Page 15 of Beast

My blood chilled. A flash of my mom’s skull busted open, blood staining her gorgeous black hair, the smell of gunpowder, the lethal weapon still clutched in her hand, a final reminder that she’d given up the will to live. She’d never see me walk down the aisle; my future children would never know the love of their nana. After she’d taken her own life, I’d lost the desire to ever dance again.

My hand shook. Only an hour ago I’d seen Grady suffer from a combat flashback. He’d been blank, out of his mind, unreachable. What if he had another flashback and no one was around? What if this truly turned into nothing more than a one-night stand? Did he have someone to talk him down off the ledge? Would he call someone for help? I’d recently read an article about the suicide rates of vets and the lack of mental health care they receive. He’d even told me that he didn’t believe any of the therapies worked. A grenade had blown Grady up. He’d watched his best friend die. Was he suicidal?

I peered out the window—he was still on the phone.

Luckily, I’d gone shooting with my dad many times prior to my mom’s suicide, and I knew how to operate a weapon, though I hadn’t seen a gun since I’d discovered her. My hand shaking, I slid the magazine out—it was empty. But I saw a single round in the chamber.

One round. One bullet.

Enough to end his life.

Enough to end mine.

I removed the round, clutched it in my hand, and buried the bullet in my purse.

I walked back into the living room, my heart racing, but I was certain I’d done the right thing.

But I was also certain I had to get the hell out of here. What if he found out I stole his bullet? In the haze of lust and desperation, I’d put myself in a dangerous situation—alone with an armed stranger. Emotions twisted inside me. Grady was sexy and a true hero.

But it didn’t matter.

Ultimately, I didn’t feel safe. Though I wanted to be a clinical psychologist, I didn’t have the tools to help Grady, and one glance at the bullet in my purse made me realize I was in way over my head.

But what about our connection? I liked this guy—my heart raced when I thought about him. We had just had the most incredible sex, twice, and he’d opened up to me, revealed himself to me, showed me his scars. He asked me to spend the night. How could I leave him now when he had just began to let me in?

After a few more minutes, Grady came back into the room. “Sorry about that, my buddy’s going through a rough time.”

“No worries, it’s great that you’re there for him.”

We sat in silence. I didn’t know what to say to him. I had so many questions about what had happened to him in Iraq, what his life was like now, how he coped. But I had no right to ask these questions. I never wanted to start a relationship with sex first. But we’d already crossed that line, and there was no going back.

My phone vibrated. Marisol.

Marisol: You hooker! You ready to go home?

Isa: I’ll be back where you parked in a few minutes.

Marisol: K.

“Grady, my friend is going to pick me up downstairs. I’m going to go.”

His face fell and it was as if I could almost see hope escaping from his eye.

What had I just done? I hated myself.

“Good.” He stood up.

Good? Ouch. Maybe he had only asked me to stay the night because he was a gentleman. Guess he didn’t want to be held responsible if a cabbie murdered me.

Or maybe the sting of my rejection had caused him to turn cold.

I’d been wrong to think there was a connection here; I was probably nothing more to him than another random hookup.

This was for the best. As much as I craved getting close to a man, I truly doubted that I could really let my guard down, especially with someone who was going through his own issues. Plus once he realized I’d disarmed him, he would probably never trust me again.

I refused to let him see my hurt. “It was really nice to meet you, Grady.”

My arms extended for a hug but he brushed me off. Double ouch.