Page 48 of Echoes in the Storm
I’ve never told anyone, and for good reason. What kind of a man is crippled by a fear that only small children keep?
My mum—she knows about the nightmares. My brother—he knows I don’t sleep well, but not why. At home, my bed is pushed into a corner of the room with no windows adjacent, the tallboy beside the bed so it boxes me in. At home, I cope, however miserably.
“I didn’t think when we left the house.”
“It’s okay.” She scoots forward, setting her hands on my thighs.
The simple gesture grounds me, the basic action of her touch doing so much for me right now that I don’t think she could possible comprehend how amazing she is. I literally made this woman come and now I’m an anxious mess, yet all she thinks about is howIfeel.
“I’m sorry.” She opens her mouth to say something in return, yet I silence her with a raised hand. “I know. Pathetic, huh?” God, what does she think of me? “I wasn’t always like this.”
Lame comeback, Duke.
“Since the incident overseas?” she asks, her hands massaging my thighs.
I nod. “It was night time when they attacked. I guess the fact they caught us off guard, hit the place by surprise, triggered something in my subconscious. I’ve been told by doctors in the past that my brain made a connection to the fear of the attack and the fact it was during the night. That’s why I’m afraid now when it’s not light; I can’t see the threat my brain tells meshouldbe there.”
“Ghosts,” she whispers. “You were looking for ghosts from your past.”
“Pretty much.”
Cam takes my phone in her hand, careful not to obstruct the light. She rises to her feet, one hand outstretched toward me. I take it, allowing her to coax me up as well.
“We can’t keep doing this,” she says as she guides us toward the house. “Letting our pasts dictate who we are today.”
“How do you change everything about who you are, though?” She has a life outside of her fear to feed off, to give her strength. Me? All I am is the broken vet who can’t hold down a job to save himself.
“One step at a time.” She nods, resolute in her answer.
All I can do is squeeze her hand in reply. There aren’t any words that could adequately voice how thankful I am to have found her. She’s done what others couldn’t, and all without a second thought or the slightest ounce of frustration.
I’ve only ever known one other woman like that, and the fleeting thought that someday, I could lose this one, too, threatens to have me sitting immobile once more.
I couldn’t go through that again.Never.
“Well,” Cammie says, breaking the silence between us, “I had fun for the most part. What about you?” She laughs, cementing the fact I don’t deserve her. What have I done to merit this kind of unwavering happiness in my life?
I tug on Cam’s hand, bringing her to a stop so I can swing her to face me. Her smile shows nothing but a genuine ability to look for the best in the situation. “Unwanted panic attack aside, I think we can agree we both had a good time.”
She tilts her chin up as I lean down to take her lips with mine. Her kisses are a salve I can never have too much of.
“I’m thinking,” she says with a grin as we resume our trek to the house, “since we’ve wasted a whole heap of time running around like two raucous kids, how about we start the diet another day and have pancakes for dinner?”
I huff out a laugh as I smile, hanging my head between my shoulders. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.” Cam bats her eyelashes. “Come on. Admit it: you’re secretly excited at the idea of a sugar-overloaded feel-better-now dinner.”
Not particularly. My gut churns simply thinking about all that syrup and butter. “How about I just cook again? It can be my way of paying board.”
“Deal.” She snaps her fingers. “My rear end has already gained a kilo thinking about all that refined sugar, anyway.”
I bark out a laugh while pulling my hand from hers and promptly slapping it across her arse. “This thing is hardly fat, woman.”
“It’s hardly size small, either.”
“It’s sexy,” I insist. For fuck’s sake, I’ve barely been able to keep my eye off the thing. “You women and your bodies.”
“Come on,” she exclaims. “Men can hardly critique how harsh us women are on our bodies when it’syourgender that set unrealistic expectations of what ‘pretty’ is.”