Chapter Three
The Transport
Thursday
The French Quarter
Q uite honestly, he still couldn’t believe that he was taking on this particular case to help a damaged soldier. The bottom line for him was that he was very particular who he helped.
As a doctor, Poe had a hard and fast rule about letting himself be bought for one-on-one cases.
Why was that?
Oh, maybe because there were plenty of broken soldiers out there that needed his help. The more he could help, the more he could save and give a new lease on life.
After all, this was The City of Second Chances.
And his motto.
Closing down to only help one…
That worried him.
Why?
There were more soldiers than even he could help as it was, and stopping…
Some might die.
Soldiers with PTSD and mental war wounds were his specialty, and now he was feeling a tad bit guilty that he’d taken the money to help only one soldier.
Granted, the money wasn’t for him.
No.
Not even close.
Poe had plenty of money coming from a wealthy family back home.
That million-dollar fee that he requested would be funneled back into his practice to help many wounded warriors.
It would buy cars for their disabilities.
It would get them set up for apartments.
It would buy food for the homeless ones he tried to help on the weekends.
There were so many broken, wounded soldiers, and he knew this was his life’s mission.
After all was said and done, Poe wouldn’t take money for himself. He had plenty. He was born in a country where there were still family members in the upper echelon of society.
His father was a Duke, and he, personally, was disgusted with wealth and privilege when so many suffered.
His career began at the university, and he made sure he got down and dirty with psychology. Then, he moved to the US for his master’s and doctorate.
After a crushing loss in his life, he vowed to make a difference.
He promised to make it all matter.
Now, he was a doctor here in a city where there were so many homeless veterans. Deep down, he believed all soldiers deserved a chance to start a life.
After all, they gave up so much that it was the least he could do.
Truth be told, they had a special place in his heart, and forever would.
His brother had gone into the military, and he’d died in Afghanistan fighting to save lives.
That loss…
It changed him.
Hemmingway lost his life, and Poe promised each day to make sure he helped one person for his brother’s memory.
That had been ten years ago, and now, he was promising to help this one soldier.
But the guilt…
It was consuming him.
Maybe if he was lucky, it would be an easy case, and he could go back to helping others.
As they pulled up to the building, he honestly wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
Who would?
All Poe knew was that the woman who hired him was a formidable individual.
Yeah, he knew who Elizabeth Blackhawk was.
Then again, who didn’t?
Poe would never forget the time they met. He’d crossed paths with her at a Marine gala where she was there with the President of the United States to give out awards to soldiers who had been wounded in the service to their country.
Seeing her was terrifying.
Why?
She held herself like a soldier, and she had been surrounded by Marines in their dress blues. They doted and protected her, and it was something to see.
Then, when he met her, he was shocked at how kind and sweet she had been.
On the spot, she’d promised to make a donation to the foundation that he’d created to help fallen soldiers, and when the party was over, he assumed it had been all talk.
Until a check arrived the next day for half a million dollars from her, one from her husband, Jackson James, and one from her other husband, Doctor Leonard.
That she kept her word…
It was why he was helping her.
You could always tell how good a person was by the company and vows that they kept. His brother would say that all of the time, and Elizabeth laughed, joked, and had Marines she loved.
That told him all he needed to know.
She was a good person.
And that was the ONLY reason he was taking on Gamble Holloway.
Well, he would have helped him, but he wouldn’t have taken the money and made him his only patient.
Now, he was about to face down the man, and hopefully, pull him from the fire.
It wasn’t going to be easy.
It never was.
When a soldier broke, and that didn’t happen easily, a soldier really broke. They did it so well that it took a while to put them back together again.
He’d been given a basic medical history, but Elizabeth had promised there would be a full file when he was picked up.
Well, it seemed like there was no time like the present to face this down.
“I’ll be right back, Reginald. Keep the motor running,” he said to his driver. “Hopefully, I can get him to leave with me.”
The man nodded.
“Aye, Sir.”
