"Damn it to hell!" Reed slammed his office door, threw his notebook on his desk and paced back and forth. "Son of a bitch." He let loose with every obscenity he could think of. When, when would he stop hurting this woman? He could barely stand what he was doing to her.
He'd had to tell her their contact needed limits so he’d done it two days after the last outing. She'd stared up at him with confusion in those blue eyes after he'd gotten the first bumbling statement out…
"Why?" she'd asked, swallowing hard, wrapping her arms around her slender waist. Today she'd worn a sundress the color of orange Popsicles.
Because he wanted to grab her to him so badly—tell her he cared, he needed her—he had no choice but to be honest. "It's too hard for me to see you this much."
She shook her head. "What does that tell you, Reed?" Her voice had quivered on his name.
"Nothing. It tells me nothing. Look, I know I have no right to ask this of you. To ask anything of you. But I can't deal with seeing you so much. We have to work together here—" he indicated the academy conference room where they'd been discussing FAN.
"—but I thought maybe we could alternate the outside activities we participate in. Tell me which ones you're going to and I'll choose the others."
She bit her lip. Her eyes moistened and she looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said starkly. "But I just don't know what else to do. How else to control this stuff inside me.”
Still she said nothing more.
Desperate, he resorted to pleading. He grasped her upper arms. "If you care about me as much as you say, please do this for me."
He thought she'd argue. Push him. Deep down, he'd wanted her to do that.
"All right. You win. It's getting to me, too, seeing you so much." Without saying more, she walked out of his life. Again…
He was barely calm, seated at his desk an hour later, rereading the same rookie profile for the third time, when Ben skidded to a halt in the doorway.
"I thought you'd like to know," Ben said when Reed looked up from his desk. The usually calm battalion chief’s demeanor was agitated. "There's a nasty two-alarm fire. A church near Dutch Towers."
"The senior citizens complex?"
Ben nodded.
"Do any residents attend there?" Reed knew the Dutch Towers occupants were favorites of the fire department, especially Quint/Midi Twelve.
"Yeah, and today there was a Get Out and Gab meeting in the church hall." He drew in a deep breath. "Reed, Engine Seventeen was called."
Reed took off his wire-rimmed glasses and scowled.
"Sam’s group has had other interior attacks since Tommy went down but none as big as this one."
Standing, Reed grabbed his cell phone. "I'm coming." On the way out of the offices, he called to the staff secretary to cancel his last appointment of the day and followed Ben down the hall and out of the academy. They jumped into the chief’s vehicle and spun out of the parking lot.
Ben said, "We have to get there fast. Talbot's at another fire on the other side of the city. The other BC on duty is at a bad car accident." In fires, it was customary for a battalion chief to run the operation. "Jimmy McCann's a good man, but he doesn't have enough experience for this."
Once on the road, Ben pressed two buttons. A siren began to blare and lights flashed overhead. They startled Reed. The car darted in and out of traffic, sending its occupants first to the left, then to the right. Reed held on to the panic strap and tried to salvage his sanity. His heart began to thump in his chest. The speed, the sound and the flashing lights transported him back eight years. To the last truck he'd ridden, the last fire he'd fought.
The day Crash Marx was killed.
Reaching down, he rubbed his leg. The scar was there, reminding him of his inadequacy. As a report from the site came over the radio, Reed ordered himself to think about something else.
"I hope all the old people get out." He thought for a minute. "Joey Santori's grandparents live there, don't they?"
"Yep. And Joey's on duty. He's at the church."
"Firefighters are exiting the building…" Reed caught the end of the radio blurb.
"Damn!" Ben said.
"What? I wasn't listening carefully."
"The church is fully involved." Ben took a corner fast. "After the firefighters got inside to put out the fire, some kind of gas stove in the fellowship hall exploded and they were all ordered out. They're mounting an exterior attack now."
Reed wondered if Sam was safe. If Sam wanted to be safe. This last thought had been bothering Reed for a long time. He would have shared it with Ben, but they pulled up to the scene in seconds and stopped on a dime.
As they bolted out of the car and hurried over to Incident Command, the smell hit him: first—burning wood, gas, the cloying scent of thick, ugly smoke. It was charcoal gray and billowing out the side and the roof like giant thunderclouds.
Jimmy McCann stood at the makeshift command post with a radio at his ear. "I'm here, Jimmy." Ben took the radio the man offered to him. "Fill me in."
