Most PTSD treatments involved sensory or mental exposure to the seed trauma. Caden hadn’t landed on exactly what he needed to be exposed to, and I’d thought whatever Ronin was working on would let us circumvent the trauma that either didn’t exist or that Caden wouldn’t admit to.

  That was down the shitter obviously, as was any help from Ronin.

  But we had this. I was sure of it.

  I rinsed out the glass and went through the living room to the staircase. Caden’s jacket was piled on the floor. I picked it up by the collar and shook it out. An envelope came out partway.

  The army seal was in the corner.

  Probably a pension notice or something. I hung up his coat and took the letter to the second floor, where he kept his office. I didn’t turn on the light. I knew what was there. Bookshelves with thick medical texts. A glass-topped desk with a computer. A phone. A leather chair in the corner.

  I was about to leave the envelope on his desk, where he’d see it, when something I’d noticed before jabbed at me. There was no sending address or stamp.

  Why would that be?

  If the army had sent him something, it would be via mail, with a canceled stamp and a sealed flap. This flap wasn’t sealed. The only way he’d get an open, unmarked envelope from the US Army was if he met with… who? Where?

  Why?

  I couldn’t even imagine.

  Prying into my husband’s life wasn’t a habit, but I wasn’t snooping to see if he was cheating on me or spending money he shouldn’t. I expected garbage. A fundraising flyer or a mentor request.

  My expectations were lies I told myself to cover for the fact that I had no business opening that envelope or sliding out the paper. Leaning into the window to catch the light from the streetlamps, I opened the single page. It stretched like arms folded in anger slowly unbending for an embrace.

  I read it once.

  Then again, clutching the thin cotton of my shirt. I twisted it as if my heart was in my fist and by God, I was going to wring it dry before it killed me.

  “Honey?” He was at the office door in his pajama bottoms, framed in the molding around the opening. Dark behind him. Lit with the barest window light.

  He was a god and a saint. He lined my soul, and as I stood there with my shirt twisted in my fist, he was…

  I held out the letter.

  …the heart I wanted to wring dry.

  “Greyson?”

  “No,” I said, not denying my name but his. His name did not belong on that paper. “This is a mistake.”

  Caden came into the room with his hand out for the letter, brows knotted with curiosity and concern. He didn’t know what it was.

  Hope kept the tears at bay. Hope was the only cure for disappointment—if it didn’t kill you first. Hope stuck harder and took a piece of you when it was ripped away.

  He opened the letter for the briefest moment then folded it again.

  “It’s a mistake,” I said.

  “Let me explain.”

  No. No-no-no. Hope ripped away, leaving pieces of itself behind. I was made of spit and tears, but I held on to them. “It’s a mistake, Caden!”

  “It’s not. I mean, it may be, but—”

  “It’s not?”

  Hope was a fish hook, barbed to leave a jagged hole when removed.

  “It’s just the reserves.”

  “Just? You fuck.” I punched his shoulders with both fists. He didn’t fall. He needed to fall so hard he’d break time. Then we could go back ten minutes, before I knew. Back a day, before the letter existed. A decade, before the war. “You fucking fuck. How could you do this?”

  He held up both hands. “Just take it easy.”

  I snatched the letter from him and tore it up. “I do not accept this.” I threw the pieces at him. “I love you. You are my life, you fucking shit.” I punched his chest and he did not defend himself. “I break for you. Do you understand? I break every damned day and you do this? Why? You think getting away from me is going to cure you?”

  “It’s not that.” He grabbed my arms before I could punch him again.

  “What then?” I tried to yank away, but he wouldn’t let me.

  “The treatment. The experimental protocol. I need to be in the system or I don’t qualify.”

  I buckled. I couldn’t hold myself up. The floor was despair and I needed to melt into it, flatten myself against it like spilled water, spread and evaporate. Only his hands kept me upright, saving me and killing me with equal force.

  “It’s IRR. I don’t have to do anything. They’ll keep me off active duty. Please. Listen—”

  “You’re going to get called. Do you understand, you stupid, stupid man? They’re going to call you back.”

  I tried to get away, but he held me harder. “They’re not. Greyson. Listen to me. They’re not calling me.”

  “You’re going to get stop-lossed. They’re going to deploy you, send you away, and I swear, Caden, you’re not a soldier. You’re not meant for it. They’re going to send you back broken.” My anger melted in its own heat, dripping away in thick tears.

  That time he’d gone off-base with a medevac. He’d been so brave and strong inside the hospital walls, and it all fell apart on the front lines. He returned covered in blood, unable to function or process what he’d seen. He wasn’t the same after that. His arrogance lost its edge after one time on the front lines. What if he was sent out again? How could he so blithely assume he’d survive it? “Why? Why did you do this?”

  “I have to. I can’t let you keep taking the brunt of my sickness. It’s hurting you. I’m hurting you. Grey, I’m…” His face tightened as if he held back his own tears. “I’m afraid I’m going to kill you.”