As Poe got out, he fixed his suit jacket, checked his pocket watch, and knew it was now of never. At the steps that led to the door of the house, he took a deep breath and knocked.
When the door was open, a man stood there, and he was covered in tattoos up and down his arms. Immediately, he knew this was going to be a Marine and likely one of Gamble’s family members.
Elizabeth had warned him.
“Yes?”
Poe pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to the man.
“I’m Doctor Seville. Elizabeth said you should be expecting me. I need to see the patient and prepare him for transport.”
The man stared at him for a long moment, as if he was measuring him up.
Poe was pretty sure he looked like a doctor. No one ever accused him of underdressing anywhere he went.
That was for sure.
Right down to his tasseled loafers.
“Do you need ID? Do you find people come here and lie to steal away patients?” he asked, his accent crisp.
That got a laugh.
Immediately, the man held out his hand.
“We don’t need your ID. I just didn’t expect that you were a male. That’s all. Anyway, I’m Jagger. Come on in, Doctor. Elizabeth said you’d be coming. I’ll take you to Gamble.”
Well, it was good to see that he was at the right place. There was that, at least.
As he escorted him in, there was a room full of people, and he recognized one in particular.
Oh, Jesus.
Greyson Croft, the mob man, was sitting in the living room. This couldn’t be good. He saw him on the news all of the time, and the man was…trouble.
What the hell was going on in this house?
He was almost afraid to ask.
“This way, Dr. Seville.”
Without voicing his concern, he simply followed Jagger.
When they were alone in a hallway outside of the man’s room, Jagger stopped him, and he was honest.
“Gamble is very important to us. He’s a decorated soldier, and he’s fought hard. The man has awards, and has sacrificed so much. He’s our brother.”
Poe got it.
“Let me guess. You’re a Marine.”
Jagger nodded.
“Captain Jagger Armstrong. I was special forces, and this is my wife, Major Maura Gaines-Mars-Armstrong,” he said, as he saw her approaching.
The man focused on her.
“It’s a pleasure. Don’t worry about Gamble. I’ll do my best,” he said.
Maura sighed.
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but your best isn’t going to be enough. We’re putting him in your hands. Please don’t fail. While Elizabeth might have paid you to help, we will burn down towns for our family. Gamble is our brother.”
He got it.
“I understand, Major. I have a high success rate, and I’ll work tirelessly to get through to him.”
“Please make sure.”
He patted her on the arm, and didn’t take offense.
“Major and Captain, let me reassure you that my methods are eclectic, but I have a process that is over ninety five percent effective. This is what I do. I save soldiers. This is my life’s mission.”
Jagger stared him in the eyes.
“As do we. Like I said, Doctor, he needs to be saved, and if he dies…”
Poe blinked.
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
Jagger shook his head, and Maura placed her hand on his lower back to get him to chill out. They couldn’t terrorize the good doctor.
Jagger continued.
“No. It’s a promise. Keep him alive, and if you need more money, Elizabeth said to contact her. She has a file and cash for you to ensure he’s comfortable and safe.”
Poe didn’t take it personally.
If it was his brother, he’d feel the same.
He only wished his brother was still around so he could try and save him.
“I’ll get the file when I’m leaving. I need to talk to Gamble, and assess the situation. I hope you don’t mind. I have to see how bad it is.”
Maura clued him in.
“He won’t eat. He won’t bathe. He won’t do anything but try to die. We’re at a loss. We’ve rehabbed a few soldiers here, but he’s beyond our help.”
Yeah…
He’d had patients like that before.
“Don’t worry. I’m really good at what I do. I promise,” he offered.
Jagger was curious.
“How long does treatment take?” Jagger asked, wanting a ballpark number.
Poe was honest.
“As long as it takes. It could be weeks. It could be months. It could be a year. It depends on how fractured his psyche is, and if I can put it back together again. It’s a minute-by-minute process. I can’t rush it, and I’ll know when he’s healed, and ready to come home.”
That was what they were afraid of.
