Dane

This is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

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Dane huffed at the thought. He'd been warned. He'd seen multiple doctors, and one ill-fated therapist when he was still a teenager. They all agreed. He suffered PTSD. It was why he couldn't control his temper. It was why he was hyper-vigilant.

They didn't understand. He didn't have a disorder. He had a healthy respect for the monsters that walked around looking human. Like him.

They had it all wrong. He wasn't the victim. Not really. If anything proved that, the fact that he very nearly shot his own receptionist should be a strong argument in his favor.

He gripped his head in his hands and tried to get it all straight in his head.

Delilah—lovely, thoughtful, idiotic Delilah—had organized a surprise birthday party for him. Him. Who hadn't had a birthday party since he was ten. Him, who prayed he'd never have another one.

Of course, she didn't know that.

Chloe's face, terrified and clinging to Joshua, flashed in his head. He hadn't lost control like that, lost perspective, for so long. Years. He'd thought he was past the worst of it. Thought he'd healed. Thought he had it under control.

It had only taken one infuriating, beautiful woman, and one innocent party to prove what he'd feared all along.

He was a monster. He'd been raised by a monster, molded into a monster, and now, no matter how he fought it, he had become exactly what he'd been taught to be. It was only a matter of time.

"I almost killed someone," he murmured to himself and shook his head.

He'd been fooling himself, soothing his conscience with this business. With all that bullshit passion.

When push came to shove, Dane was a destroyer, not a protector. That press conference had been a lie. They had no idea.

For a minute he let himself picture what he'd be doing right now, what stories those reporters would be writing if he'd given in to that insanity, if he'd pulled the trigger. A shudder rocked him to his toes. Thank god he hadn't. It had been so close…

Dane sank into a pit of his own self-loathing.

He didn't know how long he sat there, head in his hands, cursing himself. But when he blinked and raised his head the light in the room had shifted, and at some point the quiet bustle out in the hall settled down so it was quiet enough for him to hear the elevator ding.

Delilah was sending everyone home. Probably begging them not to sue him.

He couldn't avoid it any longer. She needed to understand what she was dealing with. Keeping her distant hadn't helped. She tried too hard. He needed to let her see all the messy truth of his life and his mind. Then he'd give her the choice: She could understand and stay, pull a paycheck, and help him save the business and risk getting killed in the process. Or she could leave.

Better to let her go now before he got any more attached.

On weak knees, he got up from the chair. He didn't let himself hesitate.

*****

Lila

Standing in the quiet reception area, she couldn't believe she'd made such a complete mess of this day. So much for reassuring Dane that they could talk and be friends. Be together. So much for giving him a happy memory. Once again, she'd just rushed in and thought she had the answers to everything. And look how it had ended up. No wonder Dane had been avoiding her for a month.

She dropped her face into her hands and let herself breathe for a moment. Just a minute. Just until she walked in that room and probably lost her job—and the man that was quickly becoming the center of her world. What a ridiculous situation she'd gotten herself into. How had it come to this?

Just as she considered letting herself melt into a puddle of tears, the elevator behind her dinged and she whirled to find Chris storming out of the elevator, but pulling himself to a halt when he saw her. His eyes burned and his jaw was tense.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snapped.

Lila shook her head. "I just wanted to celebrate his birthday. I thought he'd be lonely—"

"His birthday?" Chris snapped. "Do you have any idea—"

"I do now!" she cried. "Chris, I think I just took a decade off his life. He was terrified. He pulled a gun on the staff! I didn't even know he carried one."

Chris cursed and clawed his fingers through his hair. "How the hell do you think he protects himself?" he muttered, his eyes screwed up tight. "What part of your tiny little brain thought a surprise party for Dane was a good idea?"

"When is a birthday party ever a bad idea?" I gasped. "Do you think I'd have done it if I had any clue? Do you think I wanted to scare him?"

"Scare him? You didn't scare him—you put in him a warzone. And on his birthday!"

"What is the thing with birthdays?" Lila shrieked. "In what world is it a bad thing to want to celebrate someone?"

"In Dane Daniels' world," Chris snarled back.

"But why?"

Chris opened his mouth, but caught himself and snapped it shut, glaring. "It's not—"

"I'll tell her."

Chris and Lila both whirled to face Dane who was standing in the hallway, his arms at his sides. He looked exhausted, but calm. His eyes fixed on his brother. "Leave it alone, Chris. I'll explain."

The anger fell off Chris's features and for the first time she saw the genuine care between the brothers as his shoulders relaxed. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine. But we'll need to do some damage control. I think I traumatized Chloe."

Chris shot Lila a glare out of the corner of his eye, but put his hands up. "Leave it to me. I'll go talk to her now."

Surprisingly, Dane nodded. Lila wasn't used to seeing him ready to let anyone else handle anything when there was a crisis, but she wasn't going to argue. Dane had already looked tired when she'd picked him up this morning. Now he looked like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were haunted. And if she wasn't wrong, his hands still shook.

Her chest ached. Would she ever do anything right when it came to him?

While she pretended she couldn't hear, Chris and Dane had a quiet conversation about how to approach the staff, and what Dane would say tomorrow at staff meeting. Then Chris patted him on the shoulder and turned back towards the elevators. He pointed a finger at Delilah and growled, "And you and I are meeting at eight in the morning."

"Chris," Dane said, his voice tired. "I'll deal with Delilah. You focus on the rest of the staff."

Chris poked the elevator button and looked like he'd argue, but just shook his head. It dinged immediately and the door opened. He shot a final glare at her as he stepped inside, but he didn't say anything.

Then the doors closed and she was alone with Dane.

For a moment she just stared at the elevator. What was she going to say? How could she ever make this up to him? Should she resign?

Could she bear it if she never got to see him again?

Did she have any choice?