Reed noted the relief on the young lieutenant's face. "The church was smokin' when we got here, but it wasn't fully involved, so I didn't call for another alarm right away. We laid a three-incher, and a couple of hand lines, then Engine Six ventilated the roof."
"Sounds right to me," Ben said encouragingly.
"We got the occupants out." He nodded to the side. Reed saw a group of older people huddled near a truck. One was a small, frail woman he recognized as Adelaide Lowe, a resident Jake had come to know after he'd saved her cat in a fire. Next to Mrs. Lowe was a couple Reed had seen at the hospital the night of Tommy's death when Joey got hurt. "Ben," he said, "Those two are Santori's grandparents."
Ben nodded. "They seem okay." He faced Jimmy. "Go on."
"Just as the church was clearing of smoke, there was this big boom on the far side, where the fellowship hall is." He pointed to a drawing spread out on the hood of a fire department vehicle. "Flames went up right away. I ordered the crews out. Called for other trucks. Quint/Midi Twelve just got here and is setting up the aerial on the west side of the building."
"Good work, Jimmy." Ben stared down at the drawing.
Reed came around to the side and studied the sketchy floor plan somebody had made. "Everybody out?" he asked.
"Yeah, I think so."
Ben made contact with the Quint's officer by radio. Several firefighters trudged around the end of the building. One of them jogged toward Incident Command. Too grimy to be recognized from a distance, the guy was on top of them before Reed realized it was John Wanikya.
His dark features were set in a scowl. He looked worriedly at Ben, then Reed. "Um, Chief, I…" He sighed. Shook himself, as if he was making some kind of decision. "Oh, hell. Leone isn't out, sir."
"Isn't out?" Jim and Ben asked at once.
Reed stiffened. Somehow he knew what was coming.
"We had plenty of time. All the old people were evacuated. We were on the other side of the building when the explosion hit. The lieutenant ordered us over the radios to get the hell out of there, and we were following the hose. I…I glanced behind me. Sammy didn't come. I ran back, grabbed his arm." Wanikya's black gaze darted worriedly from Ben to Reed. "He shook me off. Said he had to see something…he had to go to the sanctuary of the church…he knew what would be there…" The young rookie swallowed hard.
Reed and Ben exchanged worried looks.
"What did he say would be there, John?" Reed asked.
"Tommy. He said Tommy would be in the sanctuary."
* * *
Sam stumbled over a two-by-four, but caught himself by grabbing the doorway at the outer part of the room that led to the sanctuary. Somebody came on the radio he carried and ordered him to evacuate immediately. It sounded like Chief Ben Cordaro.
He turned the device off.
The smoke was gray in here. Other trucks had arrived—he'd heard the sirens. The Red Devil would be out soon—gone back to hell, waiting to spring up and devour somebody else at a moment's notice. Sammy knew he wasn't in any danger, at least for today. Hell, he felt invincible. For the first time since Tommy…left…he felt good. In control.
He smiled into his SCBA mask. Everything was going to be okay now. Tommy would be here. This time, he'd be able to get to his brother. He had another chance.
Pops. Snaps. Something fell behind him. He turned around. As if in slow motion, as if watching from somebody else's body, Sammy saw part of the back wall collapse. He hurried toward the sanctuary. Reached the doors. Opened them. Light poured in from the stained glass windows along each side of the pews. A creepy view through the thin curtain of smoke. Squinting, he could see a figure up by the altar. He opened his mouth, yelled "Tommy," but the sound was muffled by the SCBA gear. An alarm beeped and his face mask vibrated. He was out of air. What did it matter? What did anything matter anymore?
Determined, he dragged off his headgear. Now he could yell. Man, he'd whip the kid's butt for this one. "Tommy!" he barked, hurrying down the aisle. Scraps of charred wood crunched under his feet as he strode toward the altar. "Tommy, I'm here…"
* * *
"I'm going in." Reed turned to the rookie on Ben's left. "Tully, get me some gear. Quick."
Ben glanced over at him, brow furrowed, jaw rigid. Sweat beaded his brow and face, just like Reed's. This close, the fire was an inferno. "You sure? You haven't been on the line in a while."
"It's like riding a bike." He refused to give in to the fear pummeling at his insides. "The fire's almost under control. I won't be in any danger."