What if he never wanted to come back, and death was his chosen exit?
“Just fix him,” Maura said, pointing toward the door that kept Gamble safe.
Poe knew the assignment.
“I will. I promise.”
Heading into the room, it was dark in there, and he needed to see the patient. So, he walked to a curtain and pulled it back.
And jumped.
Right beside him, a man was sitting in a chair, and not in the bed.
His head was down, and he was clenching the arms of the chair as if he was holding on for dear life.
Shit.
That scared him.
It was very reminiscent of a movie where someone was being possessed.
As soon as he composed himself, he said his name.
“Gamble?” Poe asked, moving closer.
Slowly, the man raised his head, and it was a punch to the solar plexus.
His eyes.
His bi-colored eyes hit Poe hard. One was blue, crystal clear, and the other brownish gold, like that of a wild animal.
It was clear he was an attractive man, or had been before he ravaged his body with starvation.
“I’m Doctor Seville. Elizabeth got me here, so we can talk, and take a little trip. We’re going to head to a safe place, where we can begin your therapy.”
Gamble watched him.
He tracked him as he moved around the room, and into Gamble’s personal space.
He was wearing a blazer, a crisp button-down shirt underneath it, dress pants, and fancy loafers. His watch looked expensive, and he smelled like the woods.
His hair was short, neatly trimmed, and prim and proper. The man definitely looked like a doctor.
“We’re going to help you.”
Yeah, only, he didn’t want help.
All he wanted was to die.
Storm had stolen his world, his life, his heart, and his soul. There was no way to get it back. He’d never trust a woman again, and he’d never let one hold his heart in their hands.
They couldn’t be trusted, and the cost, for him, had been far too high.
She’d burned him.
Oh, she burned him good.
When he didn’t move, Poe pulled a chair up, and sat beside him. The man was in a pair of sweats, no shirt, and he had five o’clock shadow. Across his emaciated body, there were tattoos.
Lots of them.
Only, they weren’t the doctor’s focus, so much as the gauntness of his face.
Someone needed some food.
ASAP.
It was clear he was letting himself go so that he could die.
“We’re going to get you better.”
Gamble spoke for the first time and his words were filled with pain.
“Unless you plan on digging her up, bringing her back, and letting me ask why she’d destroy me like this, I won’t get better.”
He knew the basics.
“I’m sorry for what she did to you, Gamble. I’m sorry for what you lost. I can’t give you that back, but I can give you back to yourself.”
Then, he shocked Poe.
He began laughing.
And laughing.
And laughing.
It was broken, twisted, and guttural. It was filled with anger, hate, and rage. Poe had never heard anything quite like it, and he knew this was going to be the most difficult case he ever had.
This patient…
He was destroyed, and that wasn’t an exaggeration—not in the least.
For now, though, Poe would give him time to adjust, and then, he’d do his job. Today was for breaking through that wall.
If he could make a connection with him, he’d have an easier time helping him get through this.
“Want to talk about it?” Poe asked.
Slowly, Gamble turned his head and stared into Poe’s eyes.
“I don’t know what there is to talk about. I came home to find my wife dead, and my child drowned in the bathtub, Doctor. What’s to discuss? I had to fish my dead child out of the tub as my wife’s brains were on the wall. If you have any sense of mercy, you’ll just let me die. That’s when I’ll finally have peace.”
Jesus.
That was brutal.
Gently, he put his hand on Gamble’s knee, and it was boney. There was no doubt that he was starving to death, and likely by his own choice.
He’d have to stop that too.
This wasn’t going to be a normal patient doctor relationship, and Poe knew it. He was going to have to lose the title, ditch the white coat, and help Gamble find himself again.
He was going to have to meet him on a different battlefield.
This one was for his life.
“You need a friend. I’m that person now.”
At his words, there was a response.
A tear slipped down Gamble’s cheek, and Poe wiped it away with his silk pocket square. Gently, he turned his head, so he was staring at him.
