1. The Nightingale Syndrome #2
Connor snaps out of his daze and springs into action, coming to get Lady M’s fishbowl from my shaking hands.
“Hey is everything—what’s going on? Is she hurt?” Keene is standing at the door, just where Connor was a second ago. He’s looking at me with the same expression his teammate had.
“It’s ok, Bex.” Connor’s voice is low and soothing. “Let’s set down Lady M somewhere where she’s safe, and then we’ll put everything back where it belongs, ok?”
I nod my agreement, but I can’t stop crying. My whole body is shaking as I feel hopeless.
Strong arms surround me, and I lean against a hard, ripped chest. I cry all my tears, drawing comfort from the strong presence that makes me feel anchored in the storm of my emotions.
A sexy, spicy scent engulfs me, and I inhale it shamelessly, feeling a little better for the first time tonight.
Wait a second.
This scent is kind of familiar, but when I lift my gaze, it’s not Connor’s emerald green eyes I find myself staring into.
“Keene?”
Keene
When I see Bex crying, I go to her without even thinking.
I know I’m probably the last person on earth she wants to be comforted by. And truth be told, I don’t even know why I feel the urge to take her into my arms and let her cry against my chest.
Sure, Bex is one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust her and I still don’t want her as a roommate.
I’m also still pissed that she immediately accused me of being her stalker.
Then why the fuck did I step in? I should have let Connor deal with her ass.
It’s an obvious case of Florence Nightingale syndrome.
The words of Major Bailey, the clinical psychologist I saw as part of my post-deployment assessment.
Having to speak to a shrink was total bullshit, if you ask me.
But we’d seen some deeply upsetting, disturbing things during a humanitarian mission in a war zone.
The army wanted to dot all the I’s and cross every T to make sure that we were fit for a reintroduction to the day-to-day life on base and civilian life in general.
My commander especially wanted me to have some extra support, since I was coming home to a divorce.
I attended those sessions begrudgingly. Dwelling on the shitshow I had come back to was the last thing I needed.
Especially when—after hearing how I married my ex when the guy who knocked her up walked out on her and how I saved Poonani from under the rubble of a bombed building—Major Bailey came up with that ridiculous diagnosis.
According to her, I am virtually incapable of not swooping in and going out of my way to help someone in need.
Like I said, total nonsense. I am perfectly capable of not getting involved. It’s exactly why I was able to say no to Bex moving in to begin with.
The reason I’m holding her now—after she accused me of stalking her and attacking her in a hockey mask—is… Fuck. I don’t know why I felt the need to make her feel better.
Maybe it’s because I hate seeing women cry. It’s annoying. That’s it. I don’t feel any need to save Bex. She’s just annoying the hell out of me with her tears, and I want her to stop crying so we can end this disaster of a night.
She does smell amazing, though.
Like flowers and something a little sweeter. Her body feels so soft and delicate in my arms, and her blonde hair feels like spun silk against my neck.
I’m so not enjoying having her in my arms. I’m just a hot-blooded, twenty-three-year-old man who hasn’t gotten laid since his ex-wife cheated on him. My reaction to her is purely chemical and hormonal. That’s it. I need to get laid asap and I won’t even notice my annoying roommate anymore.
Satisfied with that conclusion, I inhale the intoxicating scent of Bex’s shampoo, rubbing her back to soothe her.
My efforts pay off, and she seems to calm down.
“Keene?” she looks up, surprised.
Now, most women I know look horrible after they’ve been crying. But not Bex. Her green eyes are shiny with tears, her bottom lip swollen after she must have been tormenting it with her teeth. Somehow she looks just as beautiful when she smiles and that irritates me to no end.
“Who did you expect to see, the Easter Bunny?”
I stifle a smile when she disentangles herself from my embrace, pushing against my chest. Her eyes are narrowed as she glares at me, and that makes me feel better. I wouldn’t want her to think that I’ve gotten soft or anything.
“And there was me thinking you were being kind for once in your life.” She scoffs. “I’m glad to see you’re still an asshole.”
This time I just laugh. I don’t even try to pretend I don’t enjoy ruffling her feathers. “Whatever.”
“I don’t get you.” She steps toward me again, jamming her manicured finger into my chest. “If you hate me so much, why were you comforting me? Do you have multiple personalities or something?”
“Nope.” And I have a certification signed by the good army doctor that I’m of sound mind. But I don’t say that to her. “You were clearly upset. I don’t need to like someone to provide comfort in a time of need. It’s called being a decent human being.”
Bex isn’t convinced of my explanation. “Yeah, but you hate me. Were you comforting me to hold it over my head later? Like, I have to move out because I’m unstable and too emotional?”
Dammit. That would have been a great argument if the option of her moving out ever came up. I wish I had thought about it first.
“Look,” I shrug. “Don’t read too much into it.
The army taught me that in a stressful situation, especially in combat, you don’t leave anyone behind.
And that applies to psychological stress, too.
It’s combat ethics 101. Whether I like it or not, you live here.
So, I just stopped you from having a meltdown. Because that would affect all of us.”
Is that disappointment in Bex’s eyes? Good. The fact that she’s hot doesn’t change that I can’t trust her. Actually, the hotter the woman, the more she’ll trample over other people’s feelings, as if the universe owed her something.
“Why were you so upset, by the way?” I ask, doing my best to look like I couldn’t care less about the answer.
There’s a beat of silence as Bex looks between me and Connor, as if she were deciding how much to tell us. It’s obvious that she doesn’t trust us. It’s good to know that it’s mutual, so I don’t have any reason to feel too guilty.
“I don’t know.” She says when she finally speaks.
