“The answer is no,” I tell him, gathering myself. “You should have thought of rooms before you brought us all out here. I’m not staying with her.”

“Just a second, sir,” Vincent says politely, obviously trying to soften his hard look.

He throws a heavy arm over my shoulders, pulling me into a private corner of the hotel lobby. “What’s wrong with you? There are two goddamn beds. Grow a pair. You obviously want to get with her. And she wants you, too. You should be fuckin’ cheering right now that you have to share a room.”

I should tell him that Lauren and I were just together in Vegas, but if I did, he might ask about the shooting. Lauren told Eve not to tell him, but Eve and Vincent are crazy tight. Maybe she did?

I froze when the shots started. Can’t even remember how I got us out of the club.

I’m not in denial about my issues; I know there’s a screw loose in my head. But I won’t seek professional help because I know that, with time, I’ll fix this on my own. I don’t need someone psychoanalyzing me. Someone who doesn’t even know me and has no idea about what I went through overseas. I can handle this myself. Vincent knowing what happened would earn me a one-way ticket to the VA hospital. But having a girl like Lauren sharing a bedroom with me? Also, a bad idea. The question is, which bad idea is the better one?

I straighten my shoulders. “We already hooked up at your wedding,” I reply easily, knowing that I need to give some truth to shut him up. Vincent is the kind of man who reads people easily. A lie won’t cut it.

“Yeah, so what? Even better.” He looks at me like he doesn’t understand what the problem is.

“She’s into me. And I don’t want to give her any ideas.” I maintain direct eye contact.

“Lauren’s an adult. Keep it in the pants or don’t. Just don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. I know she looks flighty ’cause she’s cute and into fashion, but she isn’t. She used to help Eve on huge cases. She’s sharp as a whip and really intelligent. She’s not some clingy moron.”

I look back at Lauren as she adjusts her white sweater. It falls over one shoulder, showcasing the smooth line of her collarbone. Vincent isn’t telling me anything I don’t know.

“There are two beds,” he continues. “It’s just a few nights. Not a big deal.” Placing his hands on his hips, he waits for an answer.

Vincent would be right if he were talking to a normal guy who didn’t medicate to control dark memories. I need to weigh the shitshow that would go down if he put the pieces together about Vegas versus having her and me share a room.

My job would be in flux if he figured out what I’d been dealing with—or worse, he’d throw me into therapy or rehab. On the other hand, Lauren could witness a night terror and be in harm. Then again, there are two beds in the room, so she wouldn’t be directly next to me. And, with my meds combined with a good amount of liquor, I’d be able to conk myself out well enough to keep her safe. I try not to mix drugs too often, but it’s okay. I’ll do it. Staying with Lauren is my best bet at keeping the image of myself steady.