“Hey,” Beau said quietly, going back into the trailer. It felt stuffy after the sweet spring air. “You okay?”

Connor laughed harshly and lifted his arm so Beau could slide in next to him. Beau did it happily, leaning his head against Connor’s. “Truthfully?” Connor asked. “Probably not. But I will be.”

Beau slipped his arm between Connor and the seat back, pulling Connor more tightly against him. He nuzzled the side of Connor’s neck, as much to buy some time as because he loved doing it.

Maybe they didn’t have to talk. Maybe they could get lost in each other’s bodies. Chase the demons and boogeymen away that way. Or they could go for a drive, roll the windows down, and turn the music up. Or finish the rest of the rye and forget whatever Connor was trying to forget.

But none of that was a long-term solution. Not that Beau was under the illusion he could fix anything beyond the physical destruction Harvey had left behind, but he would hate himself if he didn’t at least try.

Lifting his head off Connor’s shoulder, he squeezed the back of his neck lightly. “So, not to bring up the awkward, obvious elephant in the room, but do you think you might be…that it might be…”

“PTSD?” Connor sighed and reached for the bottle. He hesitated before pouring more. “I shouldn’t do this.”

“Go ahead. I got the kids tonight.”

“You don’t have to.” He didn’t let go of the bottle.

“I want to. Let me help.”

Connor looked at Beau for a second, then exhaled deeply, his shoulders dropping as if an actual weight were falling off them. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you.”

Beau had done that. With his words, he’d taken a burden off of someone else, if only temporarily. He felt as proud of that as any goal or good grade at Harvard. He couldn’t fix this family. Couldn’t bring their parents back, couldn’t go back in time and make Connor talk to his step-father, and couldn’t make up for Micah and Fiona growing up without a mom. But he could do this. He could take care of Connor for as long as he was around. He could be strong for both of them.

Connor poured himself another drink, then swirled the alcohol around in the glass, staring at the ripples. “This stuff’s not bad. Grows on you.”

For a hundred dollars a bottle, it had better, Beau thought. “Glad you like it.”

“So.” Connor took a sip. “In answer to your question, yeah, I do think it’s some kind of PTSD, or some reaction or something.”

“So…have you thought about maybe talking to someone?”

Connor shrugged, looked out the window and then back into his glass. Anywhere but at Beau. “Well. Kinda. Nothing really bad happened to me. I didn’t get a leg blown off or anything. I didn’t die. I should be able to handle it. Lots of guys and gals had it way worse. I’m okay.”

“I don’t know shit about being a soldier, man, we both know that. But I can’t imagine it’s the kind of thing you get over easily. And, Con, that’s not all you’re dealing with. Your parents died.” Beau felt like shit when Connor flinched, and he prayed he was doing the right thing. This could backfire spectacularly and end with Connor losing it and screaming at him to get the fuck out. But someone had to say it.

He pressed on, despite the way Connor seemed to contract with each word. “You never got a chance to tell your stepfather you loved him, and you never got to see your mom one last time. You became an instant parent to four kids you barely knew. And I imagine you had to leave the service without getting a chance to say goodbye.”

“I didn’t,” Connor admitted, voice thick. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to anybody.” He rubbed the tears off his face with the heel of his hand.

“You need to talk to someone,” Beau said gently. “You have to deal with this.” The air in the trailer grew stuffier by the second. Beau felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Connor nodded. “I know. I know, man. But I couldn’t before, you know? I couldn’t let them have any more ammunition against me when I was fighting to get the kids. They’re all I have. They’re all I have left. I love them. And they need me.”

“They need you whole. They need you to stay strong.”

“I know. God, I know.” He dropped his head into his hand. “God, I’m so tired. When do I get to not be strong for a little while?”

“How about now? Go lay down on my bed. I’m here. I’ll go inside. Tomorrow we can start making a list of any and all resources you have. You can’t keep doing this alone. You’re gonna break.”

“Too late,” Connor said with a weak but not bitter laugh. “Laying down sounds awesome. Come with me?”

“Of course.” Beau reached around Connor and slid the window open. “So hot in here,” he explained.

“That’s just me.” Connor grinned.

Beau tugged Connor out of the booth and led him to the small bedroom in the rear of the trailer. The queen bed took up most of the room.

Connor dropped down heavily on it and kicked his shoes off.

