Page 6 of Criminally Yours

She’d made it clear in the ripped-up letter he’d sent her,the one she’d returned via his friend. He’d never forget what she’d told her brother to say to him.

She’d want nothing to do with the man he was now either, the man who clung to order and a regimented lifestyle so he could manage his anxiety. The man who wouldn’t let anyone in.

He was taking deep breaths when he saw a message from his therapist.

Psych: How are you? Remember your breathing exercises. You don’t need to control everything to be safe. It’s okay to grieve and let go sometimes.

Today was the anniversary of the incident that had made him leave the army. He set his jaw and breathed deeply, in and out.

His chest tightened as darkness teetered at the edges of his vision.

He fisted his hands. If he was working right now, he’d be able to regulate all external influences and distract himself from the memories that were like claws pulling at his scalp, trying to open him up to the danger of remembering.

Work until you drop.

The memories couldn’t get in if you were either hyperfocused or too tired to think.

His therapist was wrong about letting go. That was for other people. If he’d had control that day and not let himself get close to others… There was no point going over it. He barely slept because there was always the chance of a nightmare.

He’d worked through most of the after-effects from his years in the Special Air Service, the SAS, and he no longer had panic attacks, flashbacks, or other signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, but this one area stuck.

So what if his emotional distance from people meant he couldn’t form relationships or open up, even with his friends and family?

He’d never be the person he used to be. He couldn’t blame the SAS. He’d made some dubious decisions in life, including the one that meant he’d had to leave her.

As his fingers lingered over the photograph of Millie’s smile one last time, his phone rang.

“What do you want now?” Strike grunted as he tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“That’s no way to speak to your best friend,” Bear replied.

“My best friend, who collaborated with his fiancée to get me into this situation,” he said, carrying the box downstairs, the phone tucked against his broad shoulders, which had eased slightly from revisiting Millie and their shared past.

“It’s packing up your childhood home. You needed a break,” Liss, Bear’s fiancée, chimed in. She never shied away from caring about Strike or Bear, but it didn’t mean he had to listen. “I don’t care that you own Bodyguard Corp. As operations manager, I can tell my staff when they take a break.”

“I still can’t believe you told my parents I’d be happy to pack everything so they could move.” He kicked a box. “And I don’t always need to be on speakerphone. You never warn me, Bear.”

“Why would we warn you if we always do it?” Liss replied.

“You two enjoy pissing me off,” he snapped. “And I didn’t need time off.”

Bear jumped in, “You’ve worked eighty-hour weeks for the past six months. You were breaking. We’ve got everything covered until you start back in a couple of days. Take longer. We’re doing fine.”

If Strike had time off, he wouldn’t be able to fill it, and then he’d linger on the past. But Bear and Liss were too happy in their love bubble to understand.

“I hate you both,” he hissed, gripping his car keys so tightly they were cutting into his hand.

“His comebacks are awesome,” Liss cheeked.

“At least he’s not grunting,” Bear said.

“He’s the grumpiest man.”

“I need to go,” Strike grumbled. Their banter had a weird way of pissing him off while also easing his stress. “I’ve got a couple of boxes to load into the car, and I still need to finish off my bedroom.”

“Did you get distracted reminiscing as you stared at Millie’s room?” Bear asked as Strike shoved another cherry cola sweet between his lips.

“You mean the Millie he was in love with when he was a teenager? The one he used to hold up signs to like he was in Taylor Swift’s ‘You Belong With Me’ music video?”