Chapter 8

There was screaming. Smoke. Alex tried to see through it, but everything was pitch-black. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t make out the noises that sounded like screams.

He had to calm himself down and focus. If he panicked, he’d never get out of here.

But that was the question. Where the hell was he?

His eyes flew open, though he hadn’t known they were closed until that moment. He managed to suck in a deep breath as he looked around the dark room. He still didn’t know where he was, and the fear and confusion completely paralyzed him.

It was too dark to see. The screams had stopped. Where the hell was he?

He realized then that he was lying on the floor. Quickly, he got to his feet in a defensive position. Nothing in his brain was working together. Everything was all a jumbled confusion.

Afghanistan.

The crash.

Becca Denton.

He forced himself to breathe in and out. He counted to ten, inhaling the familiar smells of the ranch. He was in Montana. He was in Blue Valley. He was in the house.

Christ.

It was fine though. He straightened, trying to breathe evenly instead of the panicked gasps that were working through him.

He must’ve dozed off. Had a bit of a nightmare. That was fine. To be expected.

But…in the dark, he didn’t know what room he was in. He’d been on the floor, and he couldn’t quite make his body move to find a wall or piece of furniture.

He tried to work out the last thing he remembered. He’d eaten a dinner that Jack had made, and Alex had done his dish duty for the day. Jack and Gabe had wanted to watch some baseball and he had…

He heard footsteps and crouched, those old instincts humming along with the adrenaline of the dream he had woken up from. He forced himself to stand back up, but his body was shaking. He was shaken.

“Who’s there?” It was Becca’s voice. Surprisingly…not timid, but not confident either.

Scared.

“It’s me.” Except the first time he said it, no sound came out. He had to clear his throat and repeat it to get her to hear.

The light flicked on with no warning, and Alex flinched. Not just at the sudden light—the sudden movement in general bolted through him like panic.

“Alex?” It was only her voice that kept him centered in the present. He glanced at her. In her pajamas. Carrying a gun?

“What the hell do you have a rifle for?”

“What the hell are you doing in Burt’s office?”

He looked around then and realized that’s exactly where he was. In his dad’s office. In the dark.

He didn’t…he didn’t remember coming into his father’s office, and that prompted a new bolt of fear. He didn’t remember coming in here.

“I guess I had too much to drink tonight.” It was the only possible explanation. He’d…he’d wanted one, hadn’t he?

“You didn’t have anything to drink tonight. You went up before I did.”

“I must’ve come back down after you went to bed.”

She stared at him and he could see a myriad of emotions on her face. Confusion, fear, and worst of all, worry.

There was no reason for her to be worried about him. He’d gotten a little drunk and forgotten some things. It wasn’t like him, but that didn’t make it impossible.

He had come back downstairs for a drink after everyone had gone to bed. He remembered that now. He’d come back downstairs, but there hadn’t been any alcohol in the kitchen, so he’d gone to Dad’s office because Dad had always kept a bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Alex glanced toward the desk. There was a bottle on top of the desk, one he specifically remembered pulling out of the drawer. He definitely remembered doing all of these things.

“See?” he said, nodding toward the bottle. “One too many, I guess. Nothing to—”

“Alex, that bottle’s not open.” She visibly swallowed. “I bought it for Burt for his birthday and I… He died, and I put it in the drawer because… But he wasn’t here to open it.”

Alex blinked at the completely sealed bottle of whiskey. Then he looked down at his hands, because that’s where Becca was looking now.

Huh. His hands were shaking. Uncontrollably.

“I’m fine,” he said, though his voice sounded strained and far away to his own ears.

“No, you’re really not.”

“Okay…” There had to be a reasonable explanation. There was a reasonable explanation. He’d come down here and fallen asleep and had a dream. He’d rather admit he had a dream than any other part of this…

It was a nightmare. That was all.

“I have…” God, it killed him to have to say this to her. To anyone. But she was going to think everything was worse than it was if he didn’t explain himself. So… “I have…” He cleared his throat. “Occasionally, rarely, I will still have a nightmare. I came down here to have a drink, and I fell asleep, and I had a nightmare.”

“You fell asleep where?” She gestured around the office. There was a desk, a chair, and not a whole heck of a lot of floor space.

He had no idea. No idea how he’d ended up on the floor, why the bottle was on the desk and still sealed. He had no idea, but he couldn’t let…he couldn’t let anyone know that.

“I was overcome with grief.” Which as much as it pained him to admit, was far better than admitting he had no idea what happened. Grief was acceptable and true. He would always miss his father. Always.

It wasn’t a lie, no matter how hard it was to breathe or how it seemed ghosts and memories slithered in the corner.