I roll my eyes, thinking that her behavior is typical of every woman I’ve ever met. I’m very familiar with tears being used as a manipulation tool rather than a way to express real emotion.
What she says next, however, makes me rethink my assessment, at least in this instance.
“I mean, I guess this entire time I’ve been running on adrenaline.
I was excited and nervous about the art center opening tonight.
I want to prove to Candace and the Zetas that hiring me was a good move, not just a favor to Luke.
Then there was the whole incident with Tucker, and then that guy in the mask was there.
At first I thought he was… just playing with me.
When I realized that he wanted to hurt me, all I could think about was running for my life.
Then I bumped into you and Connor…” the way she looks at us makes it clear that our presence was as distressing as the masked stalker’s.
“I was hellbent on proving that you were lying. But when I got in here and I saw this… mess.” She says, gesturing to all her clothes scattered around the room.
“I don’t know, it all dawned on me that someone was here, touching all my things.
I don’t know if it’s the same person who attacked me, but it would make sense if it were.
And it got to me that I could have really been hurt. ”
Her voice breaks again when she says that last part.
Sympathy surges through me, and I’m seconds away from taking her into my arms again. Until I remember how she accused me of being the person who attacked her.
I clench my fists at my sides to keep any stupid urge to touch her under control. “Whoever broke in went through my room too, but nothing was missing.” I offer.
“They went through my room, too.” Connor informs us.
“I looked everywhere, and they didn’t touch the cash or the expensive dress-watch I got as a present from my father when I got drafted last year.
The only things that are missing are some of my workout clothes, a set identical to the one both Keene and I are wearing right now.
And that hockey mask we got from our sponsor at summer training.
Earlier, I couldn’t remember if I had it here or in my locker at the arena.
But then I recalled bringing it here because with all my other protective gear, my locker was too full and that thing kept falling out every time I changed before and after practice. ”
Fuck.
“Are you sure? Your hockey mask is missing?” I ask him.
“Positive,” Connor confirms.
I run a hand through my hair. “Jamie’s room was ransacked too. I’m not sure if something is missing or not.”
As if summoned by my own words, Jamie steps into Bex’s room followed by Luke.
“They took some of my workout clothes and that hockey mask we all got, same as Connor.” Jamie says.
“Jamie!” Bex runs into his arms, hiding her face in his chest.
He holds her for a moment, then pulls her back to check on her. “Baby, are you ok?”
She lifts her face, offering him her lips to kiss. “I am now that you’re here.”
It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
I don’t like Bex.
First off, she’s a woman, and I’m done trusting any human female. Even if I could get past my trust issues and give her a chance, she hates me. To the point that she’s convinced I was the one who attacked her in the art center.
And whose fault is it that she hates you? You were a total ass to her from the second you met.
I grit my teeth to silence the annoying voice in my head. What’s done is done, and Bex is with Jamie, anyway. Even if she didn’t hate me, even if I wasn’t done with women, she’s still my team captain’s sister and my teammate’s girlfriend. It doesn’t get more off-limits than that.
Great. Because she fucking hates you anyway.
“Took the two of you a hot minute to get here.” My tone is dripping with irritation, just to silence my fucking subconscious or whatever the fuck keeps bothering me. “I texted you to tell you that we were broken into more than half an hour ago.”
Luke slaps me on the back. “Sorry, Sarge. You know what Coach Harrison is like when he goes on a rant. He’s threatened Tucker to bench him and use our second-string goalie for the entire season if he doesn’t clean up his act.”
Damn. I’ve survived drill sergeants with a God complex, first sergeants who loved to give out Article fifteens as if it were candy, but nothing beats Coach Harrison if we’ve fucked up. “He’s gonna bag skate us, isn’t he?” I groan.
Luke doesn’t confirm or deny. “Your guess is as good as mine. Coach left the Gamma house without saying if there would be immediate consequences for Tucker’s drunken antics tonight.”
“He’s totally going to punish us,” Connor agrees.
“We’ll worry about Coach tomorrow.” Jamie says, still holding Bex to his chest. “Before coming in here, I did a quick walkthrough of my room. The only thing I’m missing is that stupid hockey mask we were all given before the end of summer training.”
The only noise in the room is the loud gasp that comes from Bex as Connor and I share a concerned look.
“Anyone care to explain what’s going on?” Luke frowns.
I relay the events from Jamie’s request to go check on Bex up to this point.
“Someone attacked you?” Jamie’s eyes travel the length of his girlfriend’s body, clearly checking her for any sign of injury. “Why didn’t you say anything? We would have come immediately. We would have told Coach that it was an emergency.” He looks at Luke for support.
“Are you ok, Bexie-Boo?”
He doesn’t even try to hide his concern for his twin sister. I’ve been mad at our team captain for how he went around our vote and forced our hand into letting Bex move in. But the way he’s looking at her, with pure love in his eyes, helps me understand why he put her first.
“I’m fine, Luke.” She says softly. “And I guess I don’t blame Keene for not going into detail about the attack. We were going to tell you once we got home, but then the door was open and…”
Her voice fades as she recalls our arrival home with a slight shudder.
“I’m glad you don’t think I’m to blame for not elaborating about the attack.
The way things are going, I was already accused of being the creep who wore a hockey mask and tried to choke you.
Luckily we walked home together, or you would have found a way to accuse me of breaking into the house, too. ”
My tone is sharp and bitter, but Bex doesn’t apologize for accusing me.
“The jury is still out on that one.” The soft, almost relaxed demeanor she had with Jamie and her brother is all but gone. “As it is, you were lurking outside the art center, and you had the same hockey mask my stalker had on right in your bag.”
I can’t fucking believe this woman. “Take. That. Back.” I bite out.
“No,” she argues.