Matt lurched straight up in bed, drenched in sweat. It was still dark out, and the room was quiet. His alarm hadn’t gone off yet.

His heart was pounding, though. Shit. He dragged in a breath, trying to calm himself down before—

“What is it?” Natasha asked quietly. Her voice was low and sleep-filled.

“Time for me to go.” He swallowed around his anxiety and reached out to squeeze her hip. “Go back to sleep.”

She didn’t say anything and he slid out from between the sheets. His chest pulled tight and he rubbed the skin, trying to make the ache go away.

Silent as could be, he found his jeans and his socks, making sure his phone alarms wouldn’t go off as he tiptoed past Emily’s room. Then he padded down the stairs and into the empty living room.

Not empty.

There was the red velvet sofa, now decorated with black and white cushions. Natasha’s taste was impeccable. And on the opposite wall, every detail of her plan for the house carefully outlined in lists, sketches, and timelines.

He stood there for a long stretch, looking at her work. Thinking about how it made him feel.

She had dreams with a capital D.

Dreams.

What did Matt have? Fear. Regret. Anxiety.

And instead of facing all of that last night, he’d come here to bury himself in her arms.

“Is everything okay?”

He spun around. He hadn’t heard Natasha come down the stairs, and now a fresh wave of those negative emotions washed over him. He looked at her wrapped in her blanket, her legs bare beneath it. “I…”

“I can put on coffee,” she said levelly. “If you can’t sleep.”

The invitation was crystal clear. Did he want to talk?

No.

He knew that was the wrong answer, knew he should tell her something, anything, but as he stood in the shadow of her wall, all the anxiety and stress of the last eight months coalesced into a clear, punishing message in his head.

He wasn’t worthy of her.

She deserved someone who could give her the moon and save the world and protect her and Emily from every bump in the road.

What did he have to offer? A guarantee that at some point, they’d go out for dinner and run into a woman he’d slept with once and never called again. Awkward family dinners with his brother and a constant reminder that Tasha had been left alone at her most vulnerable. And if Owen and his fucking book were right, probably a shit-ton of mental stuff that would only get worse before it got better.

Matt had promised Natasha he wouldn’t be any kind of drama for her, but he hadn’t been looking at himself when he’d said that.

He’d been so fucking cocky.

“Matt?”

Natasha put her hand on his arm and he jerked back.

“I have to go.”

“It’s the middle of the night, are you sure?” She didn’t blink, didn’t move. Just looked at him. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I… How—” No, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she knew. Had he said anything? Done anything to her?

“It’s okay. You just seem rattled.”

“Sorry.”

“If you ever want to talk about anything, I can be a friend to you in that regard, too.” She gave him a small smile. “You’ve been nothing but steadfast support to me. It’s probably time I repay the favour.”

His mouth was dry. He couldn’t tell her and he didn’t even have a good reason why. Just a feeling. A crushing sense of panic at the thought of burdening her with anything. “I’m good. But thank you.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t, though. This was some kind of test, and he’d failed it. He didn’t know how to be a good boyfriend.

“I’m going to put coffee on anyway,” she said, and something about the smoothness in her voice scratched at him. Like she was handling him.

“Don’t.”

The silence stretched between them, palpable and ugly. He forced himself to look at her, to look her in the eye. She was hurt. He’d done that. Fuck.

He clenched his teeth and shrugged. “Go back to bed.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

She gave him a long, slow, assessing look. Disappointment rippled across her face. “Not nothing. Don’t lie to me. Something happened yesterday and—”

“Yeah. Something happened yesterday. I shit the bed at work, okay? I snapped at a patient. I was fucking pissed at her stupid fucking daughter and I didn’t want her fucking death on my hands. It was completely the wrong thing to do and instead of dealing with it, I came here because I wanted to fuck you and forget—” He made a fist. Fuck.

She gasped and her face drained of colour. “Right. Okay, yeah, I’m going back to bed. Let yourself out.”

The right thing to do would have been to apologize.

Of course Matt knew that immediately on some level, but he didn’t really, truly get it until he was parked in front of his apartment building in Pine Harbour.

“You are a fucking idiot,” he said out loud. Then he punched his steering wheel.

It was still dark out.

Had she actually gone back to bed? He didn’t want to risk waking her up if she had, but on the other hand…

He pulled out his phone.

As soon as he sent it, bubbles appeared as she composed a reply. It took forever for them to turn into a real message, and when they did, it was short. Whatever she’d written, she’d edited it down into a clear, neat reply.

Jesus, she slayed him.

It was a painful echo of Owen’s advice to take some time off. Like everyone else could see that Matt needed to lie on his couch and face his fears like a grown-up. But he was not emotionally functional enough to do that.

No, but the real answer was more complicated, and needed to be explained in person.