“I will save you. I’ll get you through this, Gamble. I promise.”
He stared into Poe’s blue eyes.
“No one understands. I’m completely empty and alone now. She damned me to this. She cursed me to never feel anything again.”
He reassured him.
“I do understand. You hate her. You hate her more than anything in the world, and you don’t like that because you love her too.”
That was all he had to say.
He began crying.
Sobs wracked his body, as Gamble broke down there in that room.
Immediately, Poe stood up and did the only thing he could.
He held the man.
Gamble was frail, damaged, and needed a friend. Already, in his head, he was thinking of a way to make sure that he did this the best way to help Gamble.
He had to approach this differently than he normally did.
It looked like for the next few months, he had a best friend to look after. Gamble was going to need a special kind of rehab.
Hands on.
Standing beside his chair to let Gamble lean on him, Poe just held him. Gamble cried into the good linen of his suit.
“I don’t know how to do both,” he whispered. “I can’t get past that hate.”
Poe held his head to his hip, as he let the man mourn a little more.
“Let me help you. Do you want me to help you, Gamble?” he asked.
He looked up.
“I want to make the pain stop.”
Oh, he understood that pain. It was time for Poe to share a little in hopes of making a connection with the man.
“My brother was a soldier in the Queen’s army. He was in Afghanistan, and he died there. I was so angry for a very long time. I couldn’t save him. I can save you, Gamble. Let me save you. Give me two months, and if at the end of those two months, you still want to die, I’ll help you.”
Gamble stared into his eyes as he looked up at him. Finally, someone was hearing him. All he wanted was to check out and get free of this pain. If this man could help him do that, he’d take a chance.
“Promise?” he asked.
This was a risk, but Poe knew his skills. He had no doubt that he could save him. This was going to be a success story. Would he ever marry again or have kids?
That he couldn’t venture to answer, but he’d be alive to fight another day.
“I promise.”
Gamble closed his eyes.
“I will give you two months then.”
That was all he had to hear.
“They start now. Let’s get you into some shoes, and a shirt. We’re going to get out of here. We’ll take a little drive and get you situated.”
He was curious.
“Am I going to the hospital?” Gamble asked, knowing he wouldn’t get better there with the shit medical help, but he’d hold out for two months.
To die.
What was two more months of anguish anyway? It wasn’t like he had anything else planned.
As he sat in the chair, Poe knelt in front of him, and got him into some socks. As he laced up his sneakers, he was already planning on just bringing the man to his place, and ordering him things.
Leaving it all behind would be for the best.
For now.
“No, we’re going somewhere private where we can intensively work on your anger and rage. The hospital is the worst place for you.”
Why?
Because he’d slip under the radar and be gone before anyone knew it.
When Poe got up, he held out his hand, and waited for Gamble to take it.
“You can trust me. For the next two months, I’m going to be your lifeline and I won’t drop you.”
What choice did he have?
He already promised him an outcome in sixty days.
Gamble took his hand, and he was pulled up. Poe wasn’t as big as him, but he had some strength in him. He was able to get him stable on his feet.
Then again, Gamble had lost about sixty pounds over the last month, and a lot of that was going to be muscle. They had a lot to do.
“Let’s get you into a shirt. I’ll get you new things when we get to my home. It’s best you leave anything with attachment behind until I can work with you.”
Gamble didn’t say anything.
He was curious about the man’s home. Would it be prim and proper? He pictured books, a library, maybe a pipe, and a shit ton of tea.
God.
He hated tea.
Only, at least he wouldn’t have to watch his friends stand over his body and see him die.
Picking out a clean t-shirt, Poe helped him into it, and Gamble got wobbly.
He nearly fell.
“I have you,” Poe said, his arm around his waist, and Gamble’s over his shoulder. “Lean on me. I’m sturdy,” Poe said.
Gamble just wanted out of there.
“Thank you.”
He reassured him.
“There is no need to thank me. Let’s get you out of here, and start working on getting better.”
