At his feet, Lucky whimpered, and Lucas took several steadying breaths, trying to fight back his wolf, which was all but demanding to be unleashed.
Vi snorted. “You won’t have to. Hunter is letting Mischa decide Daniels’s punishment on behalf of the Council. He’ll be begging for death by the time she gets done with him.”
That was acceptable, he thought grudgingly. Not as good as squeezing the bastard’s neck until his head popped off, but acceptable. “Why are you telling me this, Vi?”
She paused again, and he growled, “Just fucking spit it out.”
“Hey,” she snapped, “don’t yell at me or I swear to God I’ll come over there and smack you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper again!”
His anger dimmed a fraction as he remembered her doing that very thing once before. Not his finest moment, of that he was certain.
“I’m telling you this because when we’re in therapy all I hear is Lucas this and Lucas that and Lucas says. She’s taking to her family as well as can be expected, but right now, you’re her emotional center, her rock,” Vi said. “I can’t tell Harper and Riddick about this. Riddick will absolutely lose his shit if he ever finds out about what happened to her.”
Yeah, Lucas thought wryly as he continued to wrestle with his wolf for control of his own body, because I’m such a pillar of fucking strength over here.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“I want you to be on the lookout for signs of PTSD. A human who’s been through what she has would be scary enough, but someone with her strength? She could hurt someone completely unintentionally.”
He took a few more steadying breaths. “Fine. What are the signs of PTSD?”
“Well, depression and hopelessness are common. Nightmares and flashbacks, too, obviously. Irritability or angry outbursts…”
So far so good, he thought. Seven didn’t seem to have any of that.
“…headaches, hypervigilance…”
He scoffed at that last one. Just because she checked the locks on the doors and windows a few times before bed—after he’d already checked them—didn’t necessarily mean she had PTSD. Vigilance seemed like a perfectly natural response in her situation.
“…disrupted sleep, insomnia…”
He frowned. He did sometimes hear her moving around her room after two or so. He just assumed she was like him and only really needed a few hours’ sleep a night. He hadn’t considered the possibility of insomnia, or that maybe a nightmare had awoken her.
“…and making an effort to avoid things that remind her of what happened at Midvale.”
Like washing up in the sink to avoid taking a shower that might remind her of drowning.
Shit.
“I might’ve seen some of those signs,” he mumbled.
Vi sighed. “I was afraid of that. Don’t bring it up with her, OK? I’ll start talking to her about this in our next session. And in the meantime…”
There it was again. That damned annoying pause that made him want to come through the phone and shake her. “Just say it, Vi.”
“All right, fine. I’m just going to be blunt about this.”
Well that’d be a pleasant change of pace, wouldn’t it?
“I’ve seen the way you look at her, and I’ve seen the look in her eyes when she talks about you.”
He blinked. That wasn’t at all where he thought the conversation had been going. Never let it be said that Vi was boring or predictable. “And?”
She muttered something under her breath he didn’t quite catch, but was pretty sure it ended with “jackass,” before saying, “And she’s not ready for any kind of…romantic relationship right now. You need to back off.”
Well, that pissed him off on a couple of different levels. First and foremost, his…whatever it was with Seven was none of Vi’s business. And secondly, did Vi have such a low opinion of him that she thought he’d pressure Seven into a relationship with him? Did she think he was that much of a dick?
“You should know me well enough to know I’d never hurt her,” he said, indignant.
“Never intentionally,” she hedged. “But you’re a man, and she’s an incredibly beautiful woman who’s living with you—”
“So I’m automatically going to try and nail her at every opportunity? Jesus, Vi,” he muttered in disgust. Then an ugly thought occurred to him. “Are you sure this is even about her? Is this about what happened with us?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back sharply. “I’m most definitely not pining for you and working to romantically sabotage you, you dick. In fact, I have a date tonight, so rest assured that I have moved past our little…flirtation, for lack of a better word.”
If he hadn’t already been up for the title of world’s biggest asshole, he could now be assured he had it in the bag.
“I’m really sorry, Vi. That was a shitty thing to accuse you of.” He raked a hand through his hair. “This whole thing with Seven, it’s just…”
She sighed again as he trailed off. “I know all of this is overwhelming. But if you’re overwhelmed, think about how she must be feeling. PTSD is no joke, Lucas. Give her the time and space she needs to heal.”
He offered Vi another heartfelt apology and assured her he’d heard everything she said before he disconnected the call.
Well, hell. What was he supposed to do now? He was living with a woman he wanted so bad it was nearly painful, he was pretty sure she wanted him too, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it for fear of triggering her PTSD from something that never should’ve happened to her in the first place. What a clusterfuck.
Lucky began to do an all-over body wag that Lucas had come to understand meant Seven was home. The dog made his way to the door to greet her faster than any three-legged dog had a right to move.
She came through the door and immediately dropped to her knees and opened her arms to Lucky, who was positively quivering with joy as he whined happily and frantically licked her face. She laughed as she stood up and wiped her face on her sleeve.
“I’m happy to see you, too, buddy,” Seven said as she gave him one last pat on the head.
