Page 67 of Make it Real
His mouth twisted like he struggled over the answer. “If by sometimes, you mean a lot, then yes.”
“Do you have PTSD?” I asked gently.
His lips pulled into a soft smile. “Not quite. But not all my memories are good ones, and since I’ve been home, they can crowd me. I can outrun it during the day when I’m busy, but at night, when there’s nothing to keep me occupied, I sometimes fixate on the negative. I don’t like that feeling, so—”
He gestured at the paintings surrounding us. I couldn’t imagine how many sleepless nights this room represented. My heart hurt thinking of him that way. He so often wore such a light-hearted demeanor, hard to believe it didn’t go all the way down.
“I know what you mean,” I said. “Thoughts can run away with me when I’m alone at night, too.”
“That’s why I try to never be alone at night.”
He’d probably meant to be cheeky, but the reminder sank like rocks in my gut. Jed wasn’t the kind of guy to be alone much. I’d always known it, but tonight, that knowledge stung. When this was all over, when Gran made it to Florida and Jed was free to do whatever he wanted…how long before he would totally move on?
Maybe the bigger question—how long before I would? I was starting to suspect it’d be a long, long time before I got over Jed Evans.
“Yeah. Um, it’s probably time for us to go.”
I moved to pass him out the door, but he stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing to say.”
“No, don’t worry about it.” Good Lord, I hoped I sounded casual and not like my stupid little heart had turned to dust. “It’s none of my business what you do when you’re…alone.”
That answer made his eyebrows tug together, the deep line between them proving his displeasure. For a second, he ran his thumb over my arm but seemed to realize what he was doing, and pulled that hand over his forehead instead as though he could iron the lines out.
“It is, though. You’re my—I need you to understand. After I came home, I started getting really bad insomnia. When I did sleep, I had nightmares. I learned pretty quick that being around people worked as a good distraction. I spent time with my family, friends…but also women I didn’t date very long. I’m not proud to tell you that, Callie.” The tortured look in his eyes confirmed it. “It wasn’t all because of the insomnia, but enough of it was. Some nights, I couldn’t sleep at all on my own. I was like a little kid seeking out someone else for comfort. I stayed over at Pop’s sometimes. Other times…”
“You don’t have to tell me this.” I wished my voice hadn’t gone so whispery, but I couldn’t seem to make it louder.
“I feel like I do. Pop said I was trying to fill the emptiness in here.” He touched his chest, his eyes stuck on me. “Maybe he was right. I took this up to try to lose myself in something else.”
“Does it work?”
His little smile didn’t look all that happy. “It helps. Some nights, I paint straight through until morning. And clearly, I’m not all that good at it.”
“I think they’re beautiful. But…” I wasn’t sure the kindest way to put this. “Have you thought about trying therapy for the insomnia and the bad memories?”
I’d been a big fan of therapy since my teens, but not everybody sought that path.
“There’s a counselor in Georgetown who has experience with veterans. I just haven’t called him yet.” He touched my fingers like he was seeking reassurance in that small gesture, a meek, questioning touch. “Have I made you rethink this whole thing?”
He had no idea that every time he opened up, it only made me like him more.
“I understand better than you think. I’m planning to sell my house to try to escape my bad memories. And I mean, I started doing needlework to get my mind off my mom. We’re not all that different.” I’d never tried dating around to take my mind off the grief, but I could see how it might work, in a backwards kind of way. Distractions were just that.
I didn’t judge him for the decisions he’d made, whatever his reasons. A tiny thread of jealousy over the women he’d dated pricked like a burr in my heart, but I didn’t think worse of him. Nothing had changed for me.
“I’m sorry for every single one of your losses, Callie. If I could…”
He reached up to cup my jaw, stroking his thumb across my cheek. Emotions I couldn’t follow flashed in his eyes like they tore him in four different directions. He dropped his hand, shaking his head, and I could tell he’d discounted whatever he’d thought to say.
“You deserve the best life,” he said.
Both of us knew nobody got to choose the hand they were dealt. Sometimes, with the big stuff, what we deserved didn’t factor in. But I understood wanting the best for someone.
“So do you.”
TWENTY-TWO
jed