As they headed out in the hallway, Jagger was standing there without his wife. He held the file and envelope as he waited for them.
That the man was able to get him to comply…that was wild. They had tried, and no one could get through to him. Apparently, the British doctor knew witchcraft.
“We’ll be taking our leave,” Poe said. “I’ll send you updates over the next two months.”
“Is that how long it will take?” Jagger asked, since the man had told him already that it took however long it took.
Gamble was the first to answer.
“No. If I can’t be fixed, the doctor will help me end my life with dignity.”
Jagger opened his mouth, but Poe was staring at him, and he gave him the look.
Now, Jagger wasn’t sure if the man had, or hadn’t, offered that.
So, he kept it light.
“You got this, Gamble,” Jagger said. “We love you, and we’ll miss you. Everyone wants you to know we’re rooting for you. Please come home again.”
Not a word was said back.
In fact, Gamble didn’t even look at him.
He couldn’t.
They were how he met Storm. They were part of his problem. Every time he saw them, he was reminded that they brough the woman who destroyed him into their lives.
They let him leave with her when it had been their job to ensure she was safe to leave.
Spoiler.
She hadn’t been.
“Thank you,” Poe said, taking the file and envelope from the man with his spare hand. “Again, I’ll be in touch,” he admitted.
Jagger didn’t know what to say, but he hoped this worked out. He’d lost too many friends to this kind of PTSD.
“Take good care of him.”
He reassured him.
“I will, Jagger. You’ll get updates through Elizabeth. We’ll see you later,” he said, as he began helping Gamble walk out of the house.
When they reached the bottom, Maura was standing there with Zayn, and they were both at attention, saluting him.
She had tears in her eyes, and Zayn did too.
“We love you,” she said, getting no response from the man.
Poe didn’t force him to respond. The man was allowed to feel what he felt.
That was the bottom line.
If Gamble didn’t want to say goodbye, that was his choice.
Poe, on the other hand, was too busy working on an action plan to get this man back to normal.
The basics came first. The location would be safe, he’d have food, and he’d be clothed.
He was weak, so feeding him was the first step.
His healing began now.
As the driver helped him get Gamble into the vehicle, and then got back behind the wheel, Poe sat in the back with his new patient.
The man looked exhausted.
That had taken all he had.
“Home, Reginald. We have some things we need to do today,” he admitted.
The man started up the Mercedes, and pulled away from the curb.
The whole time, Gamble just wanted to lay down. As he leaned on the door, Poe touched his arm.
“You can lay across the seat if you wish. You’re lacking fuel for your body to do the simplest of things, so you will need to rest more. Take a break.”
That was the best plan.
Gamble could hide in his head for a while, and if he was lucky, Storm wouldn’t be there too.
“Thank you,” Gamble said, moving in the opposite direction, as he tried to squish himself into the space.
It wasn’t comfortable.
And he looked ridiculous.
“You can put your head on my lap, Gamble, and close your eyes. It won’t take us long to get back to my home. I’ll watch over you. If you begin having a nightmare, I’ll pull you out of the dream.”
Gamble did as he suggested, and he immediately closed his eyes and wanted to escape.
When he was settled, Poe opened the file folder, and began reading about the man lying on the seat next to him with his head in his lap.
Gently, he placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him.
As he read, he was astounded by what he saw in the folder. The missions, the jobs he’d done, the CIA operations he’d been part of as a soldier.
He was three days beyond decorated. His Marine friends had under exaggerated his accomplishments.
As the man whimpered in his sleep, Poe stroked his wild and longer hair as he tried to reassure him. Luckily, it calmed him down, and he stayed asleep.
Poe wasn’t quite sure how much time went by, but when he looked up from the file, they were heading toward the gate that led to his home.
The man resting was silent.
Hopefully, this place would help Gamble.
As for him, he loved it here because it was a calming place that no one came to. He didn’t bring patients here for long term stay.
Maybe to the stables for a ride, or equine therapy—but that was it.
