“I haven’t yet. But I’m going to.”

Jacey’s puzzled now. It’s apparent as she looks at me in confusion. “I’m not following you. If you haven’t hurt her yet, then you don’t have to do it.”

Our food arrives and Jacey dives into hers, eating with more gusto than I’ve ever seen a chick eat with.

“You don’t understand,” I finally tell her with a sigh. “I’m fucked up. When you look at me, you see your big brother, same ol’ Gabe. But I’m not that guy anymore. That thing that happened to Brand and me… it seriously fucked me up. Maddy doesn’t deserve someone like me.”

Jacey stops chewing and looks at me. “Why don’t you let Maddy decide that?” she suggests. “Have you told her what happened to you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Jacey tilts her head, examining me. “How bad is it? Seriously, how bad can it be? I know you, Gabe. You’re a good person, through and through. I would never have wanted to set you up with Maddy if you weren’t.”

“But that’s what you don’t get, Jacey,” I answer. “I’m not good through and through anymore. I’m just not.”

“Did you kill someone while you were in the Rangers?” she asks curiously. “Is that it? Because that’s dumbass, Gabe. Obviously you had to know that you would kill someone if you joined the Army and went to Afghanistan.”

I shake my head. “That’s not it. And yes, I’ve killed people.”

“It’s worse than that?” Jacey is incredulous. “Then maybe I don’t want to know.”

I level a gaze at her. “Trust me, you don’t. But I have a problem now and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to get so close to Madison. I really didn’t. I thought we’d hook up a few times and then I’d go back home. But…”

“But you really like her, don’t you?” Jacey asks knowingly. “I told you a long time ago that you were perfect for each other.”

I sigh. “I do like her. And she’s been through a lot already. She doesn’t deserve my shit. But I’m selfish enough to not want to leave just yet either.”

Jacey pushes her plate away and stares at me over it, her arms crossed and a serious expression pasted on her face.

“Gabriel Joseph Vincent. Do you think you don’t deserve something good in your life? Do you think that whatever happened overseas is so bad that you shouldn’t ever be happy again? Because again, that’s dumbass. You deserve happiness more than anyone I know. In fact, you deserve it more. Listen to me. You need to tell Maddy the truth. Just lay it out there. Let her decide for herself if you’re worth it. You owe it to yourself and to her.”

I nod, wiping my mouth and tossing the napkin in the plate.

“OK,” I exhale. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’m definitely right,” she answers. “And for once it feels good to lecture you, instead of you lecturing me.”

I roll my eyes, we pay the check and then walk out to our cars.

“Seriously, bro. She’s worth it. She really is. She’s tough and prickly on the outside, but she’s got a heart of freaking gold.”

I think back to yesterday, to standing in front of that bonfire watching her bad memories burn, and the vulnerable look on her face.

She’s tough and prickly on the outside but she’s fragile as hell on the inside.

And that’s the part of her that I’m afraid of.

“Thanks for the advice, Sis.” I kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll be home later.”

“And if you’re not, don’t worry about it,” she answers. “We haven’t seen Jared in a while. I think he’s done messing with me now.”

“We can hope,” I answer as I climb back into my car. Before I start it up, I send Maddy a text.

Wanna meet me at the pier by your house after you leave work?

It only takes her a few minutes to reply.

Sure. Why?

I answer back, I need to talk.

A split second later she answers. Hmmm. Ok. I’ll see you around 9:30.

I head home and shower, messing around the house for a while, until it’s time to go. I leave a little early and sit on the end of the pier with my legs hanging off, throwing stones until Maddy shows up.

Even if I hadn’t heard her car door slamming in the parking lot, I would feel her presence. She stares a hole between my shoulder blades as she walks down the long pier to meet me. She situates herself next to me, taking a stone from my hand and throwing it. It skips once on the surface of the water, then sinks like the stone that it is.

“So, what’s up?” Maddy asks quietly. From the look on her face, I think she probably thinks that I’m going to end things with her.

“Remember when I told you that I had shit you don’t know?” I ask solemnly, heaving another stone out into the water.

She pretends to think about that. “Yeah, I seem to remember something about that.”

“Well, I decided you should know about it.”

Maddy inhales deeply and stares at me.

“You sure?”

I shake my head. “No. But you were fucking brave yesterday. I’m not pussy enough that I can’t do it too. But you might think I’m a pussy by the time I’m done talking.”

Maddy sticks her chin out and looks me in the eye. “I doubt it, but there’s only one way to find out.”

I take a deep breath, then another. The night air is chilly and fireflies flit around us. For just a second I contemplate changing my mind. But that’s not an option.

Just do it, you fucking pussy.

