Page 84 of The Perfect Wrong

His big hand covers mine this time.

Then his fingers start closing, tight and crushing—too hard!

“Asshole, youheardme,” he spits. “On the count of three, I’m heading in. Motherfucking one. Two.”

“Chris, please—ow! You’re hurting me.”

Just when I think he’s about to break my hand, flaming green eyes snap open.

He whips back like he’s touched a live current, the rage on his face fading to a sad apology.

“Fucking shit. Delia? Did I—”

I shrink back, more stunned than I am afraid of what just happened.

We lock eyes. I sit up now that he’s off me, reaching for water to parch my dry throat from the bottle on my nightstand. While I take a long drink, he shakes his head like it weighs a hundred pounds.

“Goddamn, did I hurt you? Whatever I said, I’m sorry.”

“No, and don’t be,” I whisper, holding out the bottle. I’m sure his throat feels even worse from whatever that was.

He rips it out of my hand and drinks for a few seconds, but somehow I don’t think it’s just the thirst.

“You were having a nightmare. I’m sure you couldn’t help it.”

He shakes his head fiercely, his big shoulders rippling.

“No. I lied to you, Delia,” he rasps as he sets the bottle down in his lap. “My outburst on the flight here...it wasn’t a joke like I said. I was asleep then too. I was back there—fighting my way through some really wretched shit nobody ever ought to deal with. You don’t deserve to hear that, much less get crushed because I lose my shit.”

He turns away like a wounded beast and slowly gets up.

He paces to the glass through the soft blue light and props his arm against it, staring out at a Vegas nightscape that suddenly feels too melancholy and dark despite the sea of twinkling lights.

My heart sinks.

A few seconds later, I get up and follow. When I’m next to him, I gingerly rest a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t owe me an apology for something you can’t control, Chris.”

“Yeah?” He looks at me sharply. “Even so, I still owe you one because you were right. This fucked up situation with one damn bed might be a crisis after all—just not for the reasons we thought.”

I smile softly.

“It doesn’t have to be. Have you had these nightmares for a while?”

“A few months, at least. They come and go, but lately they must be happening once a week. I even installed a motion camera at my place to see. I hoped it’d go away on its own, but fuck.” He exhales so heavily it’s like watching a mountain breathe. “I’m no stranger to shell shock. Any man who’s been on enough live missions gets hit with it sooner or later. Only, that shit that went down with Warzach was a hell of a lot worse than anything that ever happened in Syria or Iraq. I never had so many kids caught in the crossfire.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t speak.

Not with words.

It’s all instinct when my hands wind around him, hugging him tight, my palms pressed flat to his abs.

He inhales sharply, a silent curse on his lips as his head cranes back.

“This trip was a bad idea. Delia,I’mbad for you. Nothing but broken glass in my head and venom—”

“Hush,” I whisper.

He looks down with a puzzled glance, his eyes searching mine.