Girls Nights Out were happening because Deck had talked to Chace. Chace had then talked to Faye. Faye had done her thing with the girls and the girls jumped right on it. Then Deck had talked to Emme.

Connecting. Girl’s Night Out, once a week. Form bonds. Build a life. Establish a crew to provide an ear, advice, support, but mostly fun.

Settle.

Find happiness.

Emme had agreed and even done it enthusiastically.

So now she was out tossing them back with some of the finest women he’d ever met.

All good.

Tonight, The Dog was on the rotation. Seeing as Krys and Lauren owned Bubba’s bar in Carnal and Zara’s man Reece managed The Dog in Gnaw Bone, there was friction about where the women would meet.

Zara had some legal case finish up that now made her a millionaire. But Reece was not the type of man who didn’t work for his living. And Zara was the kind of woman, sudden millionaire or not, she looked after her man. Apparently, he got a bonus if he sold a shitload of booze, so Zara pushed for The Dog.

Krys and Laurie were not millionaires so they pushed for Bubba’s.

Nina, Lexie and Faye stepped in and suggested the rotation.

So tonight it was The Dog.

Emme wanting Deck to bring Buford meant they were headed to her house. As both Bubba’s and The Dog were a haul from his place in Chantelle, that meant she wanted to be home—and in bed with him—soon.

Emme, in bed, na**d and tipsy.

Time to go.

After his computer shut down, Deck muttered to Buford, who was lying on the floor by his side. “Let’s go, pal,”

He did this smiling.

And he smiled all the way to his truck.

* * *

One and a half hours later…

Emme was lying full on top of him, knees bent, straddling his hips.

She’d cleaned up after they were done, wandered back while pulling on some panties and a camisole, hit the bed, which meant hit Deck, then settled in just like that.

A new thing for Emme.

They usually fell asleep with Emme tucked to his side, parts of her draped over him.

But after her breakthrough, she didn’t claim the lion’s share of Deck.

She just claimed Deck.

He was not complaining. After she fell asleep, he would slide her to his side. But while she was falling, he stroked her back and hair, enjoying the fact his girl’s demonstration said she was done disconnecting. Now she wanted to stay as connected as she could get, as often as she could get it, for as long as she could have it.

So he gave it to her.

Trailing the fingertips of his hand along her spine, gliding the fingers of his other hand through her hair, he felt her body relax into his and knew she was close to sleep.

That meant Buford was going to have to adjust. He was flat out on his side, his back pressed to Deck and Emme.

This was also the new norm and when this happened, Buford protested with halfhearted groan when Deck slid Emme into his space.

But he adjusted.

Then again, Deck’s dog had bonded with his girl and she’d done the same with his dog.

Another connection

Deck grinned at the dark ceiling.

“I didn’t scream.”

Deck blinked as his hands stilled when her soft words hit the room.

“What, baby?”

“I didn’t scream,” she repeated, her voice sleepy and quiet.

He fought against his body tightening.

There was something else new happening with Emme.

She went to see a therapist twice a week, and after her sessions, she would be quiet, reflective and sometimes distant. This would not last long, and she’d quickly come back to Emme.

But she’d also have moments that had nothing to do with her therapy schedule where she’d wince or appear in pain, both for what seemed no reason. These moments didn’t happen when they were talking, instead while they were watching TV, eating or lounging around reading.

But when this happened, she didn’t share.

Deck also didn’t push.

When she went into therapy, Deck had thoroughly researched post-traumatic stress disorder, and none of these symptoms was unusual.

As for how a loved one dealt: patience, understanding and listening were key. However, after her first few appointments and interviewing Barry and Maeve, Emme’s therapist had suggested family therapy. The primary goal for that was to guide all of them to a better place as apparently Emme held some guilt for the fact her parents were still dealing with the trauma.

Barry and Maeve agreed. They were starting next week.

But now it was clearly time for her to share whatever was on her mind, something she hadn’t done in any real way in three weeks. And Deck needed to be patient, understanding and listen.

The problem was, he didn’t know what else he needed to be. And if it was time for her to share, he needed to be what she needed him to be.

“You didn’t scream,” he prompted softly when she said no more.

“When Harvey took me,” she stated and stopped talking.

Deck closed his eyes.

Then he opened them and replied encouragingly, “Okay.”

They lay there in the dark, his girl as close as she could be, her cheek planted in the middle of his chest, her face aimed to the windows.

She didn’t move or speak.

Then he felt her heave a heavy sigh and she said, “If I had screamed, fought and screamed, a teacher would have heard. Or someone would have seen. Someone would have done something and it never would have happened. I could have stopped it if I just screamed.”

It took a lot for Deck not to interrupt, to let her verbalize her feelings and not try to shut down her guilt.

He accomplished this and when she went silent, he remarked, “You know he was on the edge.”

Another sigh then, “I know.”

“Sometimes,” he started carefully, “in certain situations, it’s good not to fight and scream. It could be worse if you did.”

“Harvey would never hurt me.”

He clenched his teeth to bite back his retort, forced his jaw to relax, and when he had it together, pointed out again, “Baby, he was on the edge. Men driven to the edge are unpredictable.”

At that, she lifted her head, put her hands to his chest and he looked at her face in the moonlight.

“Really,” she said quietly. “I know he’s not your favorite person, but Harvey would never hurt me.”

Deck lifted a hand, brushed her bangs from her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear, leaving his hand curled around her neck. “I know that’s the man you grew to know. And that man you grew to know is Harvey Feldman. But the man who snatched you was not the man you know. The man who took you was a man driven to extreme behavior due to his grief. You can’t know how that man would react if you didn’t do what you were told.”