Becca took a few steps into the small, cramped room, setting the gun down against the wall. The dogs were with her, flanking her, but at some motion she made with her hands, they stayed put in the doorway as she moved closer. Closer and closer and he wanted to back away, but he wasn’t afraid. And he certainly wasn’t ashamed.

He didn’t know why she was standing so close to him, in front of him, looking sleep rumpled and gorgeous. She held her hands at her stomach in some sort of awkward move as she curled her fingers together and then loosened them.

He didn’t understand what she was doing at all until she finally reached out and placed her hands on his at his sides.

“You’re still shaking,” she said quietly, looking up at him with pained, green eyes.

Her hands were warm and rough. They were sturdy and strong.

“Why don’t you sit?”

“Why don’t you go back upstairs to bed and leave me be?” he returned, afraid of what any more of her kindness might do.

“I’m not going to leave you like this.”

“Even if that’s what I want you to do?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“So you keep telling me.”

“It was a nightmare. I’ll live.”

She gave his hands a squeeze, but then she released them. He would never admit he wished she would put her hands back on him. Her warm and capable and strong hands.

But he was strong too, and he was fine. He could be alone. He didn’t need comfort.

Becca walked over to Dad’s desk. She pulled the wax tab and opened the bottle of whiskey. Then she grabbed the shot glass Dad had always kept in the same drawer as the whiskey.

She poured a shot and shocked the hell out of him by taking it herself. She coughed a little on it, but it was clearly not the first time she’d shot whiskey. Which was most definitely a surprise.

She poured herself another one, but before he could warn her off hitting it that hard, she handed it to him.

“Your turn.”

He thought about refusing. He thought about a lot of things, but in the end, he just took the damn shot.

“Let me guess. You’re going to want to keep this a secret from Gabe and Jack.”

“I do believe you’re a genius, Becca.”

She gave him a doleful look.

“It was just a nightmare. That’s not to say they’re pleasant, but they’re rare and normal and not magically going to go away with time or therapy or whatever. So telling anyone, worrying about it—it’s pointless. Gabe and Jack have their own nightmares to deal with.”

“You don’t think talking to each other about them would help?”

“Yes, reliving the hell that was Afghanistan helps. Remembering it all in great detail. Hearing screams, smelling blood. Feeling the pain again is fantastic bonding time.”

“I’m sorry.” She sounded so genuine it made him sick.

He didn’t want her to be sorry, and he certainly didn’t want to be standing in his dead father’s office talking about nightmares and war. “Thanks for the drink, but I’m going to bed now.”

“Alex?”

He didn’t say anything in return, but he did stop his hasty retreat.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. And maybe the other guys don’t want to talk about it. You’re all fine. I know you want to believe that.”

“But?”

“There’s no but. Just me saying I get it. I mean, I don’t, but I understand why you’d want to work it out yourself. Why you wouldn’t want anyone else worrying over you. That…that I get.”

Then she walked past him and grabbed her rifle. She murmured something to the dogs, and left the office, Ranger following her while Star stayed put.

Somehow it was worse that she didn’t push. Worse she hadn’t given him a reason to be angry, because he wanted to be fucking angry at everything and anything. Anger he knew how to channel.

But she just…understood.

He stared at the dog waiting for him and thought maybe understanding was the worst thing she could have done to him.

* * *

Becca rocked in Mom’s chair—no, it wasn’t Mom’s anymore. It was hers. Her house. Her chair. She smiled at that, tried to focus on the thought, but…

It had been a week since she’d found Alex shaking and out of sorts in Burt’s office, and though she hadn’t said anything to anyone, including Alex himself, she couldn’t get it out of her head. No matter how often she saw Alex being all rancher-y every day, in charge with the guys every night, she thought about that moment of weakness.

No, not even weakness. Just… Well, it made sense he’d have nightmares. If he’d been in his own room, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

Why had he been sleeping in Burt’s office? Why had he claimed he’d been drunk when he hadn’t even had a drink? Why…

She blew out a frustrated breath, wishing the stars had those answers, but all they had was light a million miles away.

“I hope you’re out there,” she whispered, thinking about Burt on this porch. Burt, who’d loved his son. Burt, who’d surely know what to do.

But Burt wasn’t here.

“Maybe you could show me what to do,” she murmured into the dark spring night.

“Talking to yourself, Bec?”

She was getting better at not talking aloud to herself, but she wasn’t cured. “Hi, Gabe.” She glanced at Gabe’s progress around the porch and up the stairs. “Where’re the other two?”

“They’re arguing over bunk beds of all damn things. Don’t even have a new roof yet and they’re bitching about furnishing. I told them I was going to get a drink.” He leaned down and patted the dog at her feet. Star was off with Jack and Alex, something Becca’d started to find comforting instead of traitorous.

“Can I ask you something first?” she asked before Gabe went for the door.