Beau pulled a pair of sweatpants and a Tornado T-shirt out of a drawer. “Here. You can put these on.”

“You’re just trying to get me naked.”

“If I wanted you naked, you’d be naked.”

Connor snorted in disbelief, but Beau saw the spots of color on his cheeks. Connor liked the thought of Beau ordering him around. Beau filed that away for a more appropriate time. “No street clothes on the bed. What, are you an animal? My mother would have your hide.”

“You never talk about your mom,” Connor said as he obediently got undressed. “Are you guys close?”

“As close as any almost-thirty-year-old is with their mom. We talk every now and then. I call her on her birthday. We never fight or anything.”

“My mom and I were real close,” Connor said, pulling the T-shirt over his head. “It was just me and her for a long time.”

“Twelve years. I remember you said that.”

“She spent as much time with me as she could. She worked two jobs a lot.” He stepped into the sweatpants. They were a little loose on him, and Beau liked the way they hung on his hips. “Even after she married Brent, she made sure we had time alone together. We’d go to the zoo or the skateboard park or a movie. Whatever I wanted.”

“She sounds like a great mom. I was never that close to my mom.” He was oddly jealous of young Connor.

“That’s too bad,” Connor said.

“Yeah, it is.” Maybe it wasn’t too late to change that. Could he build a new relationship with his parents after all these years? They were good people. They loved him, he knew. They’d all just let time and distance push and keep them apart.

He pushed Connor gently to the bed. “Lay down.”

Connor held onto his wrist. “Lay with me.”

Beau let himself be pulled down. They wiggled around until they settled with Connor tucked under Beau’s arm, his head on Beau’s chest.

“I love your hair,” Beau said, running his fingers through the thick black strands. “It’s so soft.”

“Yours is blue,” Connor said sleepily. “It’s cooler than mine.”

“Well, I’m just generally cooler than you.”

Connor poked him in the ribs, his head rising and falling with Beau’s laughter. “You wish,” he said. “I’m cool. Benji told me so.”

Beau massaged the muscles of Connor’s neck. Connor moaned in pleasure. “Oh, God, that’s good.”

“You’re super cool,” Beau said quietly as he worked the tension out of Connor’s neck. “Coolest guy I’ve ever met. Now go sleep, Atlas.”

“Weight of the world,” Connor mumbled.

Beau alternated running his fingers through Connor’s hair and rubbing soothing circles on his back until the other man fell asleep.

When he was sure Connor was down for the count, he extricated himself as gently as he could. Covering Connor with a blanket, he grabbed some soft pants and a T-shirt to sleep in and headed to the house.

Once inside, Beau dropped his clothes on the couch and went upstairs. He peeked into the girls’ room. Micah and Benji were asleep, Benji on Fiona’s bed, his stuffed elephant tucked under his head like always. The other bedrooms were finished, but Beau had a feeling it would be hard to get Benji to sleep on his own.

He looked so young asleep; they both did. Beau’s heart broke as it hit him hard that these kids were orphans. And with Connor as guardian, they’d never have real parents. Not step-parents, not adoptive parents. Even if Connor married one day, what they would get would be a brother-in-law.

Poor kids. Poor Connor. Beau had the urge to wrap Connor up and protect him, never let him get hurt. For all their sakes.

Silently, he closed the door.

In the other room. Sean sat on the bed, his back to the wall like he had been before. The television was off. He held the silver Call of Duty disc, turning it over and over in his hands. He’d changed into soft sleep pants and a gray, faded ‘Property of the U.S. Marines’ T-shirt.

Fiona lay on Benji’s bed in her pajamas but awake.

“You okay?” Beau asked, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

Fiona sat up.

Sean nodded. “But is Connor?”

Beau shrugged. “He will be. He’s sleeping. I’m going to let him stay there. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight in case one of you needs me.”

“Thanks.” Unconsciously, Sean ran his free hand over the T-shirt, twisting the hem. “You think that was like a PTSD attack?”

Beau sat down heavily on the bed. “Oh, man. I’m not a doctor, but seems like it.”

“We have a therapist for the family, court-mandated. Do you think Connor should go, too?” Sean asked.

Beau was so over his head here. He was a slacker, a spoiled, privileged hockey player. What the fuck did he know about anything real? But Sean and Fiona were looking at him for answers.