"If the fire's gonna be out soon, you don't need to go in." Ben shifted the radio and studied Reed. "You don't look so hot, Macauley."
Two firefighters jogged up to the command post. One was Peter Huff, a guy on Chelsea's crew. "Hey Chief, there's a guy walking around in there."
"Yeah, we just heard."
Joe Santori removed his headgear and wiped his brow. "Want me to go in?"
"No, go see how your grandparents are."
Joe's eyes widened. "My grandparents are here?"
"They're okay." Ben pointed to the truck. "You got your hard head from them."
Peter socked Joe in the arm. "Let's go see them." He dragged Joe away with an arm slung around his shoulders. Brother to brother.
Tully returned. Reed kicked off his shoes, stepped into pants and bunker boots and whipped on a coat. The weight of the coat, once like a second skin, seemed ludicrously heavy. Each boot felt clunky, unnatural. Assembling the SCBA mask, his fingers fumbled. He finally said, "I should have seen this. I should have done more for Leone. I'm not letting somebody else die because I couldn't…" He stopped himself, met Ben's puzzled gaze.
"Reed, you couldn't have saved Tommy."
"Tommy?" What the hell was Cordaro talking about?
"You just said you're not letting anybody else die. Tommy was on his way to the hospital by the time you got to the Jay Street fire."
"Yeah. Sure. I know that." Reed struggled for a way to divert Ben. "Look, Ben, somebody's got to get Leone. You're the ranking officer at the site and need to stay at the command post. I'm next in line." He didn't give Ben more of a chance to object. Or to ask him to explain his earlier slip. Instead he jogged toward the building.
A blast of heat—he'd forgotten this particular detail—hit him in the face when he stepped inside. From the floor-plan drawing, he'd picked this entrance because the sanctuary was off to the right, then straight ahead. It was only about thirty feet to the inner core of the church. Surely Reed could make that without panicking.
Smoke curtailed his sight. He remembered how good he'd gotten at finding his way blindly in any kind of haze. With each step he took, his breathing sounded more labored in the air pack. He went through the doorway. The air was hotter, so he dropped to the floor. It would take longer, but he knew the drill, knew how to keep himself safe. Sweat poured from him, soaking his uniform inside the turnout gear. Crawling now, he made his way to the sanctuary. Once there, he saw a figure at the front, looking upward, surrounded by swirls of light pooling in through the colorful windows. Reed tracked Sammy's gaze. He was staring up at a huge cross dangling oddly on the charred wall. Suddenly, the smoke and heat abated dramatically; the crew had ventilated again. That meant the fire was probably out. Reed stood and approached the altar, his feet crunching on fallen debris.
Fists clenched, head up—without his face mask on—Sammy stared at the battered body of Jesus. He coughed intermittently.
"Sammy," Reed called out from behind so as not to spook him.
Sam didn't turn. He continued to gaze upward. Then Reed heard him yell, "Answer me." He coughed again.
"Sam?"
"I said answer me. Damn you, God. Where is he?"
Behind them, Reed heard the pounding of feet. In his peripheral vision, he could see that other firefighters had entered the building. They were looking for their brother.
Up close, Reed touched Sam's arm. He said gently, "Sammy, Tom's not here. He's gone."
Sam looked over at him. Without the headgear, Reed could see him clearly—the glazed eyes, the puzzled expression on his face. "Gone?" More sputtering from the smoke.
"Tommy's dead, Sam."
"I saw him." His head whipped from side to side. "Up here. Standing."
"No, Sam, you didn't," Reed said gently.
"I—" he broke off coughing "—didn't?"
"No. Let's go outside and talk about this."
"Macauley, you need any help?" a voice asked from behind. He thought it was Roncone.
"Sam, your crew's with me. You're spooking them. You need to come out of the church with me."
"Without Tommy?"
"Yeah, buddy. I'm sorry. Without Tommy."
And then, Reed saw tears leak from Sammy's eyes. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to crumple into himself as he collapsed like a rag doll to the floor.
* * *
Much like he had the night Tommy died, Sam looked around the ER cubicle. The smells of antiseptic and lemon wax on the floor and the sounds of a hospital phone ringing brought him back to that night almost two months ago. And once again, like a little kid, he wished he could crawl under the covers of the narrow, starched bed where he lay and never come out. What the hell had happened to him tonight?
