Intimate Honor Page 7

  “Shit. Breathe, goddammit.”

  He forced air into his burning lungs and swiped his face, coming away with a sheen of perspiration across his palm. The nightmares started in Germany, but he’d dismissed them, thinking he needed time. But it seemed as if they were getting worse. And more horrific, yet, the fact that several people—therapists, his CO, his doctor—warned him they’d come, but that it was normal, that it would get better if he just talked with someone.

  Like he couldn’t handle it. He scoffed.

  The carousel part, the screaming for someone named Cooper, was new, though. Hell, he didn’t even know anyone named Cooper.

  Liar.

  The defeat, the reality that it wasn’t just some nightmare he could push away with a shrug, slumped his shoulders. He took a step toward the bathroom, wanting to wash away the taste of fear, to rub his skin raw, and grimaced as his leg protested again. A quick glance confirmed the busted stitches to his thigh. While the wound had started to heal, the stitches ripped through the skin, leaving an angry-looking tear and a small trail of oozing red.

  He heaved a heavy breath and went into the bathroom to wash and redress his wound. Thirty minutes later, his body still hummed with unspent anxiety. He paced the length of his cabin and scrubbed his hands over his head. The surrounding silence and the past knocking at his subconscious wasn’t doing anything to ease the need he had to cause something or someone physical harm. He could feel the anger at how everything had happened churn in his gut like acid, eating him from the inside out.

  On the next pass of his kitchen, he lifted his shaking hand to scrub his hair again. “Jesus. I need to get out of here.” Riding into town in this mood wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and getting behind the wheel when he wanted to rip someone’s head off wasn’t something he wanted to chance.

  Instead, he changed his dressing again, wrapped an extra layer of gauze around his thigh, and swapped his lounge pants for running shorts and a black A-line tank. He slipped on his shoes, shoved his wallet in his pocket, and then hit the road. Each time his foot hit the gravel, his muscles rebelled, but the energy it took to push his body and the pain of his injuries eased his mind into submission. While it was still quiet, the hum of wind through the thick trees and the birds singing their song provided him with enough sensory input to do a light jog on his way down his private drive and to the road that led into town. He took it easy on the jog, taking a break every few minutes so he didn’t overtax his body. He wasn’t stupid, just messed up in the head.

  The sky reflected the very same blue he’d seen weeks ago on the other side of the world, and he had to force his eyes away from the beautiful sight. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted to forget everything, if only for a few moments.

  He just wanted peace.

  Once in town, he stopped and picked up a phone, used a park bench to activate it, and then tossed the package in the trash. He had turned to head back up to the cabin but stopped in his tracks.

  His chest tightened and softened all at once. How it was possible, he didn’t know. Like weeks before when everything had slowed, the same happened. Only now, he was in Nyack, and the cars on the streets slowed until it seemed as if they weren’t moving.

  Sounds around him disappeared. Before him, wearing much of the same outfit as his own was his brother, Dwayne, and their childhood pseudo-kid sister, Charlie.

  Shock passed over Dwayne’s face before a huge grin spread. He didn’t take his gaze away from his brother to see Charlie’s expression, but in his peripheral, she slowed from a jog to a walk at the same time.

  His little brother, adopted or not, had definitely filled out since the last time they’d seen each other. Long gone were the smooth lines of youth, and in their place were the hard edges of age.

  “Holy shit, you made it,” Dwayne exclaimed, and without hesitation, he wrapped him in a hearty hug. Chris stiffened in an instant. Dwayne felt it, too, with how he froze. Despite the pain, he brought his arms around D and hugged him back hard. One would think two men embracing in public should have been quick and manly, move in and away, but then again, they weren’t like most families, had never been. Dwayne’s arms tightened around Chris and as sissy as it was, he soaked it in and took it a step further by burying his face into the crook of D’s neck to hang on for the ride of emotions.

  He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it must have been a while, and Charlie had never been one for patience, for she snapped, “D, quit hogging the hot guy. I want a piece of him, too.”