“If it’s asking me on a date, I’m going to have to respectfully decline. Wouldn’t want to ruin a business partnership with any funny business.”

“Ha-ha.”

“You think I’m joking?” He grinned, but there was something in his expression that… Well, she wasn’t interested in Gabe that way, but… She wrapped the blanket a little tighter. She was losing her marbles.

“What is it you want to ask me then?”

“It’s about Alex.”

“You want to ask him out on a date?”

“Good Lord, is that all you think about?”

“You’ll notice the lack of female companionship around here,” Gabe returned, gesturing around the ranch.

“Go into town. Pioneer Spirit. Pick up a girl, though I’ll have to warn you off the bartender.”

He frowned over at her. “You want me to pick up a girl?”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m just saying, though young women aren’t exactly crawling over Blue Valley, there are women. Of a reasonable age. A few are even single.”

Gabe grinned, clearly pleased. He leaned against the porch railing and crossed his arms. “Gonna set me up, Bec?”

“If you want me to.” She imagined Gabe and she had different ideas of what that meant, but she couldn’t help but think Gabe and Jack needed some…softness. A nice woman who cared about their well-being would be a start.

“Hmm.”

“But first, I want to talk to you about Alex.”

“What about Alex?”

“A few days ago, I found him in his father’s office. It was late. He was disoriented. Said he had a nightmare.”

When she moved her gaze from the stars to Gabe, she saw an expression she’d never seen on his face before. Cold fury.

“And?”

“And,” she continued, trying to find some balance between concern and…she didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do. She only knew it felt wrong to hold it in. It felt really wrong to ignore it. “He says he’s fine. He believes he’s fine, but he isn’t.”

She looked imploringly at Gabe, trying to find his usual softness. But there was nothing. Clearly, this wasn’t what Gabe wanted to hear, and he wasn’t about to be her ally.

“I’m sure you mean well, Becca. I’m sure this is some misguided sense of…something.”

“I know Alex and I were never really family, and there’s no relationship to speak of, but I did have one with his father. I loved Burt, and I can’t sit by and let his son—”

“What? Have a bad night? Have a nightmare? If you’re looking for soldiers who are perfectly healed, who never have a bad night, you’re barking up the wrong damn tree.” He looked away, shaking his head. “Don’t step into this. It isn’t your place.”

It hurt. She might have expected this kind of harsh reaction from Jack, but not from Gabe. It also hurt because a friendship had been developing between all of them. She finally had friends, and she was screwing it up.

She tried to blink back the tears. Tried to be strong and honest at the same time. “I’m sorry,” she managed, her voice little more than a whisper. “I was worried because I care.”

“If we wanted any of that, we would have gone home. Do us a favor and keep it to yourself.”

A tear slipped out, and she could only hope the dark obscured his view. He could think she was wrong, but she didn’t want him to think she was weak.

“Good night, Becca,” he muttered, pushing off the railing and striding inside. When the door closed with a slam, she jumped.

She wiped hurriedly at her cheeks, knowing it was only a matter of time before Alex and Jack came back too.

She’d grown to like all of them. Even surly Jack. She wanted to help. But she didn’t know how. Apparently caring wasn’t it, and Gabe had something of a point. Neither he nor Jack had gone home in the aftermath. They were here. Away from people who presumably loved them.

But Gabe was wrong about Alex, because Alex had come home, and maybe his father was dead, but he had people here who cared very much.

She heard Alex and Jack’s approach, arguing as they stomped toward the house. She tried to sniffle and mop up best she could, keeping her face averted as they crested the stairs.

“Bit cold out for stargazing, isn’t it?” Alex asked.

Which was possibly the worst thing he could have said to her in the moment. Oh, he could be her mom, worrying over it being too cold, but she couldn’t express legitimate concern over his behavior the other night?

Bullshit. Bull. Shit. She pushed herself out of the chair and stood to face him and Jack. “I’ll survive.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes taking in what had to be the signs of tears on her face.

“Nothing,” she replied. Because he was always telling her that. Nothing was wrong. He was fine. They were all fucking fine.

“You’re crying,” he said, glaring at the house, then back at her.

Like this was Gabe’s fault. Hardly. It had started with the man standing right in front of her.

She looked him straight in the eye, knowing he would see every last trace of tears. Let him. Let them all see it. Maybe then they’ll get it.

“I’m fine,” she said, making sure to say it in the exact tone of voice he always did. “Just fine.”

Alex wasn’t going to swoop in and demand she tell him when she was feeling weird or awkward. He didn’t get to lecture her about standing up for herself to the guys. She certainly wasn’t going to let this turn into the three of them deciding what was best for her while she got shut down if she even expressed some concern. Rightful, thoughtful concern.

They wanted to shut her down and out? Well, they’d get the same treatment right back. And if Alex tried to push her on that, boy but he would be sorry.