Broken Hero

by Olivia Hayle

  “He’ll never set foot on the ranch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You handled it well. But Lucy… if he says anything else, if he even so much as looks your way—you let me know. I promise you that the second he crosses the line, I’ll handle him. ”

  Her hand curls around mine. “I will.”

  The urge to find Gavin and punch him doesn’t leave me. Even worse is the idea of Lucy having to go through that kind of humiliation. This town is small, sure, but people have no excuse to be that small-minded.

  I’d even warned him—the fucking ass—about propositioning her, and he’d done it anyway. I should teach him a lesson, but I’d promised Lucy that I’d let her handle it on her own. Her high regard meant far more to me than Gavin’s bloody nose. Hard as it is, I force myself to let it go and focus on work.

  When I head into the staff kitchen later that afternoon, I stop dead in my tracks. Logan and Sarah are sitting by the kitchen counter with a cup of tea each.

  What is happening to the world?

  Sarah’s smile is wide. “Look who dropped by!”

  Logan nods at me, but his eyes are exasperated. “Hey, brother.”

  “Hey.”

  “I came by to check up on those pipes by the eastern enclosure, but then, well—”

  “I couldn’t let him just leave without a chat and a muffin.”

  "Of course you couldn't." My voice is dry. It just so happens that the staff kitchen is right next to the reception, and by extension, Mandy. Sarah's meddling knows no bounds.

  She pushes the tray to me. “Come, have one.”

  “They look great.” I grab a seat opposite them. “So, tell me. What lecture did I interrupt?”

  My sister looks outraged, but Logan just laughs. “One I’m sure you’ve heard many times before.”

  Sarah shoots me a furious look, but I just shake my head at her. “Come now, sis. We both know you mean well. Thank you for these, by the way. Pecans again?”

  “Yes. And I just want you to be happy. Both of you.”

  Logan and I nod. A part of me thinks she's being unfair, but the truth is that I wasn't too hot the first year or two after deployment. It feels forever ago.

  Sarah smiles at Logan. “You should come to the staff BBQ in a few weeks. It’s going to be a lot of fun, you know.”

  “Perhaps I will.”

  She puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles over at me. “You look good today.”

  “Thanks?”

  “I’m heading out to pick up the girls. They’re asking after you again, Ollie.”

  “How about you bring them by this weekend? Sophia can practice riding again.”

  “I’ll do that. See you later, guys.”

  She leaves through the swing door to reception and it closes behind her with soft, swinging motions. Logan puts his head in his hands and I shake my head in commiseration.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “She offered to set me up with someone. Some accountant or something.”

  “That’s Sarah 101.”

  “She even made me feel guilty for not accepting. What the hell, man?”

  I grab two cans of beer from the fridge and hand him one. “Just shake it off.”

  "The worst part is that she's probably right."

  “I know. That’s the worst part.”

  Logan takes a long sip and looks once, surreptitiously, over his shoulder. “Let’s go outside.”

  I nod. The afternoon sunlight is warm, the ranch quiet and calm and the beer cold in my hand. For the first time in a very long while, I feel completely at ease.

  “So you didn’t want to take her up on the offer?”

  “Hell no. I’m not going on any blind dates.” Logan rubs a hand over his neck, troubled. “But maybe I should try to find… I don’t know. Shit, I don’t know.”

  “Tell me.”

  He looks away and takes a long swig of his beer. “You know it’s Mandy.”

  “Yes.” Did I ever, I thought drily.

  “She doesn’t want to acknowledge what we once had. Won’t give me a second chance, and I don’t know… I guess I don’t blame her. I sure as hell don’t deserve one.”

  “You do. We all do.” I say, and my voice is firm. If there’s something I’ve come to realize these weeks, it’s this. “And it might not be with her, but it’ll be with someone, Logan.”

  He runs a hand across his face. Despite his smile and glib manner, I can see the hollows under his eyes. They haven’t gotten better. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve pulled the commander card. We’re not in service anymore, and out here we’re brothers—equals. But I do it now. The edge to my voice is familiar, reminiscent of old times and distant shores.

  “Are you sleeping?”

  He glances up at me, and I can read his answer in his eyes. No.

  “When did you finish your last round of therapy?”

  “Over a year ago,” he replies.

  “There’s someone over in Acton. He’s specialized in veterans.”

  “That’s over an hour’s drive away.”

  “So? You’ve endured worse.” I run a hand through my hair and say what I’ve been hiding from for years. “I’ll visit him again, too.”

  Logan sighs, but this time it’s in resignation. Hardened eyes meet mine and I can see the resolution there. “Okay.”

  “Good. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  The silence spreads between us, but it’s comfortable now.

  There—I've said it. The thought I hadn't uttered in a long, long while. That maybe, just maybe, the months of adjustment haven't been enough. That the PTSD is better, but not gone.

  I need to ask for help.

  I'll conquer it like I've conquered so many other things before.

  Logan takes a deep sip beside me, leaning against the wall. His strength and familiarity are comforting. "I need your help in a week or two,” I tell him.

  “Whatever you need.”