He thought he'd seen Tommy. But Tommy was dead. He knew that. Sam closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all.
A light knock sounded on the door.
"Yeah, it's open. I ain't goin' nowhere."
Reed Macauley walked in. His face was composed, but behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes were troubled. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor."
"Nope," Sam said lightly. "I just lost my mind."
Reed smiled. Took a seat on the chair.
"You look like hell," he told the shrink.
"Yeah, well, I'm not used to traipsing into burning buildings to rescue the likes of you, Leone. I'm too old for this."
Sam didn't react to the jibe. "Am I, Reed?"
"What? Losing your mind?"
"Uh-huh."
The psychologist sat forward, clasping his hands between his legs. "I don't think so, Sammy. But you've got a problem that goes deeper than the delusion you had tonight."
"Yeah, that’s obvious now." He clenched his fists. It went against everything he was inside, had taught himself to be to stay alive, to say this out loud. "Can we talk about what happened tonight for a minute?"
"Music to my ears, buddy. Shoot."
"I thought I saw Tommy in there."
"I know you did."
"Why?"
"Extreme stress, I'd guess. Intolerable grief." Reed sighed and looked him straight in the eye. "There are several clinical terms for it, but you get the gist."
Lying back on the pillow, he closed his eyes. "I am nuts."
"No, you need help with your grief." Reed hesitated. "And your survivor guilt, if my guess is right."
"What do you mean? I've heard of that but don't know what it is."
"You didn't care if you came out of that fire, Sammy. Because Tommy's dead."
Bingo!
"You endangered your crew."
No response.
"And what about your family? What would they have done if you didn't make it through the fire?"
Reed was right about everything. "I know all that." He drew in a deep breath. "I need help."
"Good. Admitting that is the first step."
Sam thought hard, tried to wrap his head around this thing. "I need to tell the chief about what happened to me."
"Cordaro already knows. He'll report it to Talbot."
Sam asked, "You tell him?"
"I didn't have to. But I would have. The guys on your group all saw it, Sammy."
"You know what? I don't even give a shit."
"Well, buddy, when you hit bottom that often happens."
He felt his gut twist. "But I gotta tell Terry myself."
"Good idea."
His whole body sagged. "God, I've been rotten to her."
Reed got a faraway look in his eyes. "We often take out our problems on the people we love, the women especially." Reed pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket. "Here, call her. Tell her to come and get you. You got a clean bill of health from that pretty little doctor."
"Okay." Sam took the cell, then hesitated. "What'll happen to me, Reed?"
"You won't be on the line for a while, Sam. But you'll get compensation. Your mind got hurt on the job, and the RFD's gonna give you time to fix it."
"Thanks." Sam smiled. "Now, leave me be while I call my woman."
Reed left, and Sam sank back into the pillows.
It was one of the hardest things he ever had to do, but he punched out his home number.
He had to let his wife in.
* * *
Depression hung like a heavy weight on Reed's shoulders as he opened the door to his house and entered the foyer. He knew he could have another flashback, but right now—like Sammy, he thought, ironically—he didn't much care. Had he hit bottom, too? The grandfather clock he'd bought at an estate sale chimed nine times as he closed the door, and his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. For a minute he just stood in the stillness of the house that had become both his haven and his jail. Except for the clock and the hum of the refrigerator, it was quiet. Too quiet. He headed for the kitchen to order a pizza. As he reached the window seat, he stopped.
Images swam before him. Delaney—even when she was upset and vulnerable she was so strong, straightening her shoulders to take the newest rejection from him. Sammy—at the church, looking for his brother. Later, in the hospital, admitting he needed help.
Had Reed done anything right in the last few months?
He said out loud, "Feeling sorry for yourself isn't gonna help."
Neither would opening the window seat and taking out Pandora's Box. But he did it, anyway. He needed Delaney tonight, so much he was afraid he'd end up calling her. He'd probably confess all, then drag her down into the morass of grief and guilt he felt every time he allowed himself to think about that night eight years ago. In a couple weeks it would be the anniversary of that horrible night. In reality, it was never far away from his mind, but the actual day it happened was an obscene nightmare.
To avoid thoughts of the date, he took the box and went to sit in the living room. Comfortably ensconced on a chair, he ran his hand over the silk cover and let himself think about her—how pretty her eyes got when she laughed, how cute she looked in that dance gear he'd seen her in a few times, how husky her voice got during sex. He removed the lid.