“Gamble, we’re at my place,” he said, grateful the man got a good twenty-minute nap.
At his name, he sat up, snapping awake.
Yeah, he’d definitely been a soldier.
As the Mercedes rolled through the gate, Gamble looked around. It was a giant-ass house, and around it was lots of open fields and a barn.
In the field, there were some beautiful horses running, having hay, and playing.
“Are they yours?” Gamble asked, watching the horses move around so freely, and wishing he could do the same.
“Yes, they are. I love to ride,” he admitted. Only, Poe didn’t mention that equine therapy was also part of his recovery plan for many soldiers.
Horses were good at judging character.
“Do you ride?” he asked Gamble, seeing the first interest in anything coming from him.
He was honest.
“I can. I haven’t in a long time. I used to have a mare on my grandfather’s farm. She was my favorite animal. I loved her and…”
When he paused, Poe touched his hand.
“And what?”
“She left me too.”
Okay, then, Poe had a plan of action. After some food, nourishment, and getting the man a little stronger, they would focus on the horses.
“Would you like to ride again?” he asked, keeping it light and not reminiscent of actual therapy.
At first, he wasn’t sure what the man was going to say to that.
Then, he went there.
“Yes, if that’s possible.”
Perfect.
“Well, then, let’s get some food in you, a shower, and if you’re feeling strong enough, we can take a ride. That chestnut one would be perfect for you.”
He didn’t say anything.
All Gamble knew was that he had to hold on for two months, and the doctor would help him end his miserable life. If he could spend those months with some horses…
There were worst ways to spend time.
As the Mercedes came to a stop, Reginald helped him get the man out of the back, and into the house. As they did, Gamble looked around.
It looked very…British.
He’d been right.
The furniture looked stuffy, formal, and like something in a palace. Nothing looked comfortable. There was a whole room with books, and he wasn’t shocked.
Poe must have seen the look on his face, and he explained to the man.
“This is the formal sitting area. I meet guests here, like Elizabeth Blackhawk, or other physicians. I don’t actually use this room for anything else. Let’s get you to the kitchen. That’s a room I use a lot.
Gamble just shrugged.
When he finally got him there, it was a really nice kitchen. Poe helped him into one chair, and made sure he stayed upright.
“How about some food?” Poe asked, taking off his linen blazer, to roll up his sleeves and put on an apron.
“I’m not hungry.”
Yeah, except, he was starving himself to death, and he couldn’t heal a man who was dying.
Poe reminded him of the deal.
“You gave me two months. If you want me to keep my word, Gamble, then you need to keep yours. Is it fair you don’t have to do what I have to do?”
Gamble stared at him, and Poe stared into his bicolored eyes.
“I guess you’re right. I’ll eat.”
Gamble wanted to make sure the man had no loopholes when the time came to end his life. He didn’t want him to renege on his deal.
Well, that worked.
“What would you like to eat?” Poe asked. “I’m very good in a kitchen, so name something you like.”
Only, Gamble sat there, and you’d think this was the hardest question to be asked. Someone derived no pleasure at all in his life.
And Poe didn’t back down. He stood there, waiting through the uncomfortable silence to ensure the man answered.
Finally, he did just that.
Sort of.
“Anything is fine, thank you.”
It was a first step. Poe would cut him some slack since today was the first day, and he’d already gotten him pretty far in his treatment. He’d left Chartres, he’d taken a nap with his head on his lap, and he’d opted to ride a horse.
That was progress.
The next step was feeding him. Poe went to the refrigerator, and grabbed eggs, cheese, butter, and bread.
“I hope scrambled eggs are acceptable.”
Gamble shrugged.
Truth be told, he didn’t care.
Well, Poe did. He was going to calorie load those eggs, and make sure the man got enough food into him.
“Here are the rules for being in my home,” he began, while he was scrambling eggs.
Gamble looked over.
“We don’t lie here. If you are upset, you just say it. If you are angry, you just say it. Lies don’t help recovery. Truth does.”
