He turned back to me and said, “Goodnight, Dani. Be well.”
Then he left, and Brady took his place, and nothing felt the same. It took me a minute to collect my thoughts, to recover my brain, and to take possession of my body again. Brady seemed to understand I needed a second, because he didn’t dive in until I met his eye.
“Did my brother send you to save me?” I asked Brady.
He smiled. “No, not at all, but I could tell he wasn’t too happy with you. What’s that all about?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
My whole body screamed I was lying, but I shut it off, shut it down, and turned my entire attention to the blond country star in front of me.
“What business could you possibly have to discuss with me?” I asked him.
“Well, listening to the others, I realized that I’m without a PR manager, and you need a job. So, I was wondering if you wanted it.”
I laughed. “Brady, I know nothing about the music industry.”
“It’s really the same thing you did for Senator Matherton. Image control. Setting up interviews. Looking for opportunities to widen my exposure. Some of the sources we use are even the same: magazines, social media. The other things, my manager, Lee, can help out with—at least until you get the hang of it.”
“I’m quite certain your manager will not approve of you offering me a job without him being a part of the discussion,” I said.
He looked chagrinned. “Probably. But he also knows that, after the shitstorm with Fiona, I’m a little gun-shy of having just anyone join the team. It’s why we haven’t hired someone before now. But you…you I could trust completely.”
“Are you sure?” I smiled. “I might want to steal your guitar picks and sell them on an auction site.”
His smile completely vanished, and he stilled. “How’d you hear about that?”
My smile disappeared as well. “Wait, did she steal more than just money?”
“It was a complete and utter mess, but you’ll have to accept the job and sign a nondisclosure agreement of your own before I can tell you anything more.”
I’d never seen Brady this serious. Sure, I hadn’t hung out with him the way Ava and Georgie had. He was their friend, not mine, but I’d been around him a few times. Mostly at weddings. And I’d watched every episode of Fighting for the Stars where he’d gone from being a guest coach to a permanent one. The only time he was serious was when he was giving constructive criticism to one of the contestants. He even gave the feedback with a smile, a joke, and a flirt most of the time. Which all went to prove that whatever had happened with this public relations lady had really messed with his head.
“I can’t accept it tonight, but if you think you want me, set up a time for me to talk with your manager.”
His face broke out into sheer joy, and he hugged me.
“I didn’t say yes,” I laughed against his shoulder.
“But you will.”
Nash
EVERYBODY HURTS
”If you're on your own in this life,
The days and nights are long.
When you think you've had too much,
Of this life…to hang on.”
Performed by R.E.M.
Written by Berry / Buck / Mills / Stipe
“Tell me, Nash. Do you feel unable to control your emotions?” the psychologist, Dr. Inez, asked me as I sat across from him in his office on the naval base. It was quite the cozy office for a government job. Leather couches, a leather office chair, and a huge mahogany desk. He’d either spruced the space up with his own money, or someone here liked him a helluva lot. It was what I’d thought every time I’d stepped into his space since first hitting Dainty.
Today, it wasn’t Dainty’s face I thought of when he asked about losing control. Instead, it was Dani’s face, thrown back in passion as I filled her. We’d moved together so beautifully it had been its own song. A rhythm I hadn’t found with anyone else.
“Nash?”
“No,” I said, focusing on relaxing my muscles and my face. Breathing in and out to slow my heart rate, to ensure I looked and stayed calm.
I had to remain as impassive as possible in front of this man who had my career in his hands. I was on the opposite end of the scope now. It was his eye behind the barrel, and there wasn’t anything I could do except evade as much as possible.
“Never?” he asked. “My understanding, from reading your file, is Dainty wasn’t the first person you lost your anger with since losing your team.”
My eyes narrowed as he flipped through the papers sitting in front of him. All of our other meetings had been the standard ones up until now. He’d gone through the PTSD checklist. I’d denied any symptoms. Nightmares? No. Yes. Reliving the scene? No. Hell, yes. Drinking more? No. Yes. But I’d learned long ago if you wanted them to clear you for active duty, you denied every single symptom. You could discuss them with a trusted member of your team, and that was it. My trusted brother was dead.
Everyone in the military knew what was happening—they asked, and we denied. But no one brought it up because, at the end of the day, you didn’t keep a highly trained machine sitting in a garage, covered with a tarp. You unveiled it and put it to work where it could do the most good.
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I said calmly.
“I’m talking about the incident with Petty Officer White.” He watched me closely as he said the name to see if I’d react.
The reaction I wanted to have was to laugh. As if he would ever be able to read me. It was a joke. Neither this man behind his big impressive desk, nor any man behind a desk at the Pentagon understood the hard, split-second