  He barely got the last word out before breaking. He let my arms go, and I held him. We bent together, falling as if we’d been detonated, limbs wrapped together like a smoking pile of twisted metal beams, weeping for the end of the life we’d tried to live.

  Chapter Eight

  GREYSON

  I sat on the stone wall on Central Park South and picked the pickles off my sandwich, eating them one by one. They got less and less shockingly sour with every bite.

  The sidewalk was packed with the lunch crowd, and more than once, I had to chase someone away from the spot next to me. A jackhammer pounded the street somewhere. No matter what street I was on, there was always a jackhammer going in New York, as if the city had to remind you not to get too comfortable.

  Ronin appeared with a cup of coffee, and I moved my bag so he could sit next to me.

  “Afternoon, Major One More.”

  “Afternoon, Lieutenant Shithead.”

  “I had the feeling this was the kind of conversation I was in for.”

  “What you did was fucked up.”

  I watched a gaggle of tourists wrestle with a map. A businesswoman dug in her bag to pay for a knish. Two guys in suits walked as if they were racing somewhere and talking as if they were on the verge of ending poverty.

  “I assume you’re talking about Caden going into the reserves,” he said.

  “I can’t even look at you.”

  “He’s a grown man.”

  “He thinks you can keep him from getting called.”

  “How do you know I can’t?”

  I let out a derisive laugh. He’d always had a high opinion of his position.

  “This war’s messy,” I said. “It’s never going to end. Every week, it’s clearer we’re in a quagmire. You know it because your company is invested in keeping it going. War ends, money dries up.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Maybe not for you. For the suits on the top floor? For the lobbyists? That’s how it works. And now my husband is on the army’s radar. If there’s pressure to send him back, you’ll buckle. Your company will buckle. And if he goes back…” I took a deep breath and finally looked at Ronin. “If he goes back and he doesn’t die, he’ll be dead anyway. In his mind, he’ll be someone else. I’m not ready to lose him. I’m not ready for my mind to die.”

  “Okay, let’s do this.” He put his coffee on the seat and pivoted to face me. “I’m going to tell you things you should have seen already.”

  “Don’t try to tell me how much pull you have.”

  “I don’t have the pull to keep your husband safe because he wants it. I have pull because he’s valuable. He has the complete table of criteria for this treatment. He’s educated, verbal, aware. If we nail this, it’s going to treat PTSD on the field in real time.”

  “So you can send them back out.”

  “So we can send them back out. Imagine that though? Healthy men. Stable men. Fighting like they’re trained to do. It would crack the recruitment problem wide open.”

  “How do I know he’s not going to be the first guy you cure and send out?”

  “Because he’s not the only one. We have test subjects from all over who are better suited to going back to the front lines.”

  I sighed and turned back to the street. A plume of smoke wafted up from Sixth Avenue. Jackhammer debris. Was it possible to enjoy living in a city when it pounded your soul into compliance?

  “I don’t trust you,” I said.

  “He does.”

  “He barely knows you.”

  “Do you know him?”

  I snapped back toward him. The years had rubbed away so much of Ronin’s handsomeness, leaving behind a face that was a little more than good-looking, a little less than readable. When Caden stuffed his emotions away, he hid behind a mask of stone. Ronin’s mask was made of intensity and enthusiasm.

  “Maybe not,” I said.

  “You don’t have to trust me, but you should. I’ve told you more than I’m supposed to.”

  “I love him, Ronin. He’s my life, and seeing him like this… it hurts me more than you can imagine. If I could put myself in his place, I would.”

  “My guess is seeing you suffer would hurt him just as much.”

  “I can handle it better.”

  “Don’t sell him short.” He stood and leaned down to pick up his cup. “He can handle more than you think.” When he was straight again, he saluted with his cup-hand, two fingers to his forehead. “Later, Major.”

  “Fuck you, Lieutenant.”

  Chapter Nine

  CADEN

  The Blackthorne tech was a young Hispanic woman in a white coat, the picture of seriousness and detachment. She flicked the end of the syringe.

  “Right arm,” she said.

  “What are you giving me?” I rolled up my sleeve.

  “B vitamins.” She gave me the shot with painful precision. I felt as if I was in the army again.

  “Ventrogluteal’s safer.”

  “I’ll mention it to management.” She collected her tray and left.

  They put me in the same black room I tested in, which was comforting in a way. But the slide choices and the clickers were absent. In its place were a comfortable chair, a table with a soft lamp, and a bottle of water.

  “Caden?” a voice came over the speaker.

  “Good morning, Ronin.”

  “I just came by to say it’s great to have you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Lee reviewed how you do it, right?”

  “In-out, in-out. Been doing it my whole life.”

  “The pacing is important,” he said. “And the depth of the breath.”

  “This isn’t meditation, is it?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Because I don’t have time for woo-woo bullshit, okay?”

  “This is not woo-woo bullshit.”

  “All right then.” I grasped the arms of the chair and the lamp dimmed.

  Ronin was replaced by a woman’s recorded voice. She repeated the same two syllables over and over.

  Soo-hoo.

  “This is ridiculous,” I grumbled.

  Soo-hoo.

