Chapter Six
WYATT
On a break from work with Hamish, Wyatt had decided to check on the botanist. Aled lived not too far from the warehouse they’d turned into an office and training space. He hadn’t anticipated punching the man while midknock.
Wyatt took a good look at Aled, who bustled about preparing tea. He looked more exhausted than he had last month. His eyes held no vibrancy, and he appeared to have lost a considerable amount of weight. The mechanical way he moved in the kitchen also spoke volumes about his state of mind.
Lifeless.
Everything about Aled’s body language spoke of suffering and weariness. How had they missed him sliding backwards so badly? He evidently needed help putting the torture behind him.
Am I too distracted by the attraction I’ve felt towards him?
It was a draw Wyatt had put every effort into ignoring without success. Aled was clearly not in a position to be—propositioned. He didn’t think the man could handle a date, let alone anything else.
Early on in his SEAL career, Wyatt had spent time with two civilian contractors who had been held hostage by terrorists. His assignment required him to delve into their capture and recovery. He wondered if the experience might be put to good use with Aled.
“Milk or sugar?” Aled interrupted his thoughts, shaking a small bottle to catch his attention. “Do you even drink tea?”
“You know I do with a shit ton of ice, sugar, and lemon.” He smirked at the immediate grimace that flashed across the botanist’s face.
“Bizarre.”
“Says the man with some sort of vines growing across his living room.” Wyatt found the sheer volume of plants in the place impressive and encouraging. It was hopefully a sign the botanist had turned the corner in his recovery.
“I keep telling you not to mock Ringo. You’ll hurt his feelings, and he’ll stop growing.” Aled brought in a tray with two unmatched mugs and a plate of chocolate treats. He set it down and pointed around the room at the various flora. “Mr Navy SEAL, you’ve already met Ringo, Paul, John, and George. Have I not introduced you before?”
“And you called me bizarre?” Wyatt accepted the Frodo mug, resigning himself to the dubious pleasure of hot tea, and studiously ignored the tightening in his jeans at the brush of their fingertips. “Do you always name your plants?”
“Friends have names.”
Friends?
“You—” Wyatt stared down at the mug dwarfed by his tanned and scarred fingers. “Are all of them named for musicians?”
“Only the ones in here,” Aled said indignantly, as though Wyatt had asked the silliest question imaginable. “Obviously.”
Wyatt drank from his mug and fought not to grimace. “Do you have friends that aren’t potted?”
“I feed the birds in the university gardens.”
“Right. Birds.” Wyatt set the mug down on the coffee table and scratched the scruff on his jaw absently. He’d never been gifted at dancing subtly around conversations. Hamish might’ve handled it more delicately. “Do you have any people—friends?”
Aled shrugged.
So, that’s a no.
Are Hamish and I chopped liver, then?
They chatted about plants. Well, Aled rambled endlessly about the green things surrounding them. Wyatt tried to nod in all the right places, not wanting to spook the man. An hour of conversation about botany and drinking lukewarm tea followed before silence finally fell.
“I still hear them at night.” Aled’s voice dropped to a whisper. He seemed to struggle to get the words out. “All around me.”
Wyatt shifted forward and strained to hear him. He made an attempt to defuse some of the tension with a joke. “The plants?”
The plants?
That’s the best fucking joke you’ve got?
I’m an idiot.
Aled shook his head with a sudden jerk and brought his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around him. His chin rested on his knees. “The men on the boat. They—”
Wyatt waited after the trembling botanist cut himself off midsentence, but he didn’t continue. “You went through hell. Shit like that doesn’t vanish from your mind because you want it gone. Takes time. We keep telling you not to push yourself.”
Aled tilted his head to the side and rubbed his face across his arm. “It’s been a year.”
“And?” Wyatt knew several veterans with post-traumatic stress who five years out of the military continued to struggle every day, some more than others. “I don’t think pain comes with a specific expiration date.”
“It should.”
“Maybe.” Wyatt stretched his long legs out, careful not to bump the table or the obviously skittish man across from him. “I don’t know about you, but cookies don’t fill me up. How about I take you out for whatever you were attempting to get early?”
“Not sure I can eat.”
Or go outside, were the words left unspoken. Wyatt had seen the intensity on the man’s face when he’d opened the door. He didn’t want to allow the spark of courage to evaporate—Aled might never try again.
And maybe I shouldn’t put too much thought into why I’m so desperate not to see that spark go out.
Wyatt smirked when Aled’s stomach grumbled loudly. “I think you’ll live. C’mon. Show me what’s good to eat around here. You can help the Hamster convert my American taste buds.”
“Why do you call him a hamster? The Royal Marine’s a giant like you are.” Aled shook his head.
“It’s all in the eyes.” Wyatt couldn’t help chuckling. He’d have to remember to tease Hamish about being “the Royal Marine.” Or maybe not, the Hamster would likely start calling him “the SEAL” or “the American.” They could never seem to stop poking at each other. “So? Think you can handle stepping outside?”
Standing up, Wyatt grabbed the two empty mugs and plate. He left Aled to think it over, taking the dishes into the kitchen. Mess duty had never fazed him, in or out of the military.
He found Aled still sitting, scrunched up in a chair, contemplating his knees. Right. In other circumstances, he might’ve simply seized the man and dragged him outside, but it wouldn’t be the greatest idea to snatch up someone who’d been viciously tortured.