Fake it till you make it. Beau was coming to realize that providing comfort was as important as, if not more than, having all the answers.

“Yeah, probably,” he answered, and then reached over and pulled Sean against him in a one-armed hug. The boy clung to his shirt front like a baby monkey, seeming much younger than the image he usually tried to portray. Sean’s pain hurt Beau’s heart as much as Connor’s had. He had to admit it. He loved this family. All of them.

He smoothed Sean’s hair down, making the comforting sounds he remembered his mom making decades ago. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You know that, right?”

“That was really scary,” Fiona said softly.

“You should have been out there,” Sean said. “I thought he was going to make me shoot that squirrel for real.”

“But Beau saved it,” Fiona said.

“I knocked it unconscious,” Beau admitted. “And then he yelled at me for ten minutes.”

Sean managed a short laugh. “It was throwing acorns at him, Fee. You should have seen it.”

She laughed a little. “So, Sean said he thinks it was…it was about the war? And what Connor had to do? I had to watch a documentary about PTSD at school.”

“Me, too,” Sean added. “I just never even thought about it with Connor. Don’t know why. He’s just so strong, you know? He came home and took over everything. And we were all so messed up.”

Fiona nodded in agreement. “I’m still kind of messed up,” she confessed.

“Ah, baby,” Beau said without thinking, “come over here.”

She ran across the room and jumped onto the bed next to him. He put his other arm around her, hugging her into him. She was even thinner than Sean. She felt like a bird under his arm.

“You guys have been dealt a shitty hand. Really shitty. And I’m so sorry. I wish I could undo it, somehow.” He kissed the side of her head.

She buried her head against his chest. He thought she might be crying. He knew he was. God, he was almost a stranger to these kids, and yet they trusted him so much. It was terrifying. Were all kids like this? So trusting and vulnerable? How did parents let them out into the world?

“I never thought about what it was really like for Connor,” Sean admitted. “He’s right. I have no idea what he did over there.”

“Most people don’t think about it. It’s for our own protection. If we had to think about everything bad that’s happening in the world every day, we would go mad. Or lie down on the ground and never get up again.”

“It’s not all bad, though, right?” Fiona said.

“No, baby. Most of it’s good, and a lot of it is beautiful. Like you. All of you. And Mac and Cheese. And bluebonnets. You just gotta be sure to notice the good stuff more than you dwell on the bad. You know what I do every night before I go to sleep?”

“No. What?” She looked up at him with a tear-streaked face.

“I never told anyone this before. I’ve been doing it since I was about Benji’s age, I think.”

“Wow, you started early,” Sean mumbled.

Beau flicked him on the ear. “I count ten things I was grateful for that day. Good things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, usually the first three are that I had food and shelter and clothes to wear that day. And then things like I made a good goal. Or I got to pet a dog.”

“That’s always a good day,” Fiona agreed.

“Or the sunset was beautiful. Or I got to hang out with you hooligans.”

Fiona smiled. “You like us.”

“You’re a’ight.” He squeezed them both.

Sean squirmed away from him. “That don’t make everything okay,” he said. “Counting good things don’t make the bad things go away.” He bent the game disc back and forth in his hands.

“No,” Beau admitted. “But it makes sure you don’t forget about them. You gotta appreciate the little things in life because it’s ninety percent little things.”

With a crack that made Beau and Fiona jump, Sean snapped the disc in half. “I can’t play it anymore.”

Beau didn’t know what to say to that. He was as exhausted as he’d ever been, mentally and physically. “Guys, I think I need to go to sleep. I’m going to stay on the couch.”

“You already said that,” Fiona pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I’m old and senile. I forget things.” He stood up. “Are you sleeping in here tonight?”

She nodded.

“You guys okay for now?”

Sean stood up, too. Beau would swear he’d grown in the last month. To his vast surprise, Sean reached out and hugged him with both arms. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Fiona threw her arms around them both. “Me, too.”

“Me, three,” Beau said, hugging them tightly. He kissed Fiona on the top of her head. He hesitated, then thought, fuck it, and kissed Sean’s head, too. “Goodnight, guys. Try to get to sleep. You both have practice tomorrow, and I’ve got a game.”

“Goodnight,” they said. He waited until they were both under the covers, then shut the light off and went downstairs to the couch.

He didn’t know how the kids were doing, but sleep was a long time coming for him.