Page 14 of Camp Bliss
“Well, then, what do you mean?” And, okay, my tone might not be the most patient.
“It means I don’t want to let him see,” he snaps.
Even as I recoil, I know exactly what he means. He doesn’t want Zach to see him struggling. He puts on a brave face. Classic toxic masculinity.
But when he’s with me, he doesn’t have to keep up appearances.
I try not to resent it. I really do.
It means that Josh is okay letting his guard down with me.
But, dammit. It also means that he gives Zach his best. And there’s nothing left for me.
I know that’s super selfish. And even admitting it to myself has shame surging inside me like a geyser.
I lick my lips and breathe in and out of the feelings, trying not to deny them but also trying not to act out of them.
It’s damn hard.
My training kicks in, and I remind myself what I want out of this relationship. Who I want to be. Idowant Josh to be able to let his guard down with me. To be vulnerable with me. Because that means I can do the same with him.
And I want to cherish him. Handle him with care. Be gentle with all of his vulnerable pieces.
And within just a few breaths, the resentment has burned itself out. Leaving a little more peace in its wake.
Peace and clarity.
“What do you need?” I ask him.
His laugh is the sound of defeat. “You mean other than running away? Hell if I know.”
I tilt my head. “You know running away is just a fantasy.” I say it offhand. His brows bob up and down.If you say so,the look says.
“Josh,” I settle a hand on his knee. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to have doubts. It’s hard to sit with them, but you can’t really outrun your feelings.”
His gaze drifts down between us, but he doesn’t say anything.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve seen this before. He’s in too deep to help himself.
I squeeze his knee. “Executive decision,” I say. “You and I are trading places for the rest of the week. You’re in here with sandpaper, primer, and paint, and I’m out there with fence posts and power tools.”
Josh’s left brow climbs. “And Zach.”
I can’t help myself. “I mentioned tools.”
He laughs, and it feels like victory.
I smile at my own joke for a second before sobering. “Maybe it’s all the changes. But maybe it’s also the physical labor and the strain on your body,” I hedge and worry my bottom lip between my teeth before continuing. “But you might want to talk to Dr. Boudreaux about your dosage?”
I turn the suggestion into a question at the very end. In reality, there’s no question. He really should tell his doctor what’s going on. But Dr. Boudreaux has said it more than once. Antidepressants are only part of the picture. I’ve reminded him that alcohol is a depressant. Is he really giving his meds a chance to work and make him feel better when he’s drinking every night? And even if he cut that out, he needs to talk to someone. Dr. Boudreaux has recommended counseling before, and Josh just refuses.
And that refusal is there in the line of his jaw. So I don’t press the point. Not tonight. The fact that he isn’t actively fighting me on taking it easy for a few days is no small thing.
Not that he’s outright agreed.
“What about Zach?” he asks, frowning.
“What about him?”