Wyatt grabbed one of the smaller pots that contained some sort of flowery thing. He waved it in front of the long-haired man. “Your friend wants you to go outside.”
“It’s called an eternal flame. One of my trickier plants that does better in the tropics than Cardiff.” Aled stretched his arm out to touch a finger to an orange blossom. “I’ll grab a jacket. It’s not exactly warm out there.”
“Not sure I’d call it cold.” Wyatt had been resisting the urge to yank off his long-sleeved Navy SEAL hoodie and simply wear the T-shirt underneath it. “Can your friends manage on their own for an hour?”
Aled turned narrowed eyes toward him. “I don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Think your stomach might disagree.” Wyatt herded him out the door, not wanting anxiety to kick in and make him panic. “See? One small step for man—”
Aled shoved him out of the way to lock the door. “Are all SEALs comedians?”
“Only the handsome ones.” Wyatt allowed the botanist to lead the way. His broad shoulders and tall frame made it difficult to walk side by side in the narrow passageway.
“So why are you trying to be funny?” Aled asked innocently.
Wyatt blinked at the mild-mannered botanist in shock. “Careful. You might hurt one of my three feelings.”
“Only three?”
“Can’t afford more.” He ducked to avoid bashing his skull against an arch. “What are we having for dinner—supper—whatever you Brits call it.”
“Curry.”
“Your car or mine?” Wyatt had sold his old Trailblazer before moving and bought a used Range Rover after settling into life in Cardiff, finding it was one of the few vehicles that didn’t require squashing his body into compact space. “Aled?”
The younger man had frozen on the last step leading out of the building. His fingers clamped tightly around the railing, a lifeline in what apparently had devolved into a moment of panic. It wouldn’t be wise to allow him to disappear into his own trauma-induced fear.
Wyatt crouched down to avoid looming over Aled. “So, which of your green friends is your favourite?”
Aled’s eyes darted around before eventually focusing on Wyatt. “My wild white orchids.”
“Oh? Why?” Wyatt wanted to keep him talking, distracted from the remembered terror. “What’s so special about them?”
Allowing him to rattle off facts about his orchids, Wyatt watched as the colour slowly returned to his face. Aside from a bit of obvious embarrassment, Aled managed to regain his sense of self. It might’ve been a small step, but an important one if the botanist wanted to successfully leave his experience in Anguilla behind him.
Wyatt was glad he’d decided to stick around to help Aled. He waited until the botanist trailed off on his lecture on all things plant-like to interrupt. “So, how about that curry?”
Panic averted.
“I don’t own a car,” Aled said. He seemed to realise Wyatt had been distracting him. They both ignored the sudden rush of tears. “We can walk. It’s only around the corner.”
“The voices fade.” Wyatt walked beside him on the outside of the pavement. He bumped against Aled with every other step, each touch sending an intriguing bolt of energy sizzling up his spine. Not the time, Earp, not the time. “With time, the fear goes as well. Each time you face it, the power it holds lessens.”
Aled pulled his hair back and tied it loosely. “My therapist agrees with you.”
“And you don’t?”
“Time is easy for those on the outside.” Aled rubbed absently at his wrist where Wyatt knew one of the many scars was that had been left on his body as a permanent and constant reminder. “None of this is easy.”
“Where exactly are we eating?”
Aled paused, glanced around, and groaned loudly. “We walked by it about five minutes ago.”
“Outside of the small area around your apartment, have you actually been anywhere?” Wyatt guided him down the pavement in the opposite direction. He reached out to squeeze Aled on the arm gently. “It gets better.”
“Read that on a fortune cookie?”
Wyatt shook his head with a wry smile. “Experience. Why don’t we have this curry you keep talking about, and then you can show me all your outdoor friends in Cardiff?”
“Outdoor friends?” Aled tilted his head with a confused frown visible on his face.
“Plants.”
The restaurant bustled with activity in a cramped space. Wyatt immediately knew it wouldn’t work for Aled. The man’s fight to keep calm impressed him immensely.
Aled only lasted ten minutes in the restaurant. He bolted halfway through the meal. Wyatt paid for the food, got it to go, and walked outside to find the botanist collapsed against the wall with his head tilted up toward the cloudy sky. “I should’ve stayed at home. I can’t do this.”
Wyatt stared at the younger man, who appeared far more fragile than his six-foot lithe body seemed. He wanted to wrap his arms around Aled and hide him from the world. Stop it. You’re getting attached to someone who can barely manage a walk outside. “You can’t hide from the world forever.”
“I can if I put my mind to it.”
“No, you can’t.” Wyatt found himself inexplicably furious at the idea of the beautifully masculine botanist withering away in his little flat. It dragged the impatient drill instructor out of his soul. “You’re not a coward. You’re not weak. I can see the warrior in your heart, it’s practically engraved in your DNA. You don’t get to give up on life.”
“According to whom?” Aled sounded more bewildered than anything else. He muttered to himself in French before frowning up at Wyatt. “Are you always so angry?”
“Passionately forceful.” Wyatt sternly kept the grin off his face. “When I’m upset—”
“You what? Turn into the Hulk?” He lifted his chin to make his point. “Think you already have the size down.”
“Hilarious. Now, listen carefully, you don’t get to give up.” Wyatt brought his hands up, bracketing Aled between his arms. He leaned into the younger man. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to figure it out by yourself.”
“Do you always invite yourself into people’s lives?” Aled kept his head up, not backing down. “Bit rude, isn’t it?”
“I’m American, remember?”