my mind. It was irrational. Dion and Clint had nothing to do with each other, and there was no reason to believe things would turn out the same way. Right?
Well, we'd see how it went.
All I knew was this was the first time I dreaded going to bed with Clint.
Between the PTSD flare-up and my back pain, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck by the time we were calling it a night. My mind was still going a million miles an hour, but I was too exhausted not to sleep.
In my bedroom that night, I started to take off my shirt, but winced.
"Need a hand?" Clint asked.
"I got it." Holding my breath, I peeled my shirt all the way off. "See?"
His lips quirked. "Well, don't say I didn't offer."
We finished undressing-him more easily than me-and I got into bed. He joined me, but didn't settle in quite yet. "Go ahead and arrange the pillows however you need for your neck. I don't want you making it worse."
"I think you're the first guy who's ever waited for me to organize all this shit."
He laughed. "Eh, I've had stiff necks before. Not the same thing, but I know what it's like trying to sleep when my neck hurts."
"Much appreciated."
"Don't mention it."
We both left on our boxers and climbed into bed. Though we hadn't broached the subject of whether sex was on the table tonight, the clothes seemed to telegraph that we both knew it wasn't. Sex would have been a welcome distraction too, but naturally, my back was killing me. The tension in my neck and shoulders had spread down my spine, and well, that was all she wrote. My night would be made of TENS, Motrin, and attempts at relaxation.
If Clint was annoyed or frustrated, he didn't let it show. Instead, he lay beside me with his arm over me and kissed behind my ear. "How's your back?"
"Good as it ever is."
"That bad?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Sorry to hear it." He kissed me again. "You took some Motrin, right?"
"Always." Tonight, Motrin was about as effective as using paper airplanes for an airstrike, but it was better than nothing.
And even though I was supposed to use ice rather than heat, I had to admit Clint's body heat felt really nice against those painfully tight muscles.
I closed my eyes. Just being beside him was enough for me to start getting hard. Judging by the way he drew his hips back slightly, it might've been the same for him.
I was way too tired and sore, though. And Clint didn't push.
Before too long, my dick gave up. Not much longer after that, Clint was asleep.
So I closed my eyes and followed suit.
Every time I tried to swim to the surface, the pain in my back paralyzed my arms and shoulders. Every time I stopped swimming, I sank deeper into the cold, dark water. My lungs screamed for air. My muscles screamed for rest.
A shadow hovered in the water nearby, barely illuminated by . . . the moon? Searchlights?
It was Charlie. I knew it was. I couldn't see him, but it was him. He didn't move. Didn't try to swim. Just sank deeper.
Lungs burning and body on fire, I tried to get to him. Couldn't.
Swimmers. Their masks and insignia were vivid. The only thing I could really see.
But they couldn't get to me.
Sinking too fast.
My motionless RIO floated away.
Swim harder. Swim. Harder.
"Travis, can you hear me?"
The question jolted my surroundings. Scrambled them like a glitch in a computer program. The water wasn't quite right anymore. Different somehow. Why was there a ship in a swimming pool?
I choked and coughed. Salt. Fucking salt.
A wave crashed over my head. I thought I'd go under, but something solid kept me in place. Why was I lying down?
"Travis?" Calm. Firm. Soothing. "Travis, do you know where you are?"
I held on to his voice like a lifeline.
"Travis?"