When he asks about my background, I say spec ops, and after a minute cop to Delta Force, newly known as ACE.
“I could kind of guess that way,” he tells me. Like most other people around here, the guy has a drawl. His voice is low and always kind of soft, I find. We spend the first half-hour talking like two new acquaintances, which he tells me in the second half-hour he did for my benefit, because he knew I’d want to know a lot about him.
“Just makin’ it easier
for yeh.”
I find out he’s 53, an Army brat who graduated high school in Daytona Beach and went to boot camp as soon as he could to escape his dad, a Vietnam vet who had a drug problem.
When he says, “My mom had died when I was younger,” I feel chills race over my arms.
“Yours too?”
I manage to nod. He gives me just a second to say more, and when I don’t, he doesn’t miss a beat. I find it easy to tell him I’m here to get help with nightmares.
“Can you tell me more about them?” he asks.
My throat seizes up, and I’m stunned to find I can’t.
“Not the fun kind,” he says, jotting something down on a notepad.
I shake my head. My jaw is clenched. I haveto unlock it and take a slow, careful breath so I can say, “About my friend. He…” I swallow hard, fisting one hand on my knee. I shake my head.
“It’s okay. I’m not timing you.”
I feel my eyes get hot. My face feels hot too.
“I got myself into a bad situation. Stupid,” I choke out. “He got hit after he put me in the Bradley.”
I can tell by Sean’s face that I like him. He doesn’t look falsely upset, like he knew Breck, but he’s not wearing a poker face, either. I can tell he cares. I feel like maybe he gets it. I don’t know. I can’t seem to say anything more. There’s an awkward few seconds where I try to think of what else I could say, and can’t.
“What’s his name?” he asks evenly.
“Breck. John,” I add. “We called him Breck.”
“Breck from Breckenridge?”
I nod, impressed he knows. Most people wouldn’t think of Breck as a shorthand for Breckenridge. Most people probably haven’t been there.
“Great slopes,” he says quietly.
I grit my teeth. What is it about this place that makes me want to fucking cry? I decide as I tell him superficially about how I knew Breck that being here makes me feel like a fuck up. I knew it anyway, but this makes it seem official. I can’t control myself. I can’t stop the dreams. Not even with Gwen beside me.
“How long has this been bothering you? The nightmares?”
I take a deep breath. Let it slowly out. “A while.” I rub my head, remembering. “Breck used to wake me up.”
“Bunkmates?”
I nod.
“Long gun?” he asks, arching a brow at me. I’m impressed he knows the Operator term for sniper, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Yeah. Both of us.” I tell him about Dove and Blue as well. How I met Breck and Blue—“his real name’s Michael”—at basic. They joined together. Families knew each other. They both went to boarding school at Carson Long.”
“John Ferrara?”
My throat locks up. I can’t even nod.