  “I’m going to build a sauna out by the spa. I’ve ordered the heating unit and the isolation material, so it should be here soon.”

  “Expanding the spa section, are we?”

  “Yes. But the girls don’t know yet, and they don’t need to.”

  “Alright.” Logan’s smile is sly, and I shake my head at him.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Me? I won’t. Only, you look like you’ve gotten laid, man.”

  I shove him, hard. He topples over but manages to save himself with a hand on the wall. His smile broadens and I can’t help but grin back at him.

  “What, do you have a fucking radar or something?”

  “Nah, I just know you well.”

  We fall into a comfortable silence. I close my eyes and take another sip of the beer, reveling in the sunshine.

  “There’s something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know how you said Gavin Whittaker was making it hard for you to get work? We’re going to take care of that.”

  I can hear the satisfied hunger in Logan's voice when he replies.

  “Finally.”

  19

  Lucy

  “Did you fix my bike?”

  “What?”

  I grin. “I know you heard me.”

  Oliver throws two bags of popcorn into the microwave and sets the timer for three minutes. Austin is sitting patiently at his feet, hoping to catch any food that his owner might drop. Oliver looks down and shakes his head.

  “You can’t eat corn kernels, and you can’t eat plastic.”

  Austin’s tail wags hopefully.

  “Idiot,” Oliver murmurs, but he bends down to scratch his pup behind his ear.

  I don’t give up. “The rust is gone, the chain is newly oiled and the tires are pumped. Plus, I swear there are new lights fixed in the front.”

  “It wasn’t safe before.”

  “Mmm.” I reach up and run a hand over the back of his neck, slid
ing my fingers into his hair. “Thank you.”

  He glances down at me, his dark blue eyes soft. A corresponding warmth blooms in my chest. It’s not often I’ve seen him like this. His strong features are completely relaxed. I wish he could be like this all the time. I wish I could heal his mind the way I could massage a sore shoulder, to remove whatever darkness or pain he is carrying. The most I could hope for was getting him to share.

  Since the fair, I’d read up on PTSD. It’s an unpredictable diagnosis, it takes different shapes in different people, and it often made individuals withdraw from their loved ones and close friends. Quite against their needs and wants, it seemed.

  I jump up on the stool by the kitchen counter. “There’s a basketball hoop behind the house. Do you play?”

  “I used to, yes. I played a lot in high school.”

  Sarah mentioned something about this—her star athlete of a brother—though I know Oliver would never describe himself such. “Not anymore?”

  "There aren't really enough guys around here to pull together a team for a scrimmage," he says. His hands pause over the handle to the fridge as if he's deliberating. "We played a lot when I served, too."

  “You did?”

  “Yes. Most days, the Marines aren’t in active combat. We’re stationed in different locations to do reconnaissance, patrol, survey.” He shrugs. “A lot of afternoons were spent on the basketball court.”

  I smile and grab the bottle of ice tea. “Logan too?”

  “Yes, but he prefers soccer, the heathen.”

  But Oliver had been in battle, at some point or another. I don’t ask the follow-up questions I want to. If he wanted to talk, he would.

  We grab our snacks and head into his living room. Oliver’s couch is massive, but he lifts up an arm and I curl against his side. He’s big and warm, solid to the touch.

  He turns on a movie. It's what we planned for tonight, but I'm pretty sure neither of us is watching. How could I care about the fate of an alien planet when he's this close? I have my hand on his chest and I can feel it rise and fall steadily with his slow breath.

  His hand traces up and down my arm.

  “You did physical therapy, right?”

  He glances down at me. “Yes.”

  “Remember that you asked me if I’d ever considered becoming a physical therapist?”

  “Yes.”

  I take a deep breath. “Well, I’ve found some courses.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I feel like it would suit me perfectly. I could still massage, of course, but I’d be able to help with deeper issues too.”

  “You should go for it,” he says and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “How long is the training?”

  “About four years.” His hand stills on my arm. “I’ve found online courses. I mean, I know things are early with the spa, but I wouldn’t want to stop working.”

  He’s quiet for a beat before he pulls me closer. “I’m glad.”

  I wake to frantic movement beside me in the bed.

  Oliver is thrashing, the comforter pulled tight. He’s groaning in his sleep as if in pain. I clamber onto my knees and put a hand on his shoulder. It’s taut and sweaty under my hand.

  “Oliver?”

  “No,” he murmurs, body going tense. “No…”

  “Oliver!” I grasp both his shoulders. His eyes are roaming beneath his eyelids and his hair sticks to his forehead. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I need to get him out of this. His skin is clammy to the touch.

  “Come on, wake up.” I smooth back his hair. “You’re dreaming. You’re ok. You need to wake up now.”

  Blue eyes blink open. For a moment, he just stares at me, unseeing, and then I’m flipped over onto my back. Oliver covers me completely. His hand is on my shoulder, pinning me in place. His eyes are wide with terror and confusion.

  “Oliver?”

  He blinks again and then he’s off me, getting out of bed. “Shit. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair and strides across his bedroom, disappearing into the bathroom. A heartbeat later I hear the shower running.

