Off Limits (Off 2)

"Like what?"

"Headaches, dizziness, memory loss, mood swings. Stuff like that. But that stuff has mostly resolved." Nix picks up one of my hands and laces his fingers through it. He rubs his thumb over mine as he continues. "I was also diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when I returned to the States. It's why I have Harley. He's a psychiatric service dog."

"What does that mean?"

"They can be used for lots of things. Right after my injury, I was pretty messed up. I'd have uncontrollable anger. I'd panic if people walked up behind me. Loud noises freaked me out. Harley was trained to basically orient me to the 'here and now' when I feel rage or panic. His touch calms me as a simple explanation. He was actually trained to walk behind me a bit to make me comfortable that no one would approach me from behind. But honestly, most of those problems are under control now and he's more pet than anything. I've learned to control most of that stuff with some intensive therapy after I returned."

Nix doesn't say anything more for a few seconds and I'm silent. I don't know what to say to this news, because frankly, I don't understand it. I only know that my heart is hurting immensely for this man who has apparently suffered so much.

"I can understand if that freaks you out and you want to break things off," Nix says hesitantly.

I'm shocked. I didn't think this man had a vulnerable cell in his body but he just exposed it to me, clear as day.

I spin around in Nix's arms, bringing my hands to his face. "Never," I say vehemently. "I'm just not sure what to say to you. You don't answer a lot of questions so I'm not sure what is open territory for me."

Nix kisses me softly and says, "The only other people that know what I've told you are my dad and my brother."

I go ahead and sit back, now facing Nix so I can look at him. I pick up his hand and hold it between the two of mine.

"And the writing on your tattoo?" I ask, bringing us back around to my original question.

"Let's just say I had a hard time coping when I first got back from Afghanistan. I was...rageful...couldn't control my anger. The slightest thing provoked me to near violence. Harley and a lot of therapy got me through the worst of it. Like I said, I learned to use him to calm my negative emotions."

As if on cue, Harley jumps into the bed with us and snuggles up to Nix's side. He's probably not even aware but his hand immediately goes to Harley's fur, gently stroking the dog.

"Does this conversation upset you?" I ask, noticing how Harley pins himself to Nix.

"A little. I'm telling you more than anyone other than my family knows."

"So the tattoo..."

"That's my own sort of therapy. I got the skull after my first tour in Afghanistan. It was appropriate given what I'd seen over there. Part of my therapy after the PTSD is focusing on the positive. Which, by the way, I think is bullshit half the time."

I cock my eyebrow at him and he laughs.

"What can I say...the glass is half empty where I'm standing most of the time. Anyway...anytime I read or see something positive or inspirational, I memorialize it. So I can keep it with me always."

This is interesting.

"How do you choose what goes on your tattoo?"

He gives me a slight grin, filled with mischief. "That's easy. If I read something and immediately scoff at it, then I know it's probably an important message. I have too many negative emotions running through me. I figure the more antithetical a message is to my sensibility, the more I probably need that message."

I shake my head back and forth with a bemused tilt to my lips.

"Are you laughing at me, Burnham?"

Normally, he calls me by my last name to distance himself from me, but this time he says it with a light teasing that makes my insides quiver.

"Not laughing. Just amazed. You have more layers than all the onions in the world combined, Caldwell."

Nix lunges across the bed at me, sending Harley scurrying from the bed. He drags me onto his lap, pulling the sheet down at the same time. "Here's one layer I'd like to discover what's underneath..."

I giggle but that is soon turned into a gasp of pleasure as he palms my breast and brings his lips to my neck.

"Nix?" I murmur, on the verge of a full out moan.

"Hmmmmm?" he responds, blazing a trail of fire up to my jaw.

"You know this conversation knocks us out of the realm of having just a sex-only relationship, don't you?"

His mouth stills against my skin and I feel him tense up. Then he sighs against me before resuming his gentle kisses.

"Yeah," he murmurs against my neck. "I know."

