She thinks I’m a hero.

That’s problem number one. Her eyes lit up at the sight of me. Her cheeks went a delicate pink. And she ran across the room to hug me like I never broke her heart. In Summer Sullivan’s eyes, I’m still a good man.

Problem number two?

Her shirt is distracting.

It’s a dress shirt, a dark blue that brings out the vivid hue of her eyes, and it’s completely appropriate for an office setting. But it’s fitted, and when she turns to her computer to pull up my file, I stifle the urge to leap across the desk and run my hands over the curves the fabric is hiding. It has five buttons and a ruffled bit at the bottom that did more than accentuate her ass while she walked in front of me. I might not have a left foot, but I could undo all of them before she could gasp.

Don’t get me started about that ass.

“Is it okay if I call you Dayton?” The question wrenches me away from a juvenile fantasy involving her breasts and my face—Jesus, where did that come from?—and it takes too much time for it to compute.

“What else would you call me?”

“Mr. Nash.” Her cheeks go pink. She can’t hide it. I want to run my thumb over her cheekbone and my fist tightens in my lap.

“We’re not strangers.” I say it like I don’t care.

An emotion flickers across her face, too subtle for me to capture and name. “Not total strangers, anyway.” I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. She scrolls a few more times, her elegant fingers quick on the mouse, and turns to face me. “Let’s start with a little bit about how we can help you.”

How we can help you makes my stomach curdle. I don’t want help. I especially don’t want Summer’s help. But her face is wide open, and as much as I want to get the hell out of here, I can’t force myself to leave. I settle for a nod.

Summer takes a quick breath in. “Great.” She’s relieved. We’re on solid ground, at least for the moment. “Heroes on the Homefront is primarily a job placement service, but we also offer assistance with arranging medical care, finding suitable living arrangements, and connecting you with fellow veterans who may be—”

I thought I could let this speech roll over me, but fellow veterans is too much.

“No. I don’t need any of that.”

She bites her lip, eyes lowering to the calendar at the center of her desk, and a wave of regret crashes into me at chest height. I reach out to her folded hands before I know what I’m doing and catch myself at the last minute. I’m not going to hold her fucking hand, but the movement has caught her eye and those blues are on mine again, every bit of me mesmerized by the color.

“I’m—” I clear my throat. “I don’t think I need that, but go ahead and finish.”

Summer’s smile is brilliant like sun on the sand. “There wasn’t much more to say. Only that we offer support groups and one-on-one meet-ups between veterans who may be able to connect via common experiences.” Her words come out in a tumble, and when she’s finished speaking she blows a breath out through her lips and reaches up to tuck a nonexistent flyaway behind her ear. That’s what she always did when she was relieved, and seeing it nearly gives me a heart attack. Maybe she’s not so different.

“All right. I don’t think I’ll need those things, but if I do—”

“If you do, here’s my card.” She leans forward and takes a card from a holder at the edge of the desk, sliding it across the surface toward me with a grin. Summer Sullivan, right there in big letters. Career Placement Coordinator underneath. “Those came in yesterday,” she says, pride on display.

I look into her eyes and do my best to keep my head above water. “Yesterday? How long have you been here?”

“Three months.” Summer leans back, keeping her head high. “I graduated in December and got hired straight out of college.”

College. That’s what she was doing while I was in the desert, and then doing even less savory things back in the states. My throat tightens at the life not lived. If I’d done that—if I’d done a lot of things differently—

I can’t go down that road right now. Summer has shaken off her burst of pride and switched back into professional mode. “So, career placement.” Her eyes track over my arms, barely fitting into the dress shirt from lifting so many windows and frames. “What kinds of jobs are you interested in?”

“I’m supposed to ask about clerical work.” I can’t help sounding bitter.

She takes it in stride. “All right. Something without a lot of heavy lifting, then. Let me take another look at your resume and I can see—”

My right hand curls into a fist on top of my knee as she scans the screen again. “I’m seeing Army experience here, honorable discharge, then nine months with Killion Glass, most recently a…” Her voice fades out as she reads. “Level 2 Processor? Did that give you any management experience?”

I didn’t expect this conversation to happen with Summer. “No. Level 2 means I stand at the end of the row for most of the day and lift finished windows into racks for delivery.” It sounds fucking pathetic, and up until now, I didn’t care.

“You’re still at Killion?”

“Until I can find replacement work.”

“Mm-hmm.” Her mouth twists in an unconscious pout. “The main issue I see is this gap of almost—” She does quick math. “Looks like ten months. Were you recovering?” Summer doesn’t say from what. “Or volunteer work? If it was volunteer work, we can add a section to the resume, which will look pretty attractive to—”

I don’t want to think about it. For fuck’s sake, I wish she’d leave it alone.

“It wasn’t volunteer work.” Her eyes fly back to my face, but she doesn’t look surprised at the tone. She hides it well.

“All right,” she says softly, then tries again. “If there’s anything you’d like to share, I can help with phrasing so it’s not so glaring.”

My throat is thick with rage at what I did. For being so stupid. But there’s no way I can explain that to her. If I get through this without flying off the handle, it’ll be a small miracle. “It wasn’t volunteer work.” The words are almost a growl. I can feel the howling blackness surging up from my gut. I’m supposed to be past this. I’m supposed to be long past this.

“Day,” Summer says, looking me straight in the eye, a little half smile on her face. Does she know she’s calling me back from the brink? How could she? “It’s all right. Let’s move on.”