Toby pulls up into a parking space in front of my apartment building marked “Ten Minute Parking Only” and cuts the ignition. He crosses his arms and slumps back in his seat.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “Why aren’t we driving up to my floor? You can’t park here. The security guard will come out and make us move the truck in a few minutes.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says softly.

“Do what?”

“Any of it, Maggie. I can’t pretend I’m a normal person when I’m not. I can’t be in a relationship. It’s never going to work. Not now or ever.”

I frown at him. We were both silent for the short drive from the country club back to my place. I didn’t know what to say and was waiting for him to speak first. His outburst surprised me, but it wasn’t as if Brad didn’t have it coming.

“I don’t blame you for being upset,” I say. “Brad is a prick. He always has been. That doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me. It wasn’t my fault what happened tonight. Please don’t make this about us. We’re fine.”

Toby doesn’t answer. Instead he slips a finger inside the front of his stiff collar and tugs, then makes a frustrated sound when it doesn’t budge. He starts trying to unbutton his uniform. “Dammit!” he says. “This uniform is choking the crap out of me.” His big fingers can’t maneuver the tight button at his neck.

I unbuckle my seat belt and slide closer. “Let me help you.” Reaching up, I gently try to move his hands away. He grabs my hand firmly in his to stop me then drops it.

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t seem fine.”

He nods and blows out a long breath.

“Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Maybe it was partially my fault tonight. I know what a jerk Brad can be. I never should have invited him to the dinner. I’m sorry. He’s blunt and obnoxious. The worst part is I doubt he realized what he said was wrong. He’s an idiot. Always has been. I’m sorry he ruined what should have been a special night for you.”

Toby places both of his muscular arms across the steering wheel and leans his forehead on them. He’s exhausted. I wonder if he’s sleeping or if the nightmares are keeping him awake at night.

“I’m not blaming you,” he mumbles. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I should have never started this up with you. I knew I was a mental mess and I did it anyway.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask. “We were having a great evening until Brad opened his big mouth. You seemed fine at the apartment before we left for dinner.”

An uneasy feeling is forming in the pit of my stomach. Subconsciously, I know what’s coming and don’t want to face it.

“You have so much going for you,” he says. “A career. A nice place to live.” He waves a hand at the apartment lobby where the security guard is giving us the evil eye through the glass doors. “And a well-to-do family. I can’t offer you anything. All I am is a biker who works on cars in a dirty garage. That’s it.”

I haven’t heard Toby talk this way before. Alarm bells start ringing in my head.

“You’re a lot more than that,” I say. “Stop putting yourself down. You’re more of a man than anyone I’ve ever met before.”

“It’s not that really,” he says flatly. “If it was only a matter of money or a lifestyle, I would fight for you.” He takes my hand and turns it over so he can trace my palm with his finger. “With everything I have in me. I would fight for my queen. I could work harder. Or go back to school. Get an education. Whatever it took to make you mine. I would try my best to get you whatever you wanted or needed. And our kids too if we ever had any.”

A cold chill goes through me. Why is he talking about how things could have been instead of how things will be?

“Fight for me then! You’re confusing me. What is so bad that it can’t be worked on and fixed?”

He turns his head sideways and looks directly at me. His eyes are full of raw pain. This is the second time I’ve seen them this way. How much sorrow is hidden deep inside this man? I would do anything to make it go away. I’ve never felt so powerless.

“I can’t be fixed,” he says. “I’m damaged goods. No, correction. Not just damaged. I’m broken inside beyond repair. Completely shattered into pieces. And dangerous. Let’s not forget that. What kind of a man almost chokes a woman to death before their first date?”

“You were having a nightmare. I don’t blame you for that.”

“How does that make a difference if I had killed you? I can’t stop thinking about what I did. Can you imagine what your father would say? Or your mother? Or the police?” He puts his hand to his chest. “Personally, I wouldn’t want any daughter of mine within one hundred yards of a man like me. I’m too unpredictable. Tonight I wanted to kill Brad. I honestly did. I felt a murderous rage take over me when he started criticizing my brothers in the military. As if they were less than nothing. Men who have lost their lives for assholes like him.”

“Don’t feel too bad for wanting to kill him,” I say. “He deserved your rage. Nobody would have blamed you for putting him in his place. My parents were horrified by the thoughtless things he was saying too. I could tell.”

“There’s a difference between being mad and actually wanting to kill someone,” he says. “I saw your face tonight. You were embarrassed by me when I lost it. I don’t blame you. A fancy dinner isn’t the place for a bar room brawl.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t ignore him and just let it go. Not about that. He could’ve called me dog shit and I might have turned the other cheek to keep the peace at the dinner table. But to put down the men in the military was more than I could swallow. I’m sorry the night didn’t turn out better and that I made such a terrible first impression on your parents.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to reassure him. “You don’t have to be around Brad again if you don’t want to be. And my parents will understand if I tell them about your PTSD.”

Or would they?

This conversation is quickly taking a downhill turn, and I’m starting to panic.

“We can work through this,” I say, talking faster now. “We can work through anything together. Let’s drive up to my apartment and park your truck. We can go inside my place and talk all night if we need to. Just don’t leave when you’re upset.”

Toby slowly shakes his head. “You still don’t get it. The reason we’re sitting here outside your building is because I can’t make myself drive into that parking garage again. I just can’t. And I don’t expect you to understand that my mind is telling me that there’s danger around every dark curve. When I drove in there earlier today, my adrenaline level was through the roof by the time I knocked on your door.”