He'd added a few more items since the last time he'd wallowed in this ritual. God, maybe he was losing his mind. Smiling despite his negative thoughts, he picked up the small music box he'd found at an antique sale the weekend he realized he'd be working with her. A delicately carved figurine—a ballerina—perched on top, with long black hair like hers and vivid blue eyes. As he lifted the top, the strains of Debussy tinkled in the quiet of his house. Right at that moment he'd give his life savings to see Delaney dance.
Over the music, around the pleasant memories, thoughts intruded.
I gotta tell Terry myself…Now, get out of here while I call my woman.
Physician heal thyself.
Weary, he lay his head back on the tapestry chair he'd paid way too much money for. He'd spent way too much money on this whole house.
Because he had nothing else to spend it on.
He looked down. Except for a few paltry gifts she'd never see. He shook his head. God, you're pathetic, Macauley.
The doorbell rang, interrupting his self-flagellation, and startling him so the top of the box fell to the floor. Could it be her? Could he have conjured her with his thoughts? It was possible she'd found out about today and come to see how he was doing. He remembered her response to his latest dictum…
All right, Reed, you win. I'm done with you.
But still, she'd said it before—and come to him, anyway. Carefully setting the box on the floor next to his chair, he crossed to the foyer and whipped open the door.
His visitor wasn't Delaney.
It was Ben Cordaro.
Reed couldn't remember the last time he'd been more disappointed.
What does that tell you, Reed? she'd said to him today.
The night was chilly, though stars punctuated the sky. Ben wore a light canvas jacket and had changed into jeans and a T-shirt. In his hands he carried a huge carton of what smelled like Chinese food. Reed's stomach growled again.
"You got some beer, I got some chow."
Reed stared at Ben. "What are you doing here?"
Ben shrugged.
He nodded to the carton. "Why don't you take that home to your bride?"
"My bride's having a baby shower for my daughter at our place." Ben took in a deep breath and Reed noticed his dark eyes were troubled. "I'd be here, anyway. I wanna talk to you, Macauley, but I'm starved." Shouldering his way inside, he stopped dead in the foyer and looked around. "You know, I've never been in your house."
"Haven't you?"
"Nope. You do a pretty good imitation of a hermit, Doc."
"I'll throw a gala next month," Reed said dryly, causing Ben to tell him to do something anatomically impossible.
Reed laughed. The camaraderie felt good.
It felt even better over beer and moo goo gai pan as they sat in the carved oak booth area of his kitchen with the food spread out before them, eating from cartons. They talked about little things—the house and how Reed had worked on it, Ben's own carpentry endeavors, Ben's obsession with keeping Francey safe. Anything but Sam Leone and, Reed suspected, Ben's concern over Reed's behavior at the fire. He ditched his misgivings, though, and savored the soy sauce flavor and ice-cold beer. The hell with everything else.
When they'd finished their meal and Reed had gotten them two more brews, Ben sat back and stretched his legs out in front of him. “All right. I gotta say a couple of things."
Reed leaned back in his side of the booth, too, and mirrored Ben's position. "I thought you might."
"First, I talked to Talbot about Leone before I came over. We're suspending him indefinitely, with pay, until he gets some things straightened out. After a few weeks, we'll reassess the situation. In an official capacity, I have to ask you this. Do you think you can help him?"
The heavy weight of responsibility invaded Reed's calm mood. "I'm not sure." He stared out the window. It was dark and he couldn't see the new wooden lawn furniture he'd ordered. "I haven't done such a great job so far."
"Reed, his baby brother died in a fire. It's only been a few months. You're not a miracle worker. I strongly suspect he'd be a lot worse off if he hadn't been working with you."
A voice from the past intruded. The first shrink he'd seen. How could you have saved them? You're not a miracle worker.
"Has he made any progress at all?" Ben asked.
Automatically, Reed started to say no. Then he remembered Sammy's face earlier in the hospital. He was ready to heal. And Reed had been partly responsible for that. "He seems to want to get better. He realizes he has a problem." Reed shook his head. "Seeing dead people in a church, in front of your whole crew, will wake you up, I guess."
Ben chuckled. "Okay. Think about it. If you don't believe you can help him anymore, we'll get somebody else. But for the record, my money's on you."