  Dwayne moved back with a quick slap to Chris’s back. He grimaced, but ignored D’s questioning look and nondescriptly wiped at his suspiciously damp eyes before turning to Charlie.

  Black curls were shoved up haphazardly in some sort of messy ponytail. She wore black shorts and a blue Nyack PD shirt. Her hazel eyes blazed with unnamed emotions. Like D, she tossed herself in his arms and this time he took her face tucked in his neck. Jesus, this was what he’d missed being gone. The open affection this town offered, that his family gave without hesitation. The feel of home. He’d never had one until he came here. Foster home after home filled his life until Mr. Gonzalez found him in a dark alley, two steps away from robbing the man of his wallet, the same man who’d given him a chance. Only then did he realize he finally found a home.

  Charlie pulled back after a few minutes and wiped beneath her eyes. Chris cupped her jaw and forced her face up to his. “Hey now, what’s this?”

  She smiled sloppily, and the past—the good part of his childhood, his second life—rushed up. An expression passed, the same damn look she’d given each of the Gonzalez brothers, the ones that told them all without her speaking a word how much they meant to her.

  The feeling was mutual.

  “When did you get back?” Dwayne asked, taking his attention from Charlie.

  Chris scrubbed the back of his head and took a deep breath, the tension in his chest easing, but not dissipating. “Uhh, late last night. Dropped DA off at the vet and drove out to the cabin.”

  Dwayne lifted a brow. “Ever think of calling to let people know?”

  Chris arched a brow back and held up his new phone. “Just picked this up, Mother. You were next on the list after calling her, in fact.”

  Dwayne grinned, a glimmer of wickedness pushing through, reminding him of their childhood, of times right before D would tell Ma something that somehow always ended up with him in trouble. “Oh, you know you’re going to have to do better than a phone call with Ma, right?”

  Chris grimaced, wanting to see Mrs. Gonzalez like he wanted his next breath, but not ready for the level of scrutiny she’d subject him to. Despite not being his birth mother, she always had a way of seeing what he was involved in, everything he’d been through, and even things he didn’t notice. She’d helped raise six boys and managed to provide a home, a life, and more, giving each of them endless amounts of love. It all proved the strength she held in her backbone and spoke of the amazing gift she’d come to be with each of them.

  He met Dwayne’s gaze again and found his adopted brother smiling at whatever showed on his face. He shook his head, knowing damn well his brother had even picked up on their adoptive mother’s sometimes annoying habit of reading people. “I’ll drop by soon. I need to make sure everything is settled before heading over.”

  “Meaning, you have to think up some story. You know Ma isn’t going to let that happen, right? Seriously, this coming from the guy who was caught nearly every time he snuck out?”

  Chris barked a laugh, internally surprised at the sound he hadn’t heard in a while. “And I’m sure it was all on Ma knowing everything, right?” he asked sarcastically. “Nothing to do with a certain nosey little brother who wanted to tag along at every bend?”

  Dwayne chuckled. “I’ve had my fair share, too. Not just you. But seriously, unless you want to make this harder, I’d get over there as soon as possible.”

  “Did you find everything at the cabin?” Charlie
asked, giving him a reprieve.

  Chris nodded. “I did. You and Ma?”

  “Yes, and D’s lady love,” she said with an annoying flutter of her lashes at the subject of conversation.

  Dwayne tugged playfully on a loose strand of her ponytail. “Brat,” he said and turned to Chris. “Brooke helped stock it up.”

  Chris’s smile widened until his cheeks hurt. He didn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much. But then again, there was nothing like home. Nothing like finding his brother had finally gone and done it. “Pulled your head out of your ass, I see?”

  Dwayne’s grin practically blinded. “Among other things. What can I say? She couldn’t resist me.”

  “Ha!” Charlie laughed. “I’m sure she’d have a different opinion of how things actually went down.”

  Chris chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, turning his head toward a certain business shop he hadn’t stopped in on yet. The glare of the sun prevented him from seeing past the windows, but his mind pictured exactly what he’d meet once he got the nerve to go. His broken dog, a thousand choices between right and wrong, and one stunningly beautiful veterinarian with smoky, green eyes full of secrets.

