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Brent raised his eyebrows, just slightly, and he leaned forward on the bench, taking her hand and pulling her back toward him. “It’s literally their job to hear you rehash that— It’s actually not rehashing, because they help you work through it in a way you haven’t done before.” He decided this warranted standing up, if only to use the advantage of his height over her in the moment. Hands rested on her shoulders, keeping her from fidgeting away from the conversation.
“And listen, I’m not knocking the value of a good cry and wine, but I think there’s a little more you can do, too.” He kissed her briefly, and then smiled, warm and comforting. “I think you should give it a shot, Mace.”
He knew her too well, she’d at least give him that. His hands were gentle and the kiss made her feel safe.
Macey let out a long sigh, eyes focusing on a spot over his shoulder instead of his face. “You’re doing that thing where your eyes are all cute and puppy-dog like, and that’s a hundred percent not fair.”
She stayed like that for a few moments, trying to gather herself. But, her joints still felt like electrified rubber that needed to jostle around. She hated being still. Staying still meant having to actually stop and think about things instead of leaving them behind. Now that was a big stone for therapy to chip away at; The thought didn’t make her laugh, though. Finally, her eyes flitted back over to him,
“I can’t talk about the war stuff again.” Her voice was weary, like a weight on her chest caused the words to wheeze out, “I really can’t.”














