“Why not? If you’re feeling…” better? happier? safer? How did you talk to someone who’d seen what Sean had seen? How did you put a positive spin on PTSD?

“I want to ask her to set a date,” Sean began. Then his coherence level subsided and he appeared to be talking to no one at all. He pushed his hands in his long blond surfer-style hair and gripped it hard. “I’ve done it so many times over the last few months, and every time she just smiles at me and says that there is no rush. And she’ll probably say no, but you were held prisoner, and you might have some idea of what I went through and why I lost it so spectacularly and why I never wanted to really commit before. She used to suggest a date, and I would always have an excuse because I was scared and I thought who the hell would want someone as damaged as I am? When I realized what I was doing, it was too late and she keeps saying no.”

As Sean paced, Riley could see the agitation building by the way his pacing was jerky and slightly uncoordinated. When he managed to knock his ankle on the cupboards for the third time, Riley stumbled to stand in his way, cursing as pain shot through his ankle, and stopped Sean’s walking with a hand to his chest.

“Sean? Are you okay?” he asked carefully.

There was panic in Sean’s eyes and wariness in the way he held himself. He looked pale and scared, and Riley didn’t know what the hell to do.

“Shit,” Sean cursed. “Fuck.”

“Sit down,” Riley ordered. At first Riley thought Sean would say no, but finally he sat back down, which left Riley able to go to the good room and pull out Jack’s whiskey and two cut-glass tumblers. Sean seemed to need a drink, and the feeling was obviously catching. He poured two fingers in each and placed the whole lot on the table between them. As an afterthought, he grabbed chips from the cupboard. Jack would kill him for mixing chips with ten-year-old whiskey, but hell, Sean looked like a stiff wind would knock him over at the moment.

Sean swallowed a healthy amount of the amber liquid, then sipped a few more times, grimacing at the burn. Riley waited for a few moments before tasting his own drink.

“You want to start from the beginning?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Sean shuffled in his chair. “I know it looks like I don’t have any idea what the fuck I’m doing…” He trailed off and looked expectantly at Riley for a response.

“Yeah,” Riley said. He realized it was lame, but he really had no clue what else to say. Not for the first time, he wished Jack was here.

Sean sighed heavily, and Riley knew he’d said the wrong thing.

Pulling himself upright, Sean continued firmly. “The way I see it, after last year, you and I? We came to an understanding. You said you were good with me being with Eden, and I’ve been seeing someone about my PTSD, and I wrote the book.” He tapped the bound papers. “It’s all about PTSD and horses, about therapies, and how I managed to work my way through a lot of my—” He paused and swallowed. “—issues. With Eden I’m in a good place, and we have something real. Jack talked to me, did you know that?”

Riley was thrown at the abrupt change in direction of conversation. “Jack? What about?”

“He said I may want to consider spending some time at the therapy center working with the horses and the kids.”

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t answer him yet. I want to be part of this family but not on the outside, so before I… Look, I love Eden.”

“I know you do,” Riley said simply. This was one hell of a conversation to keep up with.

“And you were kidnapped, and I made cookies.”

“Sorry?”

“When you were kidnapped and when you were in hospital, I helped the kids make cookies, but what I wanted to do was see you and tell you that none of what happened, what you saw, your guards being shot, where you were kept, none of those are memories you should bury. Look, it’s easier if you just read the manuscript because I’ve written it all down in there.”

“I’ll read it.” Riley realized that was an easy promise to make. He wasn’t sleeping well, and he knew he had to do something. Not that reading was his first option in bed but he couldn’t get into any kind of rhythm with Jack and maybe this could help.

“It’s hard, you know,” Sean said. His tone was back on the defensive. “Eden never says it, but she relies on you to, I don’t know, she wants you to approve of what she’s doing, I guess.”

Riley was instantly on the defensive as well. “I never meant to give the impression I didn’t want her to marry you—”

Sean interrupted forcefully but without heat. “You’re her big brother. She lost her dad, her brother. You and Sandra are the ones she looks to, and I know your blessing for a wedding would be a good thing. So when you’ve read what I wrote, I want your understanding and support that I am in a better place and that you would maybe feel okay talking to Eden and telling her as well.” Sean spoke with conviction this time, and something inside Riley clicked into place. Apart from the hero mirror move, he and Sean might not have seen eye to eye in the past, but all that was pushed to one side. Sean loved Eden, and he was deliberately coming to Riley for a blessing and for help. It suddenly seemed wrong. He shouldn’t need to ask for that, Riley should be the kind of brother who just wanted Eden happy.

“I’m her brother, not her father,” he began gently. “I respect you have come to me, but Sean, you have to know Eden is her own woman. Just ask her to set the date.”

“I tried to talk to her last week about a date again, but she avoided the subject. I think maybe it’s gone too far. Maybe she’s done with me now.”

“Just talk to her, Sean.”

Sadness and despair ghosted over Sean’s face. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He simply stood up and extended a hand again. Riley knew he’d fucked up big-time, and he wished Jack was there to smack him upside the head. What had he said wrong? What did Sean want from him? Then it hit him. Sean needed backup; he needed a wingman, a friend.

“Yes,” he said abruptly.

Sean turned to face him. He looked half-angry, half-resigned. “What?”

“You have my blessing on getting this wedding done. For what it’s worth, I know you love my sister, and I admire what you have done with turning your life around after what you saw in Afghanistan.”

“Thank you,” Sean said. He looked a little spaced out, and Riley thought maybe he’d said too much. Then the wariness subsided and Sean grinned. “Really. Thank you.”

Riley had to build on this. Some part of Riley called out for someone to talk to about what had happened to him over the border. It hadn’t been anywhere like what Sean had seen, but he felt safe in Sean’s company and that was a start.

“Tell you what,” he asked. “Do you have some time?”

Sean blinked and said nothing, then nodded. “All day.”

“Wait here a minute.” Riley picked up the manuscript and took it into his office. While he was in there, he fired an email to Tom saying he’d be in later. Then grabbing his Stetson, he went back to the kitchen. “Jack wants to talk to you about the therapies. Want to walk with me?”

Riley would kill two birds with one stone. He and Sean could talk normal shit, the weather, sports, the kids, Eden, PTSD, hell, anything. And maybe Sean was exactly the right person to talk to about why Riley was struggling to sleep and why he kept having the damn dreams that dragged him under every night. He might have admitted what he’d done to Jack, but it was still eating away at him. He wanted to admit to what he’d done to the authorities, tell someone, but all the Feds said was that there was no point: it was a firefight, cartel, it happened every day. Nothing for Riley to worry about. Easy. Done. Over.

Didn’t mean Riley could face himself in the mirror in the morning. And that was ridiculous. He’d shot at the man to save his life. To save Tom. Gut reaction was to save them both.