Page 24 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Alex

I knew Marcus wouldn't have left Tyler, and now it was my job as the resident psychologist to talk to Tyler about what had happened. Finding them both was easy. They were in Tyler's room, sitting on the floor, their backs resting against the side of the bed, and they were close, not touching, but the proximity of Marcus’s little finger to Tyler's spoke volumes about the silent support being offered. Marcus glanced up as I entered, his eyes bright with emotion. He got to his feet and nodded at me with a strained smile.

“He might open up more with you,” he whispered before leaving the room. The door clicked behind him, leaving Tyler and me in a bubble of silence.

I took a deep breath and careful steps to sit where Marcus had been, maintaining a respectful distance to give Tyler space, yet close enough to engage.

“Hey,” I began, keeping my voice even and gentle. “Are you okay if I sit here?”

Tyler side-eyed me, then scrubbed at his eyes. “Shit,” he muttered.

“I’m not here to push you, just to understand and help if I can.”

Tyler's gaze flickered toward me, guarded and uncertain. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “Was I really going to jump? I… I don't know. It felt like the only way to stop the noise.”

“What kind of noise?” I probed, encouraging him to elaborate while showing that I was there to listen, not to judge.

“It's like… like memories, constant and loud. Every sound, every movement takes me back there,” Tyler explained, his eyes distant as if reliving the moments he described. “I was in a market there, and suddenly there was chaos—screaming, and then, silence. So much silence.”

“The market,” I echoed, piecing his words with what I knew about his service history. “That was your last deployment before you came home?”

Tyler nodded, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “Yeah, and I can't get it out of my head. It’s always there as if it just happened. I thought I was managing it, but sometimes… sometimes it just becomes too much.”

“Do you have an idea what triggered you today?”

He shrugged and looked helpless. “A smell, a…” He went quiet, staring forward, unblinking, shutting down.

Dissociating.

“Tyler?” I waited. “Can you come back, Tyler?”

He stiffened, then hunched and clenched his hands into fists.

“Tyler? Are you with me now? Can you tell me five things you can see?”

“You, my bed… my…” He shook his head and tilted his chin. The closet, my jacket. Four things… I can smell… I can hear…” He scrubbed his eyes again. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said, my voice soft, waiting for him to fully come back to the room, helping him count down what he could see and hear. “Would you want to talk to me?”

He shook his head.

“It doesn't have to be me? I could ask someone else?”

Tyler hesitated. “Can it be Marcus?”

“Sure.”

Tyler considered this, silent for a moment before letting out a shaky sigh. “Can you… can you get him back? I think… I need him here.”

Without hesitation, I pulled out the walkie-talkie and connected to Marcus.

“Can you come up?” I asked my friend, who opened the door after a few seconds as if he had been close by and waiting for any sign he was needed. “He’s asking for you,” I said.

We exchanged a silent nod. Everything we needed to think about was in that quiet exchange.

We needed to call what we classified as a code red: an observation protocol to ensure Tyler's safety. It required a close watch, a decision not made lightly, but necessary given the circumstances. Tyler wouldn't be left alone, and staff members would take shifts to monitor him, ensuring that someone was always present to offer support or intervene, if necessary. From the way Tyler leaned into Marcus when he sat cross-legged next to him, I sensed Marcus was going to be our point of contact. The immediate relief washing over Tyler's face when Marcus was there was evident, and it felt right to give them this space—to let Marcus be the support Tyler clearly needed.

I glanced around the room, checking for any items that might cause Tyler to harm himself, and Marcus nodded again. He would check the other places I couldn't see, but he would keep everything calm and soothing.

“I got this,” he mouthed to me, and I held up a single finger.

Another staff member would check on Tyler and Marcus every hour to ensure their physical safety. Additionally, if Tyler didn't want Marcus present, or needed to talk, the protocols would evaluate his mental state and offer reassurance and companionship. We would increase the frequency of his therapy sessions with strategies to manage his PTSD symptoms more effectively. However, as the doctor at Guardian Hall, Marcus would be responsible for reviewing Tyler’s medication and adjusting it if necessary to manage his symptoms for the time being better.

Marcus would be staying at Guardian Hall for the foreseeable future.

This was serious.

Not only that, but Tyler's family would need to know, if that was what Tyler had indicated on his intake form.

My heart shattered for him.

“I’ll leave you two,” I murmured, feeling a complex mix of relief and sorrow as I exited the room. Tyler needed someone, and that person seemed to be Marcus.

As I closed the door behind me, the last sight I caught was Tyler curled against my friend, vulnerable but trusting.

I headed back to the office, pulled out the notes, advised his parents and sister, reassured them we were helping him, and then, sat in silence. Tyler's vague description of a market—the way he seemed to lose himself in the recounting—made me think he'd dissociated during our conversation. His gaze had become distant, and his voice faded as he spoke about the market, detaching from the present, the trauma front and center.

I wish I could say it was my first time seeing this.

It wasn't.

“Boss?” Carl said from the office door in a low tone, his hands full of financial statements and budget printouts that he placed on the desk. “I got back from the bank—heard you called a red.”

“Tyler,” I said. “Marcus is with him. Can you take the first check?”

“Sure.”

“I have the security protocols in place. Can you cover the office for thirty?”

“Of course.”

I squeezed his shoulder as he passed, then waved the walkie-talkie. “I'll be on back.”

He didn't ask me why I was heading somewhere or what I was doing. No one knew how desperate I was to see Jazz, and no one knew we'd kissed.

No one other than me knew how much I still loved Jazz and always would.

“No worries,” he said instead of asking questions, and then, I headed to find Jazz and the kittens.

I needed Jazz and the kittens.

As I entered the room, I found Jazz sprawled on the floor, on his belly, watching over two kittens, asleep between his hands, with the third one stirring in the box.

“Scout and Rascal decided on an escape,” Jazz murmured, his voice soft, to avoid disturbing the sleeping kittens. “Everything okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“It will be,” I replied, trying to muster a reassuring smile as I lay next to him and lifted the stirring kitten from the box. The tiny furball, a bundle of soft tabby stripes, mewled, nestling into the warmth of my hand. “Then, this must be Mischief,” I commented, letting the kitten crawl along my arm.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Jazz chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched Mischief.

We shared a comfortable silence, the presence of the kittens creating a peaceful bubble around us. After a moment, I turned to Jazz. “The kiss was everything,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jazz nodded, his eyes not leaving Mischief. “The kiss was perfect.”

“We shouldn’t have,” I added, feeling a twinge of guilt mixed with an undeniable longing.

“But we did,” Jazz replied, finally meeting my gaze, his expression unreadable.

I took a deep breath, the weight of my next words pressing down on me. “You know, I’ve never stopped loving you,” I admitted, the truth spilling out easier than I expected.

The room fell into silence, the only sound being the soft purring of the kittens. Jazz didn’t respond at first, and I wondered if I'd crossed a line. But then, he reached out and adjusted Mischief in my hand, his fingers brushing mine.

“I know,” Jazz said at last, his voice thick with emotion.

I know.