  My heart is pounding from the little interlude. I’ve never seen evidence of his nightmares before.

  What do I do now? Do I leave him alone? The sheets on his side are a wild tangle, and the comforter is tossed aside. I get up and quietly re-make the bed.

  The shower keeps running in the bathroom, but he hasn’t shut the door. I sigh and put my hands on my hips. Think, Lucy. The websites I read didn’t say you should let your loved ones with PTSD pull away. Respect their boundaries, yes, but not pull away.

  I’m not afraid of Oliver.

  For him, yes, but not of him. If he pushes me away, it won’t be personal. But if he doesn’t… well, I want to be there for him, in any way I can.

  The decision made, I square my shoulders and open the door to the bathroom.

  He’s in the shower with his hands braced against the wall. Water runs in rivulets down his wide shoulders and the grooves of his muscled back.

  I shimmy my panties down. I don’t want to startle him, so I slide the shower door open and make sure it’s loud. Oliver doesn’t turn around.

  I wrap my arms around him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, as if he’s been running, and the water sends goosebumps across my skin.

  He’s showering with ice water.

  I reach for the dial and turn the heat up. Oliver doesn’t in any way acknowledge that I’m there, but I keep my arms around him. Maybe if I just stand here and remind him that he’s not alone. I rest my cheek against his back and take deep, calming breaths. We stand like that for a long time.

  His hand finally covers mine where it rests on his abs.

  “Thank you.”

  I press a kiss to the skin of his back. “Anytime.”

  He takes a deep breath before he turns around. Tentative hands find my shoulders and reverent fingers curl around my arm. He traces my shoulder, right where he held me earlier. I can feel his heartbeat against my own.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod. “I’m fine.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, glancing back down to my shoulder. I stretch up on my tiptoes and put a hand on his cheek. It’s already rough with stubble. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  “Okay,” he says. He leans forward and rests his forehead against mine.

  We stand there, for what might be a minute or an hour, holding one another under the hot water. It takes time, but his frantic heartbeat eventually slows.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my lips.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  Oliver pulls me closer until every inch of our bodies are touching. I can feel the scarred skin on his shoulder under my hand. He sweeps my hair back to press a kiss to my neck.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper under the warm water. “We’re okay.”

  I'm not sure he hears me.

  20

  Oliver

  I send the final email and lean back, smiling. Logan will have no difficulty getting work now. I had promised Lucy that I would let her handle Gavin, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t support my friend. If that meant I’d also piss off Gavin, well… some things just couldn’t be helped.

  My name carried clout here, even if I didn’t always like being reminded of that. Recommending Logan’s business to all of my suppliers meant something. So did the fact that Logan was offering a quicker turn-around and lower prices than Whittaker Installations.

  It didn’t hurt that Logan had made an anonymous call to the State Department of Fire and Electrical Safety about Whittaker’s habit of undertaking unlicensed electrical work.

  Don’t get mad, get even.

  I close my laptop and walk to my office window. It’s a position I’m getting more than a little used to these days, spying across the ranch towards the red roof of the spa. Today, I look for her with more than a little unease.

  She’d woken me up from a nightmare and I�
��d pinned her down. It didn’t matter if she said she was okay, or that I didn’t hurt her, or that it was only for a second. Behavior like that couldn’t happen again. I’d been so ashamed, so angry at myself, but she had acted like it was nothing at all. Like she understood—like she saw me.

  She didn’t know who I’d been before. She wasn’t intimidated by my family history or obsessed with the legacy of my father, or my grandfather before him.

  She wasn’t comparing me—not to them and not to who I had been before.

  She listened when I spoke, heard what I said, and reflected on it. There didn’t seem to be any expectations where she was concerned. She was also silly as hell, saying whatever came to her mind without fear. There was a confidence to that that I admired. Not to mention that I laughed more around her than I remembered doing in years.

  Lucy sure as hell deserved better than me, but I would be damned if I gave up without a fight. I’d try, and most likely fail, to live up to the man she deserved. To sort myself out. And if it failed, this thing with her… well, at least I’d be a better brother, a better boss, and a better uncle for it.

  After her class is done, I walk the familiar gravel path down to the spa. It’s been used more these weeks than it had for years before her arrival. Austin darts ahead, but I whistle for him. “In here, buddy. Stables first.”

  Lucy cares about us being a secret, at least for now, and I can’t agree more. Being questioned about my intentions by every busybody… by Sarah… I shudder. I don’t want the poking and prodding that people here excel at. So I take the long route through the stables. I greet Whiskey with a sugar cube and scratch Ginger behind the ears. Tim is unloading a new bale of hay and gives me a wave.

  When I finally make it to the spa, the back door is wide open. Upbeat pop music flows from the stereo and I see Lucy dancing as she cleans off the floor in her yoga studio. Her ponytail bobs in time with the beat.

  She pauses when she sees me, mid-headshake. Her smile turns sheepish. “How much of that did you see?”

  “Not nearly as much as I wanted to.”

  She groans. “At least it was a dazzling performance. I—No! Austin, not in here!”