  “She’s like a mating bird.”

  The speaker clicked on, and another voice came over the cooing woman. “Just try to relax.”

  Fine.

  I would relax.

  For Greyson.

  I could do this for Greyson twice a week. I’d given up too much to be in that room, and half a self-conscious effort wouldn’t reward my sacrifice or hers.

  Soo-hoo.

  I breathed in at soo and out at hoo, starting over without holding either inhale or exhale.

  Soo-hoo.

  The voice faded into the hiss of my breath, folding like a map into my consciousness.

  Soo-hoo. Soo-hoo. Soo-hoo.

  Something inside me trembled.

  And shook.

  And tried to break but couldn’t.

  On the fourth session, I came to a terrifying well of despair, but the tape stopped and the light went bright before I touched it.

  It always did.

  Chapter Ten

  GREYSON - LATE FEBRUARY, 2007

  “Thank you for meeting me,” Tina said as she sat down behind the shiny conference table.

  Outside, the western sky dimmed into a burning rust color. Dots of headlights crawled along Fifth Avenue, and the green of the park turned gray.

  When we shook hands, my sleeve hiked up. Caden had tied me up three days before, and the bruises had just faded down to yellow.

  Like a teacher who called on you for the one answer you didn’t know, Tina’s eyes fell on the discoloration inside my arm, safely an inch below the wrist. She couldn’t know the pains he’d taken to make sure he didn’t pinch the nerve. Nor could she know the most pleasurable pain didn’t come from the ties.

  “I had a cancellation, so it worked out,” I said, ignoring the question in her eyes.

  “The board’s pretty interested in this.”

  “It’s hot in here.” She took off her jacket. “Do you want some water?”

  “I’m good.” I opened the folder and handed her a copy of the proposal with my inner wrist facing the table. “I put in your revisions. I think it’s ready for the board.”

  She nodded and scanned the pages. “I think so too.”

  “Hey.” I had my phone pressed to my ear as I walked down an empty stairway. The walls were bright white with black scuffs. I’d waited at the elevator, but I had too much energy. I didn’t wait for Caden to greet me. “I just met Tina. She loved it. And I mean loved with a capital L and a heart for an O. She wants me to present it to the board and tell her what kind of position I want!”

  Full time? Advisory? Did I want to stay in private practice? Any kind of hybrid? The options were overwhelming and thrilling. So many doors had opened, I couldn’t count them.

  “That’s wonderful,” he replied.

  I slowed my run. He had been his one true self when he’d kissed me good-bye in the morning. But he wasn’t now. It was creeping back. No one would notice but me. He sounded so close to normal, maybe a little tired, but he was in the beginning of Damon’s cycle.

  I stopped on a landing. There was going to be a course correction. “Where are you?”

  “In my office. I just got out of the OR.”

  “What floor is that on?”

  “Where are you, Major?”

  “Between seven and eight. On the stairs.”

  “Meet me on six.”

  I hung up. My heels clattered and echoed off the metal steps and stark walls.

  The door to the sixth floor slapped open, and he was there. Clean-shaven for cutting day. Collar open to the edges of the hair on his chest. Thick watch setting the boundary for the precision of his hands. Eyes of cold, dark sapphire that would get darker and colder very soon.

  He reached out as I came to the last step and kissed me. Possessed me. Devoured me. I had so much to say, but I was consumed in that kiss.

  “It’s working,” I said when I could breathe. “You’re holding.”

  “I know. I know. We were down to eighteen hours. Now it’s three days.”

  “Three whole days.”

  He squeezed me so hard I left the floor and only let go enough to kiss me again. “I just want a minute to kiss you like this. Taste you before I get taken over.”

  I forgot about the sleeves and the bruises. About the meeting with Tina and what she’d offered at the end.

  He was in there with me, kissing my mouth and my neck like a starving man. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.

  He put hands on both sides of my face and yanked himself away.

  “I love you,” he said through his teeth as if carving it in his mind.

  “Three days.”

  “Then five. Then a week.” I hooked my hands at his elbows and touched his forehead with mine. “I never thought I’d be grateful to Ronin for anything in my life.”

  “It’s changing fast though.”

  “Tonight then.” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “When this is all over—” He kissed my lips, flicking his tongue inside them. “When I’m normal again, I’m not going to stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  He kissed my face between every act. “Tying you down. Spanking you. Hurting you. Pushing you. Owning you. Marking you.”

  “Deal.” I pushed him away, and his face darkened as if the change was coming in with a tide.

  “Be naked when I get home.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he said over the phone as I paced the living room. “Are you naked?”

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “I’m going to destroy you whether you’re ready or not.”

  He hung up.

  My plan was to get destroyed, then before he went cold again, we would talk about my options with the hospital and my practice. I couldn’t figure out how to manage the time. Many doctors melded the two; I didn’t know how. The normal Caden would know what to do. The man who was coming home was a trusted keeper of my body and my orgasms, but my career was off-limits.

  Passing the mirror by the front door, I stopped. My hair draped over my shoulders like a veil. I pulled it into a twist and over one shoulder.