“My career lasted two decades, and I ended my career as a captain, but before that, I was part of the SAS and, yes, I did go undercover at one point. It was the hardest assignment I was tasked with, and even though I completed my objective, got the result we wanted, I didn’t feel any satisfaction. Stabbing someone in the back who trusts you, who you like even when you know you shouldn’t, it messes with your head.”

“How did you cope with it?”

“I focused on the end result, told myself that they were evil. Repeated it over and over in my head, ‘it will all be worth it.’”

“And was it?”

“On paper, yes,” Captain said, then he tapped his temple. “But in here, no. I justify my actions with my head, but my heart still punishes me, and then I punish my head with alcohol. One vicious cycle.”

“That’s rough.” Rory mumbled.

“It is what it is. Others coped better than I did under those situations, hence I left the SAS.”

“How did they cope?”

“They had people back home, wives, husbands. Whatever they did, they knew the people closest to them wouldn’t think badly of them, look at them differently, and I think that knowledge and support helps.”

Rory thought of Erica, and his lips lifted into a small smile. He knew he’d leave the prison a mess, but if anyone could piece him back together again, make him feel less of an asshole, it was her.

“I’m sorry you didn’t have that.”

“Don’t be.”

“And I’m sorry the therapist didn’t want to see you.”

Captain shook his head. “I didn’t even want to see him for the therapy, I wanted to apologize. Show him I wasn’t that angry person, or at least I’m not him all the time.”

“Maybe you still can.”

“How? He won’t see me.”

“You could write him a letter?”

Captain’s frown deepened, then he smiled softly. “You know what, that’s not a bad idea. Thank you.”

Rory put the boot down and brushed his hands together. “Glad I could help.”

“When I’m feeling better, I could help you in the gym again.”

“That sounds good.”

****

Ollie cleared his throat and placed his hands on his hips. “You didn’t come to art…”

“What are you, the art police?”

“You’ll come next week though, right?”

Rory nodded, and Ollie dropped in the seat beside him.

“Good. We’re doing papier-mâché masks.”

“Maybe after that we’ll do macaroni pictures.”

“Screw you.” Ollie snorted.

He glanced around, then shuffled nearer to Rory. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s up with Sebastian?”

Rory gulped, then shrugged. “No idea, he’s not told me.”

“He’s gone from smiling and all over you, to miserable and distant in the flick of a switch.”