Page 34 of Party of Three

Jeff raised one eyebrow. “So you think we fucked him out of his PTSD?”

“You said that out loud, you know?”

Jeff winked at him. “I got a mouth that matches yours, firecracker.”

“Maybe we keep quiet and follow his lead,” Buckley finally said. “It’s kind of the only choice I’ve had when it comes to this.”

Under the table, Jeff caressed Buckley’s knee. His eyes filled with an openness and compassion he’d yet to see in them, and suddenly he had no trouble understanding how this man had made Mateo feel safe even before he’d stopped his plummet into the ocean depths.

“How bad is it?” Jeff asked gently. “I mean, you took the dimmers out at the house. He won’t even get in a pool. Is it coming up in other ways?”

Buckley hesitated. Mateo had begged him not to talk to his sister about it because she’d be all over him with holistic suggestions and supplements and phone numbers for LA psychics. With Mateo’s parents out of the picture, that meant Buckley had discussed these issues with no one. “Elevators are out too. He’s set off two fire alarms at school trying to take the stairs.”

Closing his eyes, Jeff squeezed Buckley’s knee tighter, as if absorbing this little piece of news like a blow. And Buckley felt a surge of relief. For the first time, he wasn’t alone with his gnawing worry for the man he loved.

“Let’s do like you said,” Jeff finally said. “Let’s follow his lead.”

Mateo returned to the table, gesturing for the server to bring them the bill.

They did what they’d agreed to do and followed Mateo’s lead all the way back to the villa. They changed hurriedly, Mateo talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular while Buckley and Jeff smiled and nodded and exchanged worried looks.

Sapphire Cove had a little crescent of private beach hemmed in by rocky cliff faces. The only land access was a twisting wooden staircase that descended the cliff from the lawn outside the hotel’s ballrooms. Mateo took it several steps at a time, whooping and hollering like a sports fan entering a crowdedarena before the big game. They didn’t bother reserving any of the umbrella-shaded wooden loungers. Instead, they laid their towels down not too far from the surf’s foamy edge. Buckley was relieved to see it was a relatively calm day. No real whitecaps, just gentle swells breaking with a soft whooshing sound close to the shore.

Still, the whole thing made him feel like he was being jerked along by a speeding train with no brakes, even though everything about this felt rushed and wrong. Then Mateo ran into the ocean, Jeff following. Buckley did the same, diving under as soon as the water came up to his waist. When he broke the surface, he saw Mateo swimming a few yards ahead. Treading water now, his boyfriend turned toward them, smiling as big as he had during their race to the beach. For a second, Buckley thought it would work. That Jeff’s return and their hours of passion had healed Mateo’s paralyzing fear of the place he’d once loved—the ocean.

Then he was gone.

Buckley stood suddenly, surprised to find the water only waist deep. “Mateo!” His voice betrayed the fear he’d been fighting ever since they’d left the brunch table. Jeff was a few yards away, staring back at the shore.

Shoulders slumped, head slightly bowed, Mateo was emerging from the water, making a beeline for their stuff. He toweled himself off, movements frenzied, more dabs than swipes. Like the droplets of water were hurting his skin.

“Babe?” Buckley called after him as he pursued. He heard the splashes of Jeff moving through the water next to him.

“I’m fine.” Mateo’s croak didn’t sound remotely fine.

But he wouldn’t look at them and his nostrils were flaring, his lips parted with heavy breaths that lifted his back.

“You two have fun,” he said quickly. “I’m gonna…go up to the room and…”

“Hey, Cano. Maybe we sit for a bit and catch our breath,” Jeff asked.

“No, I’m going up. It’s fine.” He sounded like the Mateo he’d first met, bashful and quiet but also constantly tense. He’d tried to pole vault over his worst fear and been knocked backward in an instant, and all Buckley wanted to do was throw his arms around him. But Mateo was already walking across the sand in his flip-flops, one arm raised behind him as if he was trying to bid them good-bye and freeze them in place with the same gesture.

His vision blurred. By the time Mateo was halfway up the steps, he was blinking back tears.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I wish he’d get angry, you know? Or lash out. But all he does is get so hurt and embarrassed, and it breaks my heart every time. I mean, the ocean’s one thing, but he had a job interview with a private security firm in Irvine a few weeks ago. It was on the seventh floor, and the building wouldn’t let him take the stairs. He was so humiliated he didn’t go. Never told them why, either. That’s not like him at all, but what’s he gonna do? Tell a security company he’s too afraid to ride an elevator?”

“Is he talking to anyone? Any therapists?”

“I’ve tried three. One was this rapid eye movement therapy clinic. He called it science fiction stuff, but it’s shown results with trauma victims. He kept bailing on the first appointment. The other two were on his insurance plan, talk therapy. He bailed after two sessions with each. Said it was too touchy feely.”

“Has he talked to any of his old Marine friends about this?”

Buckley shook his head. Then he felt Jeff take his hand.

“Come on,” the older man said, and in a tone that brooked no argument. “Let’s go. I’ve got this.”

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