Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(50)
“My gosh, Kels. Did Alex color code everything in here or what?” Zack asked gently.
She took a minute to blow her nose. “Kind of. He... he always wanted everything to be ready... just in case he, umm, had to leave suddenly.”
Gabe smoothed his hand over the cuff of an expensive suit jacket hanging overhead. “Very nice. Your man knew how to dress.”
“That’s cashmere,” Zack agreed quietly. “No wonder the boss always looked sharp. Did you help him shop?”
“Ah, huh. He and I... He...” She couldn’t finish, the tissue shredded at her fingertips.
“You can feel him in here, can’t you?” Gabe asked.
Kelsey nodded. When she leaned into his bicep, he pulled her into a hug. They rocked back and forth together like two little kids, and he was glad the closet was dark. She needed someone to hold onto. She was lost right now, that was all. And he was her protector—one of many, judging by the looks on Zack and Nurse Sullivan’s faces.
Hell, if The TEAM had been there, every last one of them would’ve been crowded inside that closet with him. And they’d all be bawling and trying to act tough while they did it. Like him. He sneaked a hand across his face.
“It’s like... it’s like I’m on a roller coaster,” she whined, the T-shirt retrieved once more and held snug against her cheek and nose. “One minute I’m... I’m doing okay, and the next minute, I’m falling and... and I can’t catch onto anything. I can’t stop myself. I just... keep... falling.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Gabe pulled her close again, his voice tight. “You hang onto me and old man Lennox. We’ll keep you from falling, but if you do, we’ll keep picking you back up. Promise.”
She nodded, but sucked in another trembling breath. “And it’s hard to breathe, you know? Sometimes I can’t get any air. My lungs squeeze shut as if they don’t want to work without him anymore, either.”
“Stress,” Zack said matter-of-factly. “A lot of guys hyperventilate in times of stress.”
“Like war zones,” Gabe added. “It’s a traumatic stress indicator. Believe me, I know.”
“PTSD?” Kelsey asked quietly. “You, too?”
“No, not really, but, yeah. Maybe a little,” Gabe admitted in a round-about way. PTSD was one of those monikers that could stick with a guy. He’d avoided the label until now, but if it helped Kelsey, he was fine using it. “It still sneaks up on me sometimes, so if you ever see me on my back gasping for air like a fish outta water—”
“Smack him,” Zack finished jokingly.
“Yeah,” Gabe agreed, determined to downplay his panic attacks. Kelsey had real problems. She didn’t need to worry about him. “Throw cold water on me. Pound me. That usually works.”
“It’s amazing how fast he snaps out of it when I thump him in the solar plexus,” Zack teased.
“I’d never hit you, Gabe,” Kelsey whispered.
“I know. You’re a lady, but Zack’s a guy. That’s just what dumb jocks do to each other. I sure as hell wouldn’t want him hugging me, would you?”
Zack huffed. “No way I’m hugging a guy, but I’ll hug Kelsey any damned time she wants. Can I get you a glass of water, honey? Maybe a cup of tea?”
“Water would be nice,” Gabe answered. “I am kinda thirsty.”
“Not you. You’re no honey of mine. Hell, Gabe. Get your sorry butt out of there and get your own damned water. I meant her. I’m here for Kelsey, not you.”
The friendly sparring match broke the spell. Kelsey let Gabe pull her up from the floor and in no time at all, they were back at her kitchen table. Zack must’ve brought Whisper and Smoke inside with him when he’d gone looking for Kelsey. They were sprawled across the kitchen floor, two shaggy fur rugs he had to step over on his way to get the coffee, cream, and sugar.
Instead of joining them in the kitchen, Nurse Sullivan opted to sit in the front room, a magazine in her hand.
“Hey, Shelby. Come have a cup of coffee,” Gabe offered, finally using her first name instead of the stuffy title she’d insisted on. This could be their first, no-kidding family-type meal together. Kelsey might enjoy that.
“No. I don’t drink coffee.” Shelby shot a disparaging look to the dogs, so Gabe let it go. Fine. Whatever. Dog germs. I get it. He focused on Kelsey.
“Harley has PTSD, too,” she murmured.
“Yes, ma’am, he does. Mine’s not that bad,” Gabe agreed. “His version’s more debilitating when it kicks in. I just get anxiety attacks, but not as often as I used to. Loud noises trigger mine, and, bam. I’m back in the sandbox.”
Zack poured three cups of coffee and set them on the table. “It’s different for all of us, Kels.”
“Does everyone who goes into combat get it?” Kelsey asked.
“Some do, but you don’t have to be in combat to get it. I still hate fireworks,” he replied as he placed the coffee carafe back on the coffeemaker. “The girls love ’em, but I don’t.”
“What do you do on the Fourth of July then?”
“I light them like any other daddy on the black. Can’t spoil the day for LiLi, Song, or Miki just because I’m jumpy, but I don’t buy the noisy kind. Not anymore. Had enough of the real ones.”