But the nightmare is still there, still troubling him, and I wish I could do something to soothe him or make him feel better. I know I can’t. I know soft words from a girlfriend aren’t going to erase the horrors of war that his mind relives, and that’s hard for me to accept.

“Stay with me. Shotgun. Come on. Don’t you fucking die on me.” He groans and kicks his feet around. Normally he settles down after an outburst, but this time he continues to be agitated. A tear slides down his cheek. He gurgles, like he’s drowning. He thrashes his head from side to side.

I watch him for what feels like an eternity and can’t take it any longer. I do the only thing I know to do. I squeeze my ass onto the couch beside him and gently rub my hands up and down his chest so as not to startle him.

It’s something that first my mom and then Dekker used to do to me when I was a little girl and struggling with a nightmare.

Gunner startles awake, disoriented with wide eyes and his chest heaving, ready to fight against me as if I were the enemy.

“Are you okay?” he asks me when he catches his breath and orients himself.

“Mm-hmm,” I say quietly, as I stay where I’m seated but lay my chest on top of his so I can slide my arms around him. It takes him a second before he accepts the silent comfort and compassion and wraps his arms around me in turn.

We lie like this for some time. With his chin on the crown of my head and my head on his chest, with the strong staccato of his heart against my ear.

“I don’t sleep well most nights,” he murmurs after a bit, finally breaking the silence.

“Understandably.”

“I have to work myself to the point of utter exhaustion before I crash or else the nightmares come.”

I’m the furthest thing from a psychologist, but the one thing I can imagine is that most nights Gunner feels completely out of control against his memories. It’s an assumption—maybe it’s even something I read in the Military Life magazine in my hotel room—but it’s enough to make me want him to feel in control of this conversation at least.

It’s not much but it’s the best I can do.

“I’m here if you want to talk about the nightmare. I’m here if you don’t want to talk about it.” I press a kiss to his chest. “I’m just here, is all.”