“I can handle this on my own.”

“The last time you needed me, you pushed me away. I went because I was a mess, too, and I didn’t know what else to do. But this time, I do know. I’m not going anywhere. Lie back.”

When he didn’t answer, I got up, circled the bed and stood over him, hands on hips. “I’m going to channel Arlie Gracey. Please don’t make me.”

He lay back, and I perched on the edge and began to peel off the layers protecting his leg. When I was finally down to bare skin, I took a long look. Then I trailed my fingers over it.

He sat up and tried to push me away.

“Uh-uh-uh.” I grabbed his hands.

“What am I going to do with you, Ryan?”

“I have an excellent idea for exactly what you’re going to do when you’re feeling better. So, let’s hurry that along. Will it help if I massage your leg? Get ice? Do a little naked dance to take your mind off the leg-that-went-away?”

He almost smiled.

“I’m going to try something. I want you to relax and listen to my voice. Can you give me one chance?”

He was fast losing the strength to argue. His face was pale and scrunched in pain, and his expression said he would try anything if I would leave him alone afterward.

I hoped a piece of the truth would help us both. “I had terrible screaming nightmares after, well, you know. That’s the most common symptom of PTSD.”

“I didn’t know.”

“I was in therapy for a while. Actually quite a while. Did you know that men and women experience trauma differently? Not always, but often enough. Men get angry. And women? We just go dead inside.” I stopped chattering and let that sink in. It described what had happened to both of us so well, and the way it had worked against our relationship.

“I was furious,” he said, which surprised me. “Sometimes I still am.”

“I was trying to be strong for you, but I was a wet sponge. And at night? I’d go to sleep and see Quayle coming toward me with that...that look on his face.” I shook my head to make it go away. “Anyway, my therapist taught me to change parts of the nightmare, and eventually it worked. I got to the point where when the Evil One appeared, he would be wearing a dunce cap, or a silly mustache. And that would break the spell. I’d wake up, and even if I wasn’t smiling, at least I wasn’t screaming.”

He grasped my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s see if a little visualization can help you relax, okay, and maybe soothe your leg? Will you try it?”

“Can I imagine you in a dunce cap?”

I was glad he could joke. “May I try?”

“Will it get you off my case?”

“It’s possible.”

He closed his eyes, and I took that as a good sign.