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“Hey.” His gaze sweeps across my face, quickly assessing. “Are you doing okay? Are you sure I’m not bothering you?”

“No. You’re not bothering me at all.” Stepping back into the apartment, I gesture for him to follow me. “I was awake. Just watching TV.”

Erik’s attention is still glued to me. His brows draw together and his smile sobers, like he sees something he doesn’t like. I immediately feel self-conscious, wondering if my clothes—yogapants and a T-shirt—look weird. If my hair is doing something funny. Or if the bruise on my cheek is even worse than I thought.

“I was worried,” he finally says. “I know you said you were fine. And I’m not trying to be pushy. But I just thought… after everything, it might be harder than you expected to be alone.”

It’s right on the tip of my tongue to deny it. To give him an easy out. To stick with my story that I’m perfectly fine. That I’m the strong woman I heard him describing to his teammates when he didn’t think I could hear him.

But I don’t feel strong. And I really don’t want to be alone. I tried it. And itsucked.

So before I can change my mind, I admit, “Maybe I’m not as fine as I thought I’d be.”

Erik frowns. Regret flashes in his eyes. “Tate. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I said I’d be fine. It’s just… now that I’m alone in here, it’s kind of… I keep hearing things.”

He tenses. His voice dips dangerously. “Whatthings?” He casts a suspicious look around the apartment, like he’s expecting an enemy to come jumping out at any moment.

My cheeks heat. “The ice maker. The fridge. A door closing down the hall. I know it sounds stupid, but?—”

Erik’s shoulders sag. “Shit.”

“I know. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb.” He takes my arm and leads me to the couch. Once I’m sitting, he sinks onto the cushion beside me. “It’s not dumb at all, Tate. I’m just sorry… I shouldn’t have left before.”

“I told you to.”

“Still.” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience. And you’re in a strange place. I promised I’d?—”

“You didn’t promise to babysit me,” I interrupt. In a low tone, I add, “It’s not your fault I can’t handle being alone tonight.”

Erik stares at me, an unreadable expression moving across his face. Then he says, “I would never consider spending time with you to bebabysitting. It’s keeping my friend company on her first night in a new apartment.” He pauses. “I’m not here because I think I have to. Iwantto be here. Okay?”

My stupid stomach flutters again. A funny, breathless feeling comes over me. In a whisper, I reply, “Okay.”

“So.” Erik grabs the remote, then leans back and stretches out his legs. He flashes me a little smile. “What are we watching?”

“Just a cooking show,” I reply. “Usually I like to watch thrillers, murder mysteries, stuff like that. But tonight… I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Understanding fills his eyes. “Of course not. Not tonight.” He goes silent for a few seconds as he watches another contestant present a towering chocolate cake to the judges. Then he adds, “I used to like action movies. The ones with cars racing around, shooting at each other. And lots of explosions.”

I nod. “I’ve seen a few of those. The ones where the car drives out of plane and miraculously lands on a boat without bursting into flames. And all the people in the car are completely unharmed.”

“Exactly.” Erik glances back at the TV before continuing, “Something happened back when I was in the Army. Something pretty bad. And after, I couldn’t watch those movies anymore. Even though I knew they were fake, it still bothered me. Now I watch documentaries and home improvement shows, instead.”

I can tell there’s a lot he’s not saying about thissomething bad. Knowing he was Special Forces, that he had to travel overseas to some of the world’s most dangerous places, that he already admitted he’s struggled with PTSD… I have a feeling hissomething badwas actually something pretty darn terrible.

It hurts my heart to think of Erik going through something like that. And I’m filled with this weird feeling of protectiveness; this instinctive need to keep him from ever being hurt again.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, for lack of anything better to say.

“It’s okay, Tate.” He gives me a kind smile. “I missed the movies at first. But now I have different shows to watch. New interests, like yoga and meditation. So it all worked out.”

But there are shadows in his eyes as he says it.

Shadows that make me wonder how much he still struggles with whatever happened to him.