“That’s the point. You’ll never get it, Hattie, not really. And I thank fuck for that. They won’t either.”

She fell silent.

He spoke into it.

“I went to a show of his. I was in a mood. In a mood to support a fellow vet, because that piece cost a fuckin’ fortune. And in the mood to be confronted with that reality in my living room.”

“Axl—”

Christ, he’d started.

Now it didn’t seem like he could stop.

“The flag on my dresser came from his casket. He was a foster kid. He had no one else for them to give it to. No one but me. He fought hard not to get caught up in bad shit growing up. And part of that fight was to enlist and have a job that was good and right and far from all that in a way, even when he was out, he could go to school and stay away from it forever. He didn’t get that shot.”

She was rhythmically squeezing his thigh now.

But when he was done, she said, “Maybe we should talk about this when we have time and you’re not driving.”

“I don’t talk about it.”

“What?” she whispered, and there was a thread to it, worry, maybe even fear.

“To the guys…yeah.” That was a grunt. “To you, this is all there’s gonna be.”

“Honey—”

“That’s what it looked like, except in the middle of it, flying apart, there was a big Black man that had a huge smile, a sense of humor so wicked good, he could have been a standup comedian, and he was such a solid guy to his core, he never had anyone give it to him his entire life, but his sense of loyalty was second to none. That piece is what a land mine looks like when it’s triggered. Exactly.”

She didn’t say anything.

And he knew why.

“So that, Hattie, is why we won’t talk about it. Because now you have some small sense of how hideous and destructive it is, and outside this, I’m not gonna lay that on you.”

She slid her hand from his thigh.

He glanced at her.

Maybe for the first time since he met her, he couldn’t read her face, and it wasn’t because it was in profile.

And he did not like that at all.

“Babe, it’s too much. If I need to, I talk to the guys. If they need to, they talk to me. That doesn’t touch you.”

“What was his name?”

“Jordan.”

“First or last?”

“First. Full name Jordan Bridges.”

Then…nothing.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he muttered. “You got a shower to have fun at and—”

“I’m shy, and there are things about me that are messed up, but I’m not weak,” she declared.