Lucas felt gut-punched as her eyes met his and her smile grew. Goddamn, was he ever going to get used to the power of that smile?
“Hi,” she said, somewhat breathlessly. “Did you still want to watch a movie tonight?”
The hopeful note in her voice was impossible to miss, and once again, he felt like the world’s biggest asshole, because he knew he just wasn’t capable of sitting next to her on the couch tonight—breathing in the scent of her skin, listening to her sweet voice, seeing her smile—and not touching her. Especially after what he’d learned today. He just wasn’t strong enough.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, no. Sorry. I…have to go back to the station. Got some paperwork to finish up.”
The smile bled from her face slowly and Lucas wanted to howl at the loss of it. And for being the cause of it.
“That was a lie,” she said quietly. “Why did you lie to me?”
And why couldn’t he seem to remember she was more accurate than a fucking lie detector? “Shit,” he blurted out, causing her to flinch. “I’m sorry,” he quickly added. “I just need…we just need some space. That’s all.”
A frown line popped up between her brows. “You want…space from me?”
God no. There was way too much space between them as it was. “I didn’t say want. I said need. It would be best if we got some space.”
Jesus, he sounded like a fucking tool. But there was no way around it. Vi was right. Seven was too busy dealing with her own emotions to deal with his. It wasn’t fair of him to ask anything of her right now.
After a moment of intense study in which he was pretty sure she was staring directly into his brain, she nodded. “I understand what you’re saying.”
Really? ‘Cause he sure as fuck didn’t. “Good. That’s good.”
“I’ll just go…”
she trailed off, pointing to her room.
“Yeah, sure. Fine,” he said, like an idiot.
A moment after she’d gone, Lucky shot him a look of what could only be described as disgust and disappointment. Until that moment, he hadn’t even known dogs were capable of looking down on someone. If the look hadn’t been directed at him, Lucas would’ve been impressed.
Lucas gave him a palms-up what-the-hell gesture. “Well, what the fuck was I supposed to do?”
Lucky huffed out a breath and wandered away, pawing at Seven’s door until she let him in. Neither of them looked back at him before she shut the door again.
So, all in the course of five minutes, he’d hurt Seven, most likely managed to ruin whatever budding relationship they’d had, and lost an argument with his dog.
Good going, asshole. Super smooth.
Shaking his head in disgust at himself, he grabbed his jacket and got the fuck out of the house before he did something stupid.
Well, stupider, he supposed.
Chapter Thirteen
“Aw, dude, the way you flipped that shifter to the ground and put your foot down on his nads when he tried to get up? That was classic. Harper’s gonna be pissed she missed it.”
Benny laughed until he snorted and slumped over on the bar, clutching his side.
Seven didn’t understand what was so funny. Harper told them to apprehend the shifter who’d failed to show up for his hearing. She’d done that. She hadn’t even broken his legs.
“A man’s testicles are very sensitive,” she said in her own defense. “It was an effective way to keep him on the ground until you could tie him up.”
He snorted again and swiped at his watering eyes with the back of his hand. “Yeah, babe, it was highly effective. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a shifter’s eyes bug out like that.”
He paused and mimicked the shifter’s expression, cracking himself up again in the process. When the snort-laughs died down to mere chuckles, he added, “I thought I was gonna piss myself, I was laughing so fucking hard. That settles it, though.” He banged his palm down on the bar. “I’m telling Harper I refuse to do skip-tracing without you from now on. That was the best time I’ve had all month.”
He held up his shot glass of tequila and clinked it against her water glass.
“So, you…like working with me?” she asked, still somewhat confused.
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely!” he answered with a wide grin. “That’s why I invited you here—to my home away from home—to celebrate the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Well, she thought, glancing around the dingy bar, his home away from home wasn’t that impressive, but given her level of social awkwardness, she probably couldn’t afford to turn away an offer of friendship.
“And hey,” he went on, “I’m real sorry about the day we met. You know, when I implied you was a sociopath? I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. You’re good people, Seven. Just like Lucas said.”
Her stomach sank at the mention of Lucas. He’d been avoiding her for over a week. She still had no idea what she’d done wrong. One day, he seemed like he wanted to spend time with her, and the next, he couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.
And the absolute worst part of his rejection? She couldn’t even get mad at him about it. She was too hurt to get angry. Anger was an easy emotion. All you had to do was hit something and yell and rage, and the anger fled almost as soon as it came. But hurt? It was new to her, and she had absolutely no clue what to do with it.
Benny snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What happened there, doll? I lost ya for a second. You OK?”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“Pfffttt. No, you’re not. And you’re a shitty liar, too.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Come on. Tell your good buddy Benny what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
Seven swiveled on her barstool so that she was facing him. Maybe he was right. “I’ve never had a friend before. Does talking to a friend help you when you’re feeling hurt about something?”
“Oh, yeah,” he answered immediately. “I always feel better about shit when I talk it through with Harper and Riddick and Mischa.”
