Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) (12 page)

 “We’ve been friends for fifteen years, since we met in the V.A. hospital at West Point where we were both being treated.”

 I blink. Connor’s a vet? None of the tabloids have ever revealed that nugget of information. I feel myself frowning. Something doesn’t add up. Connor’s family has money and connections; he could receive the best treatment available. “Wait, fifteen years? You’re not even thirty. What were you doing in a V.A. hospital?”

 He releases my hand but holds my gaze. “Being treated for C-PTSD.”

 I blink. “I know what PTSD is, at least in general terms. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, right?”

 He nods. “Right. In cases of PTSD, the trauma can stem from a single event, such as a brutal battle or a rape. That sometimes affects veterans who have been involved in wars, or children who have endured abuse.

 “The C stands for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The main difference is that with C-PTSD, there is a loss of identity that stems from prolonged trauma with no viable escape routes. It happens when you’re trapped in hell with no way out.”

 I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I want to say something, but he’s pacing again.

 “My personal hell lasted for three years, from the time I was six until right after my ninth birthday. You won’t see this in the papers. The people who took me blackmailed my family.”

 “Took you?” I whisper.

 “I was kidnapped.” He stops, turns to look at me, his face full of anguish. “Baily, I don’t know what happened to me there, but it fucked me up.”

 Questions fill my mind. “How did you get free? Who took you?”

 “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.” His gaze meets mine. “But he does.”

 My lips part but I don’t know what to say. I swallow and then push the words out. “He? As in, the other you, control freak, hyper vigilant you?”

 “Yeah. Or at least I think he’s aware. We don’t exactly keep an open dialogue. I’ve tried therapy, both analysis and courses of drug treatment, but I’m a tight lipped bastard.”

 His hands are shaking and though I can’t think of any words of comfort, I need to offer it. Rising from the couch, I move slowly forward, not wanting to startle him. My arms go around him and he melts into my embrace.

 “Now you know as much as I do. Or at least as much as this version of me does.”

 I hold him for a long moment, my heart breaking for him. “What can I do? How can I make it better?”

 Connor inhales deeply and puts some distance between us. I’m afraid he’s withdrawing again, the same way I did after my heartfelt confession. It hurts to open up to another person, to bare your soul and hope to God they won’t annihilate you now that they have the power.

 But I’ve underestimated Connor yet again. Instead of retreating, he kneels down, one knee pressed to the floor, the other at a right angle. Reaching into his bathrobe pocket, he extracts something small that glints in the firelight. My jaw drops when I see that it’s a princess cut diamond solitaire in a gold setting. A classic engagement ring.

 “Baily Sinclair, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

~Continued in Part 4

Coming in November from Sanibel Moon Books~

http://www.sanibelmoon.com/