Douglas had been “napping” for an hour. Which meant he had laid in bed for 45 minutes staring at the ceiling, slept for maybe 15, and then woken up in a cold sweat, heart racing like he’d just run five miles. So yeah, real restful.

Now he was in the living room, sitting on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except staring at the TV—which was turned off, by the way. Just pure, black-screen, void-staring action. The silence in the room was suffocating, but the second he thought about turning something on, his brain went No, bad idea, stay alert. Alert for what? He had no idea. The only real sound was the faint hum of traffic outside, but even that wasn’t helping. Every car passing by, every honk, every distant thump sent his mind racing through a highlight reel of worst-case scenarios. Was that a door slamming? A gunshot? Oh, just a motorcycle backfiring? Sure. For now.

His leg bounced restlessly, fingers twisting together in his lap. He was fine. Everything was fine. But what if it wasn’t? He wasn’t a Marine anymore, hadn’t been for months—not because he wanted to leave, but because they decided he wasn’t fit to serve anymore. Apparently, developing a slight case of life-ruining PTSD after being blown up in a war zone wasn’t ideal for a Sergeant. Who knew?

THUNK.

Douglas nearly jumped out of his damn skin. His body went rigid, heart slamming into his ribs, hands already clenched into fists, muscles ready to throw hands with whatever the hell that was. He snapped his head toward the window, every nerve on fire—

—only to see a pigeon staring back at him, looking equally confused.

Oh. Right. Just a bird.

Jesus Christ, he was losing it.

He dragged a rough hand down his face, fingers grazing over the jagged, burned skin of his cheek, where his teeth peeked through the scar tissue. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it still felt weird. Unnatural. Like he wasn’t supposed to be walking around like this. Like he wasn’t supposed to be alive.

And yet, here he was. In his house. With his husband, who, for some absolutely insane reason, was still here too—despite Douglas looking like a horror movie extra and acting like a human landmine.

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the thoughts before they could dig in too deep.

What time is it?

Wasn’t it almost dinner?