“Have you been in a large crowd of people lately?” He asks with a raised brow.

“I was at the grocery store on a Saturday. It was crowded.” I shrug.

“And what happened?”

“I left.”

“The crowds may always bother you, Caleb. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder never really goes away, you just learn to manage and live with it.”

“PTSD is another term for pussy, doc. Let’s not sugar coat it.”

His eyes narrow on me for a moment before he frowns and sits back in his chair.

“Are you saying that if any of your teammates…”

“Brothers,” I correct him.

“Brothers had survived that day on that mountain, and were currently going through what you are, you’d call them a pussy?” He tilts his head, watching me carefully.

“They didn’t survive because I couldn’t keep them safe!”

“Caleb, it was the four of you against more than fifty heavily armed men. How in the world do you think you could all survive that?”

“It was a fucked up mission,” I mutter and scrub my hand over my mouth.

“Agreed,” he nods. “But your lack of intel didn’t kill your men, Caleb. The enemy killed them. You know this.”

“I know.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted it. “But why did I survive? I’m the cursed one, doc.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re living a cursed life, Caleb. You have a great family, a woman who loves you, a strong career.”

“And when will the other shoe drop?”

“Why does it have to?” He leans forward in his chair and pins me in his gaze. “You did your job, Caleb. You saved Brynna and her daughters from an intruder. You did what you were there to do. You kept them safe.”

I stare at him as images from that night race through my mind. Telling Bryn I was leaving. The shattering of the window. Fighting that motherfucker who came to hurt them, and aiming my pistol at his head and pulling the trigger.

“I would die to keep them safe,” I whisper. “But I was so horrible to her. The things I said, telling her I don’t love her. It was the only way I could think of to push her away.”

“Don’t you think she’ll understand that when you explain it to her? From what you’ve told me, she sounds like a reasonable woman. And you’re facing your demons to keep them in your life. You’re making progress.”

“Well, the first step is admitting there’s a problem, right?” I ask sarcastically.

He smirks and shakes his head. “Have you spoken to the family members of the men you lost that day?”

I sober and blink at him slowly. “Not since their funerals.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Call and talk to Bates’ and Marshall’s wives and Lewis’s mom, just to hear them tell me it should have been me and hang up on me?” I ask incredulously.

He shakes his head. “No. Call them. That’s your last lesson from me, and then I’m sending you home. You will need to continue to see someone for a while, but you’re going to be fine, Caleb.”

Home.

I stand and stare down at the doctor, uncertain about this last task. The talking and rehashing of the mission was hard enough.

Talking to the family members?

Fuck.

“You’ll be fine,” he repeats.

I nod and leave his office and walk briskly to my car, slam the door and pull my phone out. If this is what I have to do to get home, so be it.

I firm my jaw and dial the first number.

***

The drive back to Seattle has been too long. Another week has passed since I made those calls. A week to pack up my shit, sit through a few more sessions with the good doctor and get on the road.

Jesus, what if she doesn’t take me back?

I pull to a stop in front of her house and jump from the car, leaving the door wide open, and race to the front door, banging with my fist.

No answer.

The house is calm.

I run around to the back and notice with satisfaction that the back window has been replaced. My workout gear is gone.

I’ll have to replace that.

I bang on the sliding glass door, but there is still no answer and no movement inside. Even Bix doesn’t come running to see who is knocking.

Please let them be at her mom and dad’s.

I climb back into the car and race to Bryn’s parents, but am faced with another quiet, still house.

Where is everybody?

It’s Sunday morning, for Christsake.

With a frown, I head north of Seattle toward my parent’s house. I haven’t spoken to them, or anyone, in almost two months. I need to clear the air and apologize.

To everyone.

Just as I pull up to the house and step from the car, Matt pulls in behind me with Pop and Isaac with him.

Before I can get a word out, Matt storms from his car, his eyes pissed and teeth bared and grips me by the collar of my shirt and slams me against my car.

“You fucking cocksucker!” He yells and pulls his fist back and plants it firmly in my jaw.

“What the fuck?” I yell and reverse our positions, pinning Matt to the car. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Instead of answering, he swings again, planting his fist in my eye and I reel back, landing flat on my ass.

He’s a strong fucker.

Before Matt can continue with his ass-beating, Isaac and Pop grab both his arms and hold him back.

“I said stop!” Pop yells.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Isaac cries.

“It’s his fault!” Matt points at me and spits to the side, blood lands on the concrete from the jab I managed to get in.

“What the fuck is my fault?” I demand and press the heel of my hand to my eye. Christ, that hurts. “I haven’t even been here!”

“Exactly!” Matt shrugs Isaac and Pop off and gets in my face again, but doesn’t touch me. His nose is inches from mine, his eyes wide and dark in anger, jar clenched. “You weren’t fucking here. I told you before you left she wasn’t safe yet. We didn’t know enough to pull her security.”

“What are you saying?” I ask as my heart stutters into overdrive.

“They’ve been hurt, son,” Pop murmurs from behind Matt.

“What?” My eyes find Isaac and Pop’s only to find them full of sadness and fear. “What?” I ask Matt.

“Someone cut her brake line,” Isaac informs me. “She and the girls were in a pretty nasty accident last night.”