  He rubbed his chin and realized the laughter had died, the voices faded. He found Dwayne and Charlie watching him and glancing at the same building. His brother had a troubled V between his brows and a frown on his face. Charlie looked contemplative, concerned. Neither said a word, didn’t ask a thing.

  “I guess I should go check on Delta Alpha.”

  Dwayne’s mouth tightened. “How bad is it?”

  Chris let his shoulders drop. With the pressure he felt, one could only hope it’d get to be so strong he’d fall into a pancake on the ground, disappear forever, and finally have the freedom of doing what he wanted, instead of having to handle responsibility after responsibility. Not that he didn’t want to take care of DA, didn’t want to see him get better. He did. He wanted nothing more. It was the pressure of knowing that if his dog couldn’t get better, the decision would be taken out of his hands. Today, a plan needed to be set up, procedures in place in order to get him to heal.

  “He’s a tough dog.”

  “But that’s not answering the question, is it?” Dwayne asked.

  Chris shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “Only time will tell at this point.”

  “If you need anything…” Charlie started.

  “I know where to come.” He lifted a hand and moved toward the street. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to come, too?” Charlie asked, her face hopeful and full of, damn, he hated it … pity.

  He fought not to snap at her. She only did what she’d always done: push her comfort on others. Gave her love openly to any of the Gonzalez kids, ones who’d been just as broken as she. “No, I’ll be fine. But later. Maybe when Dumb Ass is up to it, I’ll bring you all to meet him.”

  Dwayne and Charlie nodded but didn’t turn away. They watched him until he had to force himself to turn around. He felt their gazes burning into his shoulders all the way to the front door of the vet’s office.

  Chapter Seven

  Samantha stared at her iPad, trying to decipher the medical jargon. Canine PTSD wasn’t well known, but the internet held a lot of research and answers. Unfortunately, after Vietnam, there hadn’t been much observation with the effects of war on the animal partners, but after Operation Southern Watch and Iraqi Freedom, cases were coming in by the droves. The increasing data stating that dogs were just as affected, if not more than their human counterparts, with post-traumatic stress disorder concerned her.

  After reading over Delta Alpha’s file last night after Chris left, she’d spent several hours making sure she knew every word inside and out. Wanting to help Delta Alpha wasn’t the only reason she’d practically memorized every word, but it was the very real observation that this canine needed help, and he needed it fast. Every noise, no matter how soft or loud, caused him to jump. He hardly ate or drank. And yes, he’d stayed up with her last night despite his eyes rolling with exhaustion. Just as soon as he’d close his little brown eyes, she’d shift her position, and he’d be wide-awake again, hackles raised, looking for the nearest threat. She couldn’t seem to leave him alone either, for every time she walked out of the room, he’d whine and whine until her heart threatened to shatter into a thousand pieces.

  On a good note, her morning sickness seemed to take a backseat to this newest introduction to her life. She had only upchucked once this morning, and despite praying to the porcelain god, she took it as a good sign, that maybe her body would finally adjust to the extra hormones. Though she really needed to make it official and get in to the doctor’s office.

  From the information she read, Delta Alpha matched all the symptoms of PTSD in canines. With Chris’s explanation, and Sergeant Fusko’s—yes, she called him, too—briefing, Delta Alpha’s temperament had done a one-eighty. He was not only becoming unusually aggressive, but now he clung to his handler, and her, too, by association.

  Treatment was where things got tricky. Samantha bit her lip, considering. The first problem involved communication. Vets and handlers had to make educated guesses about what kind of mood the dog was in while treatment occurred. The important pieces included pushing rest and downtime, which Delta Alpha’s retirement would ensure. But they couldn’t let up on the obedience training. And that was what worried her. Would they push him too hard, too fast?