“I’ll drive the truck up,” I suggest. “You can take the elevator from the lobby on the first floor. Then I’ll drive your truck down in the morning. It’s not a big deal.”

“See what’s happening here? You’re already making accommodations for my mental instability. My craziness is affecting you. Did you know that yesterday I almost hit another driver head on? I saw a black trash bag that a volunteer clean-up crew had left on the side of the road for the next crew to pick up. When I glanced at it, I didn’t see a trash bag. I saw a hidden IED that could explode at any moment. So I instinctively swerved away from it the same way I’d been taught to do. Except I wasn’t on a dusty, desert road in Afghanistan. I was on a two-lane highway. I ran the other driver right off onto the shoulder of the road before I corrected. It’s a miracle I didn’t kill someone. Next time I might. Or you might be riding behind me on a bike when it happens. There’s zero room for error on a bike.”

Why hasn’t he been talking to me about this more? Toby’s PTSD is worse than I could’ve imagined. He’s trying so hard to keep it hidden when he should be letting people help him through it.

Always the tough guy.

The protector.

Never a man who asks for help.

“How often does this kind of thing happen?” I ask. “Every day? Occasionally?”

“Often enough lately,” he says, tiredly rubbing the back of his neck. “For a long time, I had my shit together. Or at least I thought I did. Maybe it was always simmering right below the surface, ready to boil over at any time. The shooting at the mall triggered something in me.”

He slumps back against the seat and leans his head against the window.

“I hate the word ‘trigger’ since it’s so overused. The truth is that’s what happened. The attack put my brain right back in Afghanistan where every day was a fight for survival. Where danger could be hiding anywhere. Now that I’m back in that fucking dark place, I can’t find my way out again. I’m going crazy. And I’m dragging you down into the nuthouse with me.”

“We can get you help,” I suggest. “I’m sure there are counselors who specialize in PTSD.”

He snorts. “You think I haven’t been to counselors already? I have. I’m not one of those men who think it’s a weakness to ask for help.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Okay, maybe I am. My commander forced me to go. Said it was an order. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone either.”

“What did they say?”

“That I wasn’t alone. That PTSD is more common than people know. That I needed to find a way to work through it. They suggested all kinds of things. Support groups, talk therapy. Even a weird kind of exposure therapy where you wear a virtual reality headset that mimics going on patrol in Afghanistan. I said a big ‘fuck no!’ to that one. I didn’t like the thought of any of it.”

“You stopped going to the counselors?”

“Hell yes I did!” he answers. “I went a couple of times and that’s about it. The last straw was when they started pressuring me to take medication. I have friends who are so drugged up on anti-depressants and mood stabilizers that they can’t function. I can’t be doped up on meds and ride a bike or carry weapons. That’s not happening. All the talking was making things worse too. It brought everything back up to the surface where it felt raw. I handle things better when I can put it out of my mind. The less I dwell on my time in the military, the better.”

“Your technique obviously hasn’t worked so far,” I remind him gently.

“It was working fine. Until the day at the mall. God, how I wished that hadn’t happened. It turned my life upside down.”

“Then we wouldn’t have met.”

“Which for your sake would have been for the best,” he argues. “We can’t keep on this way. There’s no point in dragging things out when I know it’s going to end badly for both of us.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

He regretfully lets go of my hand. “That we’re over. This is the way it has to be. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t care for you, because I do. Too much. That’s why I’m letting you go. And please don’t argue with me about this. I can’t expect any woman to be with me when I need to do so much work on myself.”

Now I’m beginning to feel angry. I can’t believe he would walk away from us so quickly. Without putting up a fair fight. I thought we were more than that.

“I think you’re trying to find an excuse to dump me,” I say, fighting back tears. “I’m nothing more than another Sweet Butt to you. You’re making up excuses to let me down easy.”

Toby reaches over to tuck my long hair behind my ear and cups my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his hand.

“Maggie, please don’t. You know what I’m saying is the truth. Deep down inside you want to believe I’m your Guardian Angel when I’m your worst fucking nightmare. I’m doing this to protect you. From me. From who I am now. If we stay together, something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.”

“We can work through this together,” I say again.

A single tear oozes out of the corner of my eye and starts sliding down my cheek. He brushes it away with his thumb.

“You know how much I love Sadie, right?”

I nod because there’s no doubt in my mind how much he loves his dog. If there’s one thing I know for sure, Toby adores Sadie.

“Be honest,” he says. “What do you think I would do if I knew I couldn’t provide food for her or give her the love she deserves? I would try my best to find a loving home where other people would take good care of her. I wouldn’t want to be without her, but for her sake, I would do what was best. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“That you’re comparing me to a dog?” I say, trying to laugh and failing.

“No. That I’m willing to make personal sacrifices for those that I care about.”

“If you care about me so much, then you wouldn’t walk away.”

“There isn’t a choice,” he says. “Not with the way I am now.”

Toby’s voice is dead, flat, and without emotion. He’s shut himself off from me now. I know him well enough to realize that things aren’t going to get any better tonight. Maybe he just needs some space and time. I can give him that.

I’m willing to give him whatever he needs.

The security guard is walking toward us now. Any second and he’s going to be tapping on Toby’s window.

I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand and hit the unlock button on the truck door.

“This isn’t over,” I say. “I’m not giving up on you.”

I slide out of the truck and tug my dress down before walking over to meet the security guard who is halfway to the truck.

“It’s okay,” I say. “He was just leaving.”

I don’t turn around or look back.