She was a breath of clean fresh air in his life, which until he’d seen her, had been full of combat and violence, either while on deployments or with Trish when he came home.
Tripp growled at his nearsightedness. He should’ve seen the signs. Because of what went down Friday night, Ashley had a dark secret, one that triggered panic attacks. Which explained why she hadn’t answered her door until she’d heard Mrs. Harrison in the hall.
“Fuck,” he cussed quietly. “She’s scared of me. Me! The guy who rescued her. And all I did was make it worse until… God, I’m so dumb!” He raked his fingers over his head and down his damned stiff neck. “Mom always said I never listened. Guess she’s right about that, too.”
Andrea had also said Trish was headed for a lifetime of trouble. Wasn’t that the truth?
Because he wasn’t made to sit still, Tripp pushed off the floor and hurried into his small, adjoining kitchen. There wasn’t much in his refrigerator, other than leftover Chinese takeout from two days ago and a six-pack of cheap beer, which was probably stale. His cupboards were as bare. But Bob’s Best Pizza Oven was only a couple blocks away, and the jug of well water in his rented water dispenser had just been replaced. Ice water now, pizza later. Sounded like a plan. He’d order after Ashley came to.
In the meantime, Tripp ran to his room and changed into jeans. He knew he needed a shower. He’d been working out when Ashley had first knocked, but a shower could wait. Ashley couldn’t. In his kitchen, he filled a glass with ice and water. Back at her side, he set the glass on the end table and ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. She had some color now, and her breathing was even. No fever, thank God. Just fear.
If a woman passing out because she was frightened didn’t humble a guy, nothing did. Tripp folded into a cross-legged position, ashamed at how he’d spoken to Ashley. She’d just been doing her job. It wasn’t her fault Trish had tagged him. Come to think of it, now he had a lead on his sister’s whereabouts. That whole thing about twins having radar for each other was urban legend. The only thing Trish ever had radar for was his football buddies, or his paycheck. She had the uncanny ability of homing in on testosterone and cash, her two favorite mortal sins.
Moaning, Ashley lifted one arm and fluttered her fingers over her lips. Her shoulders lifted.
Tripp scooted back a foot to give her more personal space. He was the last thing she needed to see the second she opened her eyes. His chin dropped to the floor. He was twice her weight, and he was as rough a cob as any former soldier. He, of all people, should’ve known better than to badger a woman, even if he’d been right.
“Where… where am I?” Ashley asked sleepily.
“You’re safe. You passed out. You’re in my place.” He looked up at her then.
Her head snapped to her right. “Your place?”
He put both palms forward. “Yes, ma’am. I wasn’t going to leave you on the sidewalk.”
Groaning, she covered her face. “I passed out? On the street? Oh, darn, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Are you cold? Too hot? My mom’s afghan might be too heavy. She likes to crochet. Think she’s made enough to blanket the whole world by now. I can get you something else. Need a drink?” He reached for the glass of water.
“Where’s my bag? I need my bag.”
Of course, you do. “Right beside you on the floor. Might as well know I searched it. I was looking for something that might indicate if you had a medical condition.”
“You looked in my bag?”
“Yup. Hope the expiration date on that can of mace is still good. Most become less effective after four years. Over time they lose aerosol and can’t maintain enough internal pressure to overpower anyone.” And he was talking too much.
The moment his fingers curled around the glass, Ashley pulled herself up and backed into the opposite corner of his couch. Her knees drew up into her chest, and Tripp recognized that for what it was. She’d created a barrier between them, like she’d done with her hair before. That was another one of her tells. She was still scared.
Tripp played it cool and didn’t make eye contact. “Here. It’s just well water,” he told her, as he handed the glass over. “You’re lucky I caught you before you hit your head.”
Like a frightened animal, she reached forward just far enough to take the glass, then cowered back into her corner.
“You have PTSD,” he told her gently but bluntly. “Like me, Ashley. Not sure where yours came from, but mine showed up the day a kid bombed a mosque in Kabul, Afghanistan. He killed eleven civilians. My squad and I were nearby, so we humped it over there and caught him before he could kill anyone else. I won’t go into specifics, but what happened the day after, triggered something in my brain I still can’t process. Don’t know why. I sure can’t explain how PTSD works. It’s like one of those alien probes is stuck inside my skull. Every once in a while, something reminds me of him, and that probe lights up and pokes at me until I need to get the fuck away from everyone and everything.” And now he was cussing.
“Like today?” Ashley asked quietly, her gaze on the water she still hadn’t sipped.
“Nah, today was nothing special, except I helped Mrs. Harrison, and I finally met you.”
She looked at him then, her blue eyes flat and dark, not a sparkle of her radiant inner glow in sight. “But you didn’t want to go to coffee with me,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t think you really wanted to be seen with me.”
“I’m
