The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(81)

“I’ll tell her tonight not to bother you anymore.” What the hell was Zara doing? This was his mom. He didn’t need any help looking after her. He’d been with her through her cancer treatment and he’d be here through this.

Was Zara trying to torture him with kindness? He had too much to deal with to handle the emotions he felt when he was with her—emotions she didn’t share. She’d said she wasn’t interested in a relationship, and why would she choose a man so damaged, he’d hurt her in his sleep? He still felt sick to his stomach when he remembered her standing at the foot of his bed with her hand over her eye.

“You’re going to see her tonight?” His mother’s face perked up.

“She comes every night.” He sank into his chair. “She sleeps on my couch, cooks breakfast before she goes to work, brings dinner every evening, and even leaves me a packed lunch to bring to the hospital. She sings to herself and she dances around the apartment. Yesterday, she decided to redecorate and now there are cushions and plants and knickknacks everywhere. My place is a disaster. There are clothes and shoes and handbags all over the floor. I can barely close the fridge because there is so much food. She even comes into my room to check on me when I’m sleeping.” It wasn’t the creak of the door or the soft tread of slippers on carpet, or even the sliver of light that told him he wasn’t alone. It was her scent—wildflowers and cinnamon and a soft summer breeze.

Tears glittered in his mother’s eyes. “She’s taking care of my boy.”

Jay bristled. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Taking care of people is my job.”

“Not now. Not like this.” His mother patted his hand. “Talk to her, Jay. Or talk to someone. You have the number for the VA clinic. Maybe this is a wake-up call and it’s time you finally got some help.”



* * *



? ? ?

“Jay? Do you want some poison? Taara Auntie came by with some food.” Zara settled on Jay’s couch with her laptop to get some work done. She didn’t expect him to answer. After five days of sleeping on Jay’s couch, their little standoff had become a contest of wills. He wanted her here but he couldn’t admit it. She knew as much because otherwise he would have locked his front door.

“It’s a new fusion dish,” she called out. “It looks like a gray blob with something swimming on top.”

Moments later, the bedroom door slammed open. Jay walked past her to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. She could see his reflection in the TV. He was watching her, just as she was watching him.

“Since it’s Friday, I was planning to watch something on TV after I check my e-mails. Do you want to join me?” She picked up the remote and flicked rapidly through the channels until she came to a baking show.

She heard a humph behind her and kept flipping. Footsteps. A looming presence behind the couch. Military show. Bad idea. Medical drama. Worse. He grunted his disapproval of reality TV, documentaries, and Seinfeld reruns. She stopped at a crime show and he walked around to sit at the far end of the couch. Progress. Ditching the idea of working when he’d finally decided to join her, she closed her laptop and settled back to watch the show.

Two episodes later, he finally spoke. The first words he’d said to her in five days. “Why don’t you leave?”

“Hmmm.” She stroked her chin as if considering. “Let me think. Maybe because your mother was in a serious accident. It triggered your PTSD and you had a full-blown panic attack at the hospital. Your nightmares have gotten worse. You aren’t going to work or the gym and you’re not taking calls from Elias or any of your friends. You aren’t getting any help, and you are all alone. How is that for a start?”

His face smoothed to an expressionless mask. “So, you feel sorry for me.”

“I feel compassion, not pity. And I’m worried about you. I don’t abandon my friends. I’m here for you, Jay. Any way you need me.”

With a huff, he walked back to his bedroom and closed the door.

A few hours later, she woke to Jay’s strong hands lifting her off the couch. He carried her to his room and placed her gently in the bed. Climbing up behind her, he tucked her against his body, his arms wrapped tight around her like he was afraid to let her go.

“I was piloting a helicopter south of Kabul on my last deployment,” he said quietly. “My copilot JD was making plans for all the things he was going to do when we got back home, and we were joking about some girl he said he was going to marry. We were bringing eleven marines as reinforcements to one of the bases. It was a perfect day. Sunny. Clear sky. We were about ten minutes from our landing site. Storm was in the helicopter with us. He was being a goofball, making everybody laugh. The shot came out of nowhere. One second things were all good, and the next we were going down. Controls were shot. JD was just . . . gone. Men were screaming. There was nothing I could do. I watched the ground rush up to meet us, figured I’d die with my men. Instead, I woke up in a field hospital with just a couple of broken bones.” His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know why I didn’t die with the rest of them. I should have died with them. It wasn’t right.”

“It’s no wonder this has been so hard for you.” Zara turned in his arms. “What can I do to help?”

He let out a shuddering breath. “You can go find yourself a guy who’s not all messed up.”