“Well,” he amended, “in all fairness, I’m not sure Riddick considers me a friend. But he hasn’t tried to burn me alive lately, so there’s that.”
She’d have to file that bit of information away for later. Too confusing. She gave her head a shake before saying, “So, you’re my friend?”
“Yeah, babe. What’s up?”
“Am I someone you’d be interested in having sex with?”
Benny spit the mouthful of tequila he’d just swallowed directly in the bartender’s face.
“Fucking hell, Benny,” he said, wiping his face with the dirty bar rag he kept tucked into the waistband of his pants.
“Sorry, Tiny,” Benny choked.
Tiny grumbled something Seven didn’t quite understand before wandering away. She watched Benny expectantly while he coughed and looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. The expression of horror and shock on his face was most likely answer enough to her question, but she decided to hear what he had to say anyway. That was what a friend would do, she thought.
But what the hell did she know about friends?
“Babe,” Benny said after the world’s longest pause, “I’m sure I didn’t hear you right. Did you…ask me…Jesus, I can’t even say it out loud it’s so crazy.”
Seven shrugged, tracing her fingertips through the wet ring her glass had left on the scarred oak bar. “I see Harper with Riddick and I wonder if anyone could…want me. You know, like that. That’s what I was asking. Would you ever want me like that?”
His eyes went wide. “Shit, no, I wouldn’t.”
So, here’s embarrassment again, she thought. Yep. It was every bit as distasteful as it’d been the first time she felt it. “OK. I understand. Thank you for being honest with me.”
He grabbed her hand when she tried to stand up. “No, no, no. You don’t get it at all. There’s three very good reasons why I could never want you like that. Number one, Riddick would kill me. I mean, we’re talking peel-my-skin-like-an-orange-and-stake-me-out-to-greet-the-fucking-dawn dead.”
He shuddered. “Secondly, you are so far outta my league…it’d take the light of your league, like, a gazillion years to even shine on my sorry ass.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’re…” he gestured to her face and body, “…all this, and I’m...” he gestured to his own face and body, “…this. You could do better. Way better. You’re a ten and I’m a two. Tens stick with tens and twos stick with twos.”
She gave that information a moment to process before commenting, “That seems really shallow. And probably inaccurate. I heard that woman at the coffee stand outside Harper’s building say you were a total…hottie, I think she said. That must mean you’re at least a seven, right?”
He blinked. “Shit, really? Coffee-stand Celia thinks I’m hot? When was…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “That’s not the point. We was talkin’ about you.”
Seven nodded. “What’s the third reason?”
“That’s easy. Lucas is over the fucking moon for you, and I’d never cock-block him. He’s a good dude. A little scary sometimes, but a good dude nonetheless. Bros before hoes and all that.”
His eyes went wide again. “Not that you’re a ho. Jesus, don’t step on my nads or tell Riddick I said that, OK?”
She waved off his concern, much more interested in what he’d said about Lucas. “Do you really think Lucas likes me?”
Benny snorted. “Shit, like you? The way he looks at you? I ain’t never seen him look at anyone like that.”
Hope bloomed in her chest. Maybe they had a chance after all.
“Well,” Benny went on, “except for Harper, of course.”
Funny thing about hope. Seemed it could wither and die just as quickly as it bloomed.
“Lucas is in love with Ha
rper,” she said, her voice sounding dull even to her own ears. It wasn’t a question. She’d known he was lying to her about something related to Harper. She’d just been too naïve to figure it out.
“No,” Benny said quickly. “I don’t think he is any…shit, are you OK? You look kinda…”
Murderously angry? Yep. That’d explain her increased blood pressure and respirations. And the fact that her face felt ready to go up in flames, right up to the tips of her ears.
He wanted space, huh? Space to figure out how to steal Harper from her brother? And if that failed, was she supposed to wait around and be his consolation prize?
Fuck that.
Fuck him.
“I want to do another skip-trace,” she said through clenched teeth.
Benny swallowed hard. “There aren’t any more. We got ‘em all.”
He let out a squeak when she grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him right off his bar stool.
“I. Need. To. Hit. Something. Now.”
Benny looked nervous for a minute, then a grin—a totally evil grin—spread across his face. “I got just the thing, doll.”
Chapter Fourteen
The way you knew you were doing the right thing was if it made you feel like complete shit.
At least, that was Lucas’s recent experience with doing the right thing.
It had been three weeks since Vi gave him her little stay-away-from-Seven-for-her-own-good speech, and he found he was getting progressively more dickish (Harper’s word, not his) every day.
And Seven…
He sighed. Seven had seemed to shift from hurt to good and pissed off with admirable speed. He guessed he should be thankful. Seeing her hurt had damn near killed him. Her anger wasn’t any fun, but he could deal with it.
Mostly he could deal with it because their conversations had been reduced to gestures. He said hello, she grunted in reply, then stomped off and slammed a door.
He’d come to think of the slammed door as a middle finger held high.
Not that he blamed her. The graceless way he’d demanded space was probably more worthy of a kick to the balls than it was an implied digital fuck-you. She was taking the high road in his opinion.
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