It wasn’t the right way to end things, but he was running on empty. He grabbed his bag, locked his truck, and headed inside.

When he woke up for the second time, he was alone in his own bed.

No nightmare, no full body sweats. But no Natasha either, and he had a bone-deep ache in the middle of his chest. Not like the tightness of anxiety. This was something different and he hated it.

Owen had been right. Matt had snapped, and barely twenty-four hours after promising it wouldn’t happen again.

And even worse, he’d taken out whatever the fuck was wrong with him on Natasha, who didn’t deserve that. Nobody did, but least of all her, who had let him bury himself and aching need right in the middle of her heart.

He’d shown up at her house, talked his way into a sleepover, and then shut her down when she’d tried to help him in exactly the same way Owen had.

He couldn’t ignore that there was something wrong with him anymore.

The rest of the day was spent on his couch. It took two false starts and three beers to crack the spine on the book, but once he started reading he couldn’t stop.

It wasn’t easy to see himself on the page like that. Every choice he’d made, every personality trait he’d always valued laid bare as a coping strategy to mask wound after wound.

When his stomach growled, he looked up and was surprised to find it was nearly dinnertime.

He set the book down and shook his head. Then he reached for his phone. His brother picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” Sean said. “What’s up?”

So fucking much. He didn’t know where to begin. “What are you doing for dinner?”

“Re-heating something. Jenna’s out at a birth.”

“Can I come over? I can pick up takeout from Mac’s.”

“Sure. Grab me meatloaf and a slice of apple pie.”

“Deal.”

Matt called the order in before leaving his apartment, then he bundled up. It was a cold, crisp night, but the walk would feel good.

Sean and Jenna lived on the other side of Main Street. It was a decent walk out to the edge of town to pick up food at the diner, then triangulating over to the small bungalow.

Before Sean had gone overseas, this had been their oldest brother’s house. Dean had been a confirmed bachelor and a workaholic cop who didn’t need more than a small two-bedroom house. In hindsight, there was a lot for Matt to unpack about his brother’s choices, too.

Then he’d fallen in love, as apparently the Foster brothers managed to do despite their dysfunctions, and he’d built a bigger house for Liana north of town.

When Jenna showed up a month after Sean came home and introduced herself as his secret bride—another fucked-up Foster kid making fucked-up choices—Dean offered up his empty bungalow for her to stay in while she convinced Sean to pull his head out of his ass and give them a second chance.

Yeah, he had a lot to talk about with his brothers.

Jake, too. They were quite the dysfunctional crew.

Sean was on the porch as Matt approached. “Fucking cold tonight. Why’d you walk over?”

“Wanted the fresh air.”

“Woman troubles?” His younger brother flashed an uncommon grin. “Happy to give advice in that area.”

“Yeah, I’ve got troubles. Bit deeper than just what to do about Natasha, though, but that’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Whoa. All right, come on in.” The metal leg of Sean’s cane glinted as he moved under the porch light. It was a constant physical reminder that his brother still struggled with balance, even as he worked like a beast on his physical strength. Once a lean runner, now Sean had thick biceps and a solid wall of chest muscles. He looked every inch the personal trainer he’d turned himself into.

Reinvention hadn’t come easy to Sean, though. It wouldn’t come easy to Matt, either. They were stubborn, all of them.

But that needed to change.

Once inside Matt handed the takeout bag to his brother, then peeled off his outerwear.

“Can I offer you a beer?”

“Not tonight.”

“Jenna bought me one of those make-your-own soda machines for Christmas.”

“Christmas is still three weeks away.”

“I was an exceptionally good husband and got my present early.”

“Ah. Sure, make me something with that.”

After Sean set what was basically just sparkling lime water in front of him, they dug into food. But each bite was hard for Matt to get down, so after a few forkfuls, he set his plate aside.

Sean noticed right away. “You okay?”

Matt took a deep breath. “No.”

The story jerked out of him in fits and starts. He began with that morning, with treating Natasha badly, and worked backwards. The running, the nightmares, the extra shifts at work.

It got harder the further back he went, and when he got to those early days when Sean had come home and was living in Dean’s guest room, he stopped.

“That was hard,” his brother said quietly. “I was an asshole.”

Jesus, no. Matt shook his head. “Not the point I’m trying to make. You were injured.”

“No denying it, though.” Sean took a deep breath. “You didn’t come around a lot.”

Matt’s throat closed up. He nodded. That was true. He hadn’t.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re here now.”

“Because I need to talk.”

“Yeah? And you think I don’t?”

“Fuck.” Matt swiped at his eye. There was something in it.

Feelings.

He laughed hollowly.

“What?” Sean grinned at him. “Come on, share the gallows humour.”

“I might cry over you, you little shit. Fucking feelings.”

“So cry.”

