Little Jack (Hell's Handlers MC 6)

“I wish I could tell you this morning was an anomaly, that I had some crazy reaction to what Schwartz did to you and it set off an intense nightmare I couldn’t break out of. But I can’t say that. Because for the past few years I have at least one of those brutal fucking nightmares each week. I wake up angry, on the floor, ready to attack, with my heart pounding, covered in sweat, sometimes even screaming. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

She needed to stop touching him, or he’d lose his resolve to walk out of that room and sleep on the couch. “Like you want to cry.”

“What’s wrong with me crying for you, LJ? I care about you. A lot. More than just about anyone else. And when you care for someone, you suffer when they do.”

Why the fuck did she have to be so goddammed sweet?

A single tear slid from the corner of her eye, soaking into the pillow and stabbing into his heart. “Because I don’t deserve it. Your tears or your caring.” He swiped a thumb under her eye, capturing the next bead of moisture. “Please don’t waste your tears on me.”

“So this is why you leave me every night? This is why you won’t even close your eyes in my presence? Why I’m always wondering what I d-did wrong and why you won’t stay with me?” The little hitch in her voice nearly broke him.

Step one: remove his hands from her, but that task was proving to be impossible. With skin as soft as Holly’s, any man would have trouble resisting a touch. Up and down the swell of her hip, he stroked. The contrast of his sun-tanned hands and forearms with a pale part of Holly she never allowed to see the sun looked gorgeous. So creamy and smooth just like the vanilla frosting she always smelled of.

“That’s why. And that’s why this has to end, Holly. I have no choice.” Finally, he tore his hand from the lush skin of her hip only to stroke it over the column of her throat. “I have no memory of hurting you, Holly. I wasn’t in my right mind. Wasn’t present, but when the deputy told me what I did?” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Please let me walk away without a fight. I can’t, won’t put you at risk like that again, sugar.”

“We can—”

His nose bumped hers as he pressed an index finger over her lips. “No, we can’t just continue on as we were. Both of us know what will happen. We’ll be tired one night, and we’ll fuck until we pass out. Or we’ll have a little too much to drink at the clubhouse, and we’ll tell ourselves we’re only going to close our eyes for a moment. Or we’ll snuggle up on the couch with a movie and drift off before it ends.”

“All of those things sound perfect,” Holly whispered against his finger.

“Yeah, sugar,” he rubbed her pink lips. “They do. Until halfway through the night, I attack you in some dissociative state where my mind is back in Afghanistan, and my body is here, fucking choking you to death.”

“You won’t…”

“I did.”

Holly let out a heavy breath. What argument did she have? She knew he was right, even if she didn’t like it. Her sense of self-preservation would win out in the end. It had to. That was human nature. Who would willingly put themselves in a relationship where their options were separate beds for life or risking their life?

“You said your mind was back in Afghanistan.”

Of course, she picked up on that slip.

“Yeah.”

“In your nightmares, are you reliving something?” With a shake of her head, she said, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

LJ stroked his thumb over her lips, still partially swollen from his earlier kisses. “It’s all right. Yeah, I relive the last event of my military career. The incident that sent me home and had me medically separated. I’ve never talked about it. Not once. Not in all the years since. Not with my brothers. Not with my therapist.”

“You don’t have to now.”

But maybe he did. Maybe if she knew the extent of how fucked in the head he was, she’d finally understand she was better off without him. Perhaps sharing his story would free her. Because he’d never get over it. Not fully. And she deserved a whole man, not a deadly shell.

“I told you I was special forces, a Navy SEAL. I deployed frequently and for varying amounts of time. Even before this final deployment, I’d been showing signs of PTSD. Extra jumpy, mild nightmares, some anger issues, things like that. What people don’t understand is the mental strain of just being in a war zone. Even on days when nothing happened. Days so boring you’d count your eyelashes for entertainment, the possibility of a life and death situation was always there. Which meant the entire time, you’re on edge, waiting, anticipating, hypervigilant. Even in sleep, part of you stays alert and ready for action. You have any idea how draining that is on a six-month deployment?” He shook his head. “Fucks you up.”