“OK,” I begin. “You know that I was in Afghanistan with the Rangers. You know that I had to do some shitty things. But there was something, one thing that happened that fucked Brand and me up. It’s why we’re here, in the comfort of air-conditioned homes and eating decent food while our guys are still in the hot-as-hell desert eating MREs.”

Madison stares at me, waiting.

“OK,” she says. “I understand that part. And I know that if it wasn’t something terrible, you wouldn’t be here. I’m ready to hear it. I’m not going to judge you.”

I stare at her in the dark. “I need you to know that it was the worst day of my life. I can’t tell you all of it, but I want you to know what you’re dealing with, OK?”

She stares at me solemnly, nodding.

I inhale, then exhale. My breath sounds ragged in the night but I ignore it. Instead I focus on the words I’m saying, focusing on each one separately so I can get through them all.

“It’s hard to know where to start. Afghanistan was fucking brutal. I guess I can start with that. Hot, sweaty, smelly. Everywhere we went we had to watch over our shoulders. People hated us but pretended they didn’t. It got to be a lot to take. But I could’ve taken it. Forever, if need be, because that was the life I chose. It was what I wanted. But one night something happened that broke me. It completely broke me, Madison.”

I pause, gathering my thoughts, gathering myself before I continue. I can’t even look at Madison’s face. I don’t want to see what she’s thinking.

“One night it was so fucking hot and black, and Brand and I were doing patrols outside of Kabul with our friend Mad Dog. We were leading a four-Humvee convoy, headed to a break-apart point where we would separate into four directions. Right after we separated, a bomb went off. Our Humvee exploded into a million pieces—and it blew Mad Dog apart.”

Madison sucks in her breath, silently waiting for more. I swallow.

“He was a good guy, Maddy. A real good guy. He had a wife and a little baby back home. He got his name from drinking too much cheap ass Mad Dog and he never lost at poker. Ever. He was a good friend. And I repaid him for that by making a decision that blew him into a million fucking pieces.”

I stare at the water now as I pause to collect myself. Because all I can see in my head is the memory of his intestines piled outside his body in a pool of blood that looked black in the night.

All I can see in my head is everything else, everything I can’t tell Madison about. The rest of the story.

Maddy breathes in, then out, and I can see that what I’ve told her is enough.

“I’m so sorry, Gabriel. Oh my God. It’s just so horrible. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. You can’t blame yourself, though. There’s no way that was your fault.”

I look at her and her gorgeous face is drawn, tightened up in horror.

“That’s just it. I made a mistake. That’s what happened that night. And when I came home, I went to Mad Dog’s funeral. When I tried to hand his wife the flag that covered his coffin, she looked me in the eye and said, ‘It should’ve been you.’ Because it should’ve been. She knew the truth.”

She knew all the things that I can’t tell Maddy.

She knew what really happened. She’d read the army’s incident report, the black-and-white words that couldn’t possibly explain the incident.

Heat flares up in my throat, threatening to close it. I swallow, then swallow again as I try to relax, to breathe.

Just breathe, motherfucker.

Maddy wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me tight, her breath soft on my neck.

“You can’t believe that,” she tells me softly, her lips grazing my ear. “You can’t believe that. You’re strong and good, Gabriel. It was a horrible accident. You didn’t cause it.”

I look at her again, a lump in my throat.

“I did cause it,” I tell her. “You don’t need to know how. What you need to know, though, is that I came home fucked up. The past doesn’t stay in the past, Maddy. I came home with PTSD and I can’t fix myself. I’m not normal anymore. And I don’t think you should be with someone like me.”

Maddy looks at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, filled with sympathy for me. I should hate that, but I’m so fucking glad not to see judgment in them that I don’t. I’m so fucking glad not to see that she thinks I’m weak. Or pathetic. Or all the other things that go through my own mind.

“No, you’re not normal,” she tells me firmly. “You’re good and strong and brave. You put your life on the line every day for people like me, so that we can sleep safely at night. You did unimaginable things, Gabe. For people like me. Trust me, I want to be with someone like you,” she tells me. “So don’t even try that shit with me.”

Then her eyes widen.

“That night in Chicago. You were having flashbacks, weren’t you?”

I nod, not looking at her. “It happens at fucked-up random times. I can’t control it and that’s the most fucked-up part. It gives me a weakness.”

Maddy looks at me. “And you can’t have a weakness? Even Achilles had a bad heel.”

I roll my eyes. “If I remember right, Achilles died because of his heel.”

“True,” she acknowledges. “Gabe, you’re not weak. I’m so sorry that any of this happened to you. You didn’t deserve that. And I hate that you think you have to hide it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve heard that lots of soldiers come home with PTSD. Even the biggest and strongest like you.”