Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(36)

“Nothing,” he said suspiciously.

“Nothing,” I confirmed. “And when I sleep with her, I actually sleep. For hours . . . uninterrupted, no flashbacks, nothing. Reagan and Parker are my peace,” I mumbled the words I’d told Reagan almost a month ago, not at all worried about Saco judging me for them. He knew what this meant for me.

“And does she know about this?”

“She knows what she can.”

Saco was quiet for a long time before he finally huffed a short laugh. “Does she have any idea what she means to you?”

“Not a clue. But I’m trying to show her.”

“Good, man. I’m happy for you. I bet Hudson is too.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. I mean, he is, but I’ve already been punched once.”

Saco laughed loudly and I rolled my eyes.

“Keep laughing, *.”

“Why’d he punch you?”

“He walked into her apartment when we were on the couch. She was riding me. Fucking bastard needs to learn how to call before he just shows up.”

Saco just laughed louder.

“So tell me what’s going on in Oregon. How’s your son?”

“Tate’s great, man. I wish you could see him. Little man looks just like me.”

“Ugly as shit?”

“Fuck you, Steele,” he teased, but there was no doubting the pride in his voice. “You guys really do need to get over here though. Maybe I can convince you and Hudson to come out for his first birthday in May or something.”

“Aw, do we get to be his uncles? I’m touched, Saco, really I am.” There was a long silence as we tried to avoid what we both knew came next. “And Olivia?”

There was a weighted sigh on the other end of the call, and I knew things with his wife were just as bad as they’d always been. They’d only been together for the sake of having someone to f*ck when she’d gotten pregnant and he’d married her. Something all of us, and his family, had tried to stop him from, but he wanted to do the right thing.

“Liv’s being Liv. She spends most of her time with her parents. We only really talk because of Tate, but she’s barely around him. Only to feed him and dress him, because apparently I don’t know how to dress a child. Other than that, he’s with me all day unless he’s sleeping. So, I don’t know. It’s awkward. Like, we both know we can’t stand each other, but don’t say anything.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t say it,” he warned.

My eyebrows pinched together. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you told me so. I did what I thought was right for Olivia. She shouldn’t have had to go through that alone . . . and now I know I did the right thing for Tate. He needs two parents.”

“I wasn’t going to. I said what I had to say before you married her, and when she wouldn’t let you see your son. But I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I think of your decisions every time we talk. You did what you had to. End of story.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, and then cursed. “Tate’s up. I gotta go.”

“All right, man. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Sounds good. And Steele? Just because Reagan gives you some relief, doesn’t mean you have to suffer the rest of the time. You can’t live like this. You need to talk to someone, please think about it. You have—you have to start moving on.”

“Start moving on? Are you shitting me?”

“No, I—”

“You saw what I’d been in for those hours before you rescued me. You only saw the aftermath, you didn’t watch it happen to them. You weren’t forced to watch every f*cking second of it. You didn’t feel like a worthless piece of shit who did nothing—”

“You couldn’t, Steele,” he said, cutting me off. “When will you realize that? You couldn’t do anything. Just like the others weren’t able to do anything when the rest were killed. It could have just as easily been you. I’m sorry you were forced to watch that. Steele . . . I’m so goddamn sorry we didn’t get there earlier. But I couldn’t spend my life being tortured by what happened, knowing that my team was too late to save the rest of yours. So don’t let your life slip by while you’re being tortured by something you had no control over. Get some help.”

I let the phone fall onto the couch beside me when he ended the call, and leaned forward to hold my head in my hands. If only it were that easy.

Reagan—September 17, 2010

“HEY THERE, STRANGER,” I called out as I shut the door behind me to Coen’s studio and ran into his waiting arms.

“Good morning, Duchess. How’d you sleep?”

I pressed my lips to his chest and pulled away, but kept my hand firmly in his. “Not nearly as good as I do when you’re there, but pretty well. You?”

Coen’s eyes flashed to one of the couches, and his face fell for a second before he laughed awkwardly. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I got about twenty minutes in there somewhere.”

I stared at his dark eyes for a long time, looking for any signs that he hadn’t slept . . . but he could go without sleep for days, and I’d probably never know. He hid things that well. But with Keegan’s odd question about Coen sleeping, and then the first night Coen had spent the night and had seemed to be in awe over the fact that he’d slept . . . I wouldn’t put it past Coen to be telling me the truth.