Page 41 of Dice & Dekes

Thanks to my training, I manage to keep my shit together until I’m finally back in my car. The clock reads 3:34 a.m. I haven’t even been awake for two hours, but this day already feels a year long.

“Come on, Knova, you just flew a helicopter,” I tell myself aloud. “You can drive a damn car.” But my hands are shaking so badly that I recognize just how bad an idea that is even before I turn on the engine.

I don’t want to cause another accident like the one that I just left.

That thought drives a wedge through the crack in my armor, and all the emotions I’ve held back come spilling out at once. Within seconds, I’m bent over the steering wheel, clutching it in a stranglehold and sobbing for all I’m worth. I turn on the car engine and jab my finger blindly at the console. There’s no way in hell I’m going to move from this spot, but I need to call someone, and I can’t see my little phone screen through my tears.

The moment the sobs start, there’s no reining them in. It’s like my body’s been waiting for permission. For a pause in duty long enough to break apart. My fingers are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, but I feel like I’m holding on to nothing. To no one. I’m screaming and crying and gagging all at once, and I hate how familiar this feels. How easy it is to slip into the pain like an old flight suit.

The dog tags around my neck are an anchor. A noose. It’s been a long time since my PTSD has been triggered this badly, but I can’t do anything but lean into that despair.

There’s no one left who could make this better. But I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. My thumb hovers over Knight’s name. But when I hit the screen, it’s not Knight’s voice that answers.

Shit. I must have hit the wrong button.

“Knova?” His voice is slurred with sleep. “Where are you?”

Here’s the thing about having a meltdown that leaves you crying so hard you can’t breathe: there’s no off-switch. I’m still wailing and sobbing, and the car’s speakers pick all that up. Even worse, there’s some reverb on the line, so my own wailing is echoed back to me through Viktor’s end.

It’s the actual fucking worst. I hate myself a little for being this weak, much less letting anyone else see it. Or hear it, I guess. Viktor is only ever supposed to see me when I’m confident, and maybe when I’m pissed, but in the last few days, he’s seen me at my worst again and again. I wish I could go back in time and do the last two hours over, but with a different outcome.

Because the dynamics of our non-relationship have changed.

And there’s no take-backs.

Then I feel like scum, because I’m upset about appearances, aboutmyselfand the huge emotions I don’t want to feel, when that woman just lost achild.

“Whoa, hey.” Viktor sobers immediately. “Where are you?”

“At the h-hospital.” I choke on my sobs. “UMC.”

“Okay.” Something thumps in the background. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“N-n-n…” I press my forehead to the steering wheel. “Not me.”

“Some else?”

“A stranger,” I say. “I had to fly… no one else could...”

“Right. Got it. What can I do?”

I let out a whimper that comes right from my broken heart. “I need a ride.”

“I’m coming. Just give me one—ow—dammit, okay, I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Can you share your location so I know where to find your car?”

I make a wordless noise in the affirmative and end the call, then tap through my screen to share my pin with Viktor. When that’s done, I have nothing left to do but remember. I sit hunched in my car, bawling as I remember everything I’ve tried so hard to forget.

There’s a moment—just one—where I think about putting the car in gear and driving. Not home. Just… somewhere. Somewhere I don’t have to feel this anymore. I grip the tags around my neck until they bite into my skin. That’s what pulls me back. Pain is grounding. So is Viktor’s voice, even if I didn’t mean to hear it.

I’m mostly cried out by the time Viktor arrives. He has a blanket with him, which he wraps around my shoulders as he bundles me into his passenger seat. “Need anything from the car?”

I shake my head.

“Okay.” He makes sure I’m buckled in before going around to the driver’s side. He doesn’t ask a single question on the ride back. He supports me on the walk to his door. Clearly, he doesn’t know what to say. I’m just grateful for the silence.

He settles me in a chair at the kitchen table and starts rummaging around in the cabinets. I stare dead-eyed at the tabletop, losing track of time. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting there when Viktor slides a mug full of steaming golden tea in front of me.

His silence feels like a gift. Like he’s giving me space to collapse without commentary. I should say something. Thank him. Apologize. But all I do is stare at the wood grain on the table like it holds some kind of answer.

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