He sounds resigned yet anticipatory, sad yet happy, angry yet calm. How can he be all of those things? And then I realize that Nix probably always has a million emotions swirling around inside of him. It's probably why he takes great pains to avoid interacting with people.

And yet, he's let me inside just a little bit more. I find that to be terribly brave. And for the first time, I realize it's not only my body that he commands. My heart is now involved as well.

CHAPTER 23

Nix

Things have changed with Emily and I'm not sure how it happened. I've spent so many months, keeping myself closed off from others, that my isolation was a balm to me. And yet, here I've let this wisp of a girl inside my walls in just a matter of a few weeks. Suddenly, all of the emotions that had once been so easy to compartmentalize, are now swirling near the surface. I have to sort through them now, identify which ones are okay to test out, and cautiously poke at them to see if they'll bite me. When I can figure out the ones that won't hurt or cause me pain, I let them run free a bit. It's frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

Granted, I've not opened up completely with her. I will never be able to tell her about Paul. It's too shameful for me, and now that I've let this girl in, I want to keep her there.

For the near future, at least.

I'm not ready to see the horror reflected in her beautiful whiskey eyes if she knew the truth behind what happened.

So it ultimately matters not that I've opened the door a little for Emily. I can never fully welcome her in. There will always be a part of me that will forever be untouchable.

And that, for now, makes me feel safe enough to push forward with her. To see where this is going.

I've just arrived at Emily's apartment. Harley and I jump out of my truck and head up to #322. She invited us over to dinner tonight and I'm actually looking forward to meeting Fil.

Emily's told me a lot about her and any person, man or woman, that's able to put the fear of God into Emily's ex-douche is alright by me. Yes...I'm already on Team Fil.

I knock on the door and it's immediately opened by who I can only assume is the illustrious Mignon Larson. I think she must have been lurking on the other side, waiting for me to knock. She's a very striking woman and she gives me a warm smile.

Fil first bends to Harley and gives him head rubs, cooing at the furry monster. Then she sticks her hand out for me to shake. "Hi. I'm Mignon."

I take her hand and it's strong and sure. "Nix."

Emily walks up behind her and says, "How come he gets to call you Mignon?"

Fil grins deviously at Emily. "He doesn't. You just interrupted me before I got to the part where I tell him that if he calls me that, I'll cut his balls off."

She turns to me, nefarious smile still in place, and says, "I suggest you call me Fil."

I smirk and nod my head. "Duly noted."

Emily walks around Fil and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her body into mine. My arms go around her waist and she stands on her tip toes to press a soft kiss to my mouth. This one move on her part, is probably the most intimate act I've ever shared with a woman. It's not sexual, but soft and welcoming.

She almost drops me to my knees when she whispers, "I've missed you."

I don't know what to say in response. Have I missed her? I've thought about her. A lot. Well...almost obsessively.

And when I first saw her walk up behind Fil, I felt something akin to elation well up in my chest. When she pressed into me, holding me close, my first thought was not how to get into her pants. No. My first thought had actually been that this felt...natural. And there is no way that it should have felt that way, because there is nothing natural about what is happening between us. At least, not in my carefully orchestrated world.

Before I can even answer, Emily releases me, bends to kiss Harley on his snout and then hurries off to the kitchen, yelling over her back, "Get him a beer, Fil. I've got to pull the lasagna out of the oven before it burns. And stop threatening people all willy-nilly to cut off their balls."

Fil and I actually get along quite well. We sit in the living, drinking beers and discussing football while Harley snoozes at my feet. His head actually lies on top of my boot, a sure sign that he knows I'm a bit introverted around people I don't know.

Turns out, it's not so hard to talk to Fil. She's a big Jets fan like me. And she's a big Emily fan...like me.

***

Dinner was delicious and I was quite impressed since it was the first time Emily had ever made lasagna. We are now all sitting in the living room, talking about everything and nothing. I'm on the end of the couch and Emily is tucked into my side, my arm lying loosely across her shoulders. She has her legs pulled up with her feet curled underneath her own hip.