  And was he too far off to be able to do such a gentle treatment plan, or would they have to move to desensitization training? The thought made her stomach swirl, and she knew it had nothing to do with the pregnancy. Exposing Delta Alpha to sound and sensory details that would put him back in that battle that started all this wasn’t something she thought too highly of. To reward him, a dog so obviously traumatized, when he didn’t react, and to not give him any reassurance when he cowered, went against everything she had learned in her schooling.

  She’d discussed medication with Sergeant Fusko, too, and while some had shown to have positive effects soon after trauma, weaning the dog off the medication often tossed everyone, dog, handler, and vet, back to square one.

  Samantha tapped out an erratic rhythm on the counter and tossed the iPad with a loud huff. A low grumbling growl had her freezing to the spot, and each hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Sweat popped along her brow and her breathing grew rapid. She remained frozen but quickly looked around, trying to gauge how quickly she’d make it to the door separating the clinic from the stairway to the apartment, if she’d be able to get the chair between her and a trained-to-kill attacking dog. Why the hell hadn’t she locked him away in his crate?

  Oh, that was right, she was a total softy and didn’t think!

  The bell above the front entrance chimed as someone walked in and she met the eyes of none other than Chris. He was in the midst of smiling at her, a lazy, seductive move so out of place from the man of last night that she frowned. The door shut with a soft whoosh, cutting off the steady traffic outside. “Hey,” he said, and froze in his tracks, his two brows pulled in a frown immediately.

  The growling grew louder and Samantha closed her eyes, accepting the inevitable. Mentally, she ticked off the limbs she could do without. Losing her hands would put a damper on things because she had to use both in order to do surgery. But then again, with prosthetics nowadays, who knew how fast she’d be back in action? It’d sort of suck seeing as she didn’t have medical insurance just yet. There were so many bills! Unfortunately, she had to prioritize.

  If she got out of this, and that was a big if, she’d promise to get medical insurance right away. That and a glass wall to separate the rooms from the front lobby.

  “Easy, Delta Alpha. Easy,” Chris soothed, voice low.

  God, he had a nice voice. Irrationally, she wondered how she’d react if she wasn’t held hostage by a trained killing dog, and if Chris used that same soothing voice on
her. Most likely, she’d do anything he ask, right before she’d melt into a puddle at his feet. Speaking of puddles—shit!—now she needed to pee. All that water definitely picked the wrong time to catch up. She bit her lip and clenched a fist which from the louder—and closer!—growling was a bad thing to do.

  “Shit!” she breathed.

  “Red, easy. Don’t move, don’t talk. Open your eyes.”

  Oh, that soothing voice was nice. Very nice indeed. But instead of listening to him, his words scared the shit out of her more as Delta Alpha’s growls grew louder. She imagined spittle flying out of his mouth, blood, her neck ripped open. Her eyes squeezed tighter.

  “Delta Alpha two-niner, easy!” A sharp and distinct command. The dog’s growl dropped to a low rumble, but from the pins and needle feeling on the back of her neck, she could tell he was still very close.

  “Red, open your eyes. Come on, let me see those pretty greens.”

  Samantha’s eyes snapped open at not only the inappropriateness of the comment coming from him but also at the thought that this man, this unbelievable sexy man found anything about her pretty. She lifted her gaze to his and tried to slow her breathing. Not an easy thing to do when her imagined death images were still fresh in her mind.

  “Right on me. It’s going to be okay.” He glanced over the counter and from the direction of his gaze and where it landed briefly, she concluded that yep, Delta Alpha was right behind her. “I want you to blink once for yes, twice for no, okay? No talking. No moving. Do you understand? No talking, no moving whatsoever. Blink, sweetheart, to tell me you understand.”

  She blinked, one long, hard blink. He called her pretty and sweetheart in just under a minute? Or was he saying all this to keep her calm? If so, it wasn’t working. Instead, she could unbelievably feel her breasts grow sensitized. Well, hello, desire! Long time no see! God, how could this be possible? How could she be getting turned on with just a few sweet words coming from an albeit very sexy man while being held hostage by an MWD who had recently been diagnosed with PTSD and was unpredictable? And add her previous abusive relationship with Manuel? She literally couldn’t make this shit up.