Old habits surfaced. Reed didn't want anybody counting on him. Not this time. "I'm not a good bet, Ben."
Cordaro stared at him intently. In the little ways he'd let himself know the man, Reed had picked up that Ben was astute in reading people. Right now his dark eyes were knowing. "Why do you think that, Reed?"
"What?"
"So little of yourself?"
His heart started to pound.
"And before you answer, maybe this'll make you tell me the truth. Something else was goin' on with you at that fire today. I'd stake my life on it. I'm not leaving here without finding out what it is."
Reed stared at him blankly.
"What's been doggin' you for the whole time you been at the academy?"
"You asking me in an official capacity, Chief?"
Real fury came over Ben's face. "No, asshole, as your friend." Then, as suddenly as it came, the anger drained away. Ben sat forward. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want any friends. You don't let anybody close. Beth and I have talked about that." He leaned forward. "Why do you keep yourself off limits to people who care about you?"
Reed opened his mouth to deny the allegation. To weasel his way out of any disclosure. But he saw Sam's tortured face. I need help…I need to talk to somebody…and then Delaney's Let me in, Reed, I can help.
Suddenly Reed was very tired. Of being alone. Of slamming the door on his emotions and using most of his energy to keep it shut. Maybe if he took his cue from Sam, let a little out, he'd be better. He said starkly, "Eight years ago, in the last fire I fought, I lost…like Sammy, only…"
Ben's swarthy complexion paled. "You lost a brother?"
"No."
"Another firefighter?"
"Yes. My best friend." Reed saw the scene before him and began to sweat. His stomach began to churn. Abruptly, he stood and crossed to the window. Opened it. Took in some air. "I can't talk about what happened, Ben. It brings back…too much."
Ben was silent for a long time. Then he asked, "That’s what you meant tonight when you said you wouldn't lose anybody else."
His back still to his friend, Reed nodded. The air, the distance, and Ben's calm voice held back the demons. He stood at the window, silently, for a long time, letting the night soothe him.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. At first he startled. Other than a few macho bear hugs initiated by O'Roarke, he couldn't remember the last time he'd let some other guy touch him. But he allowed Ben's hand to remain where it was.
"Do you think losing your buddy was your fault?" Ben asked softly.
"In my head, no. I can't shake the idea out of my heart, though."
Ben said nothing. Just stared at the lawn with him.
Finally Reed said, "Like you guessed, I've purposely closed others out since then." He smiled sadly. "Or I've tried to. You and Beth O'Roarke…you both got a stubborn streak a mile wide. You snuck in a few times."
"Good," Ben said.
Reed glanced over at him, but then looked away. "No, it's not good, Ben." The dimly lit kitchen allowed him to go further. "I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I've had some episodes because of you two."
"No shit?"
"No shit." He sighed. "Not as intense like with…"
"With?"
Reed shook his head. "I can't. I can't get into that either." Again the waiting. "I don't know how much you know about PTSD, but it comes in degrees. Cranky, grouchy episodes and anxiety attacks are milder symptoms of it."
"You sayin' Beth and I are responsible for your bad moods, Macauley? Because if you are, I'm not buying it."
Reed welcomed the levity. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"
Ben walked back to the table. Returned with their beers and handed one to Reed. They sipped silently. "Anything I can do?"
Was there? Reed shook his head.
"You ever get help with this?"
"Some. Not enough."
"Is there somebody you know, a woman, maybe, you could tell about this?"
Reed's radar went up. "What are you getting at?"
Ben ducked his head. "Look, I'd be lost without Dee to hash things out with." He harrumphed. "Oh, hell, it's pretty obvious a certain little psychologist is interested in you, Macauley. Maybe you could let her in."
Reed shook his head at the irony. It was exactly what his weak side wanted. To talk to Delaney. To lean on her. "I can't drag her into this."
"She's strong, I think. Like Dee is now."
Was she? "Maybe."
Ben sighed. And then, like the smart leader he was, he didn't preach, he didn't push. He just put his hand back on Reed's shoulder and added, "Then know that I'm here for you, buddy, if you ever need me."
"Thanks," Reed said simply.
He wasn't sorry he'd opened up to his friend. If the nightmares came later as a result of this lapse, he'd deal with them. Right now, the comfort he was feeling seemed worth the risk.