Matt wrinkled his nose. Not yet. He hadn’t gotten to the worst bit. “There was another reason I didn’t come around that much when you first came home. The day we found out you’d been hurt, Jake and I drove Dean to Toronto. Did he tell you any of this when you woke up in Germany?”

Sean shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he did, I don’t remember.”

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, where the feelings were burning the worst. He needed to get through this like a man. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe that’s the fucking problem. “Jake called me when I was working. End of a shift. They picked me up at the hospital. Owen was my partner that day.”

“What did we fucking miss?”

“Nothing. It was just one of those things.”

It hadn’t been the answer he’d been looking for. He’d wanted to know what he could have done differently. And then the phone rang and his world upended because on the other side of the globe, another one of those things had happened to his flesh and blood.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Matt?”

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Jesus, don’t be sorry. Tell me more about that drive to Toronto.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at his brother across the table. Sean was leaning in, his face earnest.

“I read a book today,” Matt blurted out. “Well, part of a book. About depression. About not dealing well with trauma.”

“Yeah?”

“I lost a patient that day. He died about a minute before Jake called me. An old army guy, really stubborn son-of-a-bitch who smoked too much and didn’t take care of himself. Fred. Fucking good guy. We would transport him regularly, and it felt like just a regular call. We got him to the ER no problem, handed him over, and before we’d left the hospital, he had a sudden heart attack. Bam, gone. They worked on him, crash cart, the whole thing, but…”

“The same day?”

“Same fucking moment pretty much. I watched him die. And then Jake called.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s some brutal double dose of trauma.”

“I think it may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back in a way. I didn’t know, but Owen knew. He saw that I was spiralling into a mess, and I had no clue.” Suddenly thirsty, Matt grabbed his glass and took a long drink.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. Keep reading this book I guess. I’ve got a few days off work. Owen wants me to talk about this stuff. With you, with him. Fuck, I guess I’ll have to have a deep and meaningful chat with Dad.” Eventually. He wasn’t in any hurry to negotiate the frustration that would be.

“I did that. It was good. I was angry at him for a long time, but now I just think…it is what it is. I can’t change my childhood. And what I would change isn’t about him. I wish I’d known Mom. That’s what I would change.”

“I remember her a little. She had the gentlest smile. I remember you sleeping with her in her hospital bed.”

Sean gave him a sad smile. “Yeah? That’s…Shit, I wish I could remember that.”

They sat together silently for a few minutes. Matt picked at his food, but he still wasn’t hungry. Finally he packed it away and pulled out the pie. Maybe dessert would go down better. “Have you thought about counselling?”

Sean’s answer surprised him. “Every day. I did a bit in the hospital before I came home, but it wasn’t the right time.”

“Why haven’t you done any since?”

“It’s hard to find the right fit up here. Because everyone knows everyone else. Because—a lot of excuses, to be honest. But we’re going to do a couples retreat for military members and their spouses when we’re in Florida next month.”

“Yeah?”

“Jenna’s idea, to be honest. She basically said, if I want to have babies, she wants to do some processing of stuff first so we’re going into that with as clean a slate as possible.”

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest. I tell myself every day that I don’t deserve her.”

“I know the feeling.” Matt stretched his arms wide. “You want kids, huh?”

“Life is short, man.”

“I know.”

“You ready to talk about Natasha?”

He wasn’t sure. “Is everyone talking about her behind my back?”

“Shit no. Everyone’s talking about you. Jake’s been really clear that we can rip on you as much as we want, but she’s off-limits because you care about her.”

“I do care for her. So damn much—which would be sweeter if I hadn’t hurt her this morning.”

“What did you do?”

“I barked at her. I told her I didn’t want to talk.”

“Well that was stupid.” Sean shrugged when Matt frowned. “What? It is. Don’t do that again.”

“I need to get my head screwed on straight first.”

“Before what?”

“Before…” He wasn’t sure. “Before I ask her to forgive me?”

“For a fight? Dude, that’s not how any of this works. You gotta talk to her. Sooner than later. Tell her everything you told me.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t this morning. She asked. And I pushed back.”

“Yeah, you should figure out why you did that. But even if you don’t, you could tell her that you know it’s an issue.”

No, he couldn’t do that. “The last thing Natasha needs is for me to be any kind of burden on her.”

His brother shrugged. “I think you may be wrong there, but I don’t know her. I’d like to, though. Why don’t you find a way to make this right so I can invite her and her daughter over for dinner?”

“I’ll get right on that.” And he would. Not just for the dinner invite path-smoothing, though.

It had only been a day. A very long, emotional day. And he missed Natasha and Emily something fierce.

But he couldn’t go back to her half-cocked. He had to know that he’d be able to do what Sean said, and really open up to her.

Because if he froze a second time, he wouldn’t deserve another chance to make it right.