PTSD—shit, he wouldn’t have put that together with rape and beatings, but it made sense. Fuck knew he’d had problems from his father pounding on him. Like when the sarge’d raise his hand to point at something, and Hawk would duck. “I had that. As a kid. Then after combat. Nightmares. Flashbacks.”

“A flashback is pretty much what I had that day.” She bit her lip for a second. “I’ve been practicing hugs to get past it.”

“Practicing?”

Her cheeks turned an appealing pink. “In case I had a chance for a do-over.” Her gaze dropped. “Although, I didn’t think that would happen.”

Think what would happen? That she’d get a chance to hug him?

Far be it from him to deny this woman anything she wanted. He stepped forward…and pulled up, stalling out.

Way to be a dumbass all over again. “Do-overs are good,” he said as gently as he could manage with his shit voice.

When she looked up at him, he opened his arms wide—and held very still.

The next move needed to be hers.

Her breathing stopped. Then she stepped forward and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He stayed perfectly still even as he savored the feeling of her body against his and her slender arms around him. Her scent drifted up, a heady mix of lavender and vanilla.

“Both of us are supposed to hug,” she said in a small grumpy voice. She gripped his wrists and put them behind her back before resuming her hug.

All right then. Carefully, he hugged her, and with a sigh, she relaxed.

Snuggled.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His voice sounded like someone had grated his vocal cords.

Her breathing hitched. “Me too.” With a low sob, she started to shake, and then she cried.

Appalled, shaken, he held her, even as contentment welled up inside—because she trusted him with her feelings.

The entire time, her hold on him didn’t relax an iota.

Chapter Eighteen

When things get out of control and everyone around you is screaming and losing their minds, look for the quiet one and stick to him. He’s fixing to cut fence and sort some bastards out. ~ Unknown

Fog drifted through the forest like ghosts of time past.

Leaning against a tree the next morning, Caz studied his brother with the skill of a medic—and the experience of his own soul-deep wounds.

Last night, he’d visited Hawk to check the stitches, both of them knowing he was really there in case his brother needed to talk.

He hadn’t but was in good spirits. Having seen Hawk emerge from Mako’s house, Caz had an idea of why…and heartily approved.