Oh, well, here went the truth.
“I hate my fucking wife to the depths of my soul, so much so that I wish I could have been the one who killed her. How’s that for honesty?”
And that sat there.
Only, Poe didn’t get upset. That was a common response. He knew that if the man’s wife just took her life, it would be different, but she stole the man’s child away.
That made this more challenging.
“I think, Gamble, that in this situation, that is fully expected,” Poe said, beating the eggs with some heavy cream. “What would you say to her before you took her life?” he asked, shrinky-dinking him.
Gamble was shocked.
Honestly, no one had ever asked him that. It caught him off guard.
“I’d ask why she hated me so much. I’d ask why she’d bring our child into the world just to steal her away. If she wanted to die, that was her right. To kill our baby…”
Poe kept cooking.
“Maybe she assumed you’d take your life too. Maybe, she assumed you would follow, and that was her plan.”
Gamble stared at him.
“Reverse psychology so I don’t kill myself, Doctor?” he asked. “Really?”
Poe put the spoon down.
“I’m being serious. There are only two possible reasons. You’re lost in the rage so you’re not seeing them. Either she killed herself and the child so you three could be together, and she loved you too much to let you hurt your child…”
Gamble stared at him.
“Or?” he asked. “Because I don’t believe it was that option. She would have shot me. She could have just taken my life too. She was stone cold and empty.”
Poe gave him the other reason.
Either way, the man had to come to grips with it.
“She was selfish,” he said. “Your wife could have easily taken her own life. Taking your child from you was nothing but an act of selfishness. She did it because to her, you were doing okay, and that hurt her. How dare you feel happy and joy when she felt empty. This was her way of getting even with you.”
Gamble stared at him.
Tears filled his eyes.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to hurt her, Gamble. Only, she’s still winning. You’re falling apart but still stronger than she ever was, and that’s likely what she disliked about you.”
He didn’t speak, so Poe kept going.
“You were stronger than her, and she needed someone weak to accept what she was going to do. You don’t accept it. Are you mourning her or your child, Gamble?”
He blinked.
No one had ever told him he could hate Storm. No one had told him he had every right to hate her fucking guts. Everyone sympathized with the monster.
And he couldn’t do that.
“I mourn my child. I don’t give a fuck about her anymore. She was a coward. She took an innocent person’s life when she swore to protect. She was a Fed. An FBI agent, and she promised. She lied.”
Poe let him vent.
This was the healthiest thing he’d done.
“Well, then, how about this. Going forward, we mourn your child, and we place the blame where it’s due here. Not on you, but on the selfish woman who hurt you.”
He said nothing.
“What was your child’s name?” Poe asked.
Gamble began shaking. Like ‘fell in an icy river’ shaking.
“I can’t say her name. Please.”
He understood.
“We won’t then. Let’s focus on the monster, shall we? Let’s focus on Storm St. Clair, and how she destroyed your faith and trust.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust or love again. I won’t feel safe with anyone.”
Poe kept making the eggs.
“There’s no shame in that. You don’t have to trust, have faith, or fall in love with another woman again. That’s not something that has to be a hard and fast rule. Going forward, Gamble, you set the rules for your life.”
Again, no one ever said that to him either.
“I don’t want to hate her.”
Poe rationalized for him.
“But you do. You hate her more than anything, and that’s the first internal battle that you need to overcome. I’m telling you right now that it is okay to hate Storm. It’s okay to hate what she did to you. You have permission to be angry.”
Poe spread a lot of butter on the man’s toast.
Like ‘clog some arteries’ a lot.
“It doesn’t make me a bad person?” Gamble asked, trying to sort through all of this.
“Absolutely not, Mate. Let’s call a spade a spade. You’re never going to heal from losing your child. That’s going to be something you carry forever. You will always hate that this happened. My job is to show you how to point that anger at the correct person. Not you. Her.”
Gamble listened.
It was crazy but he felt a little better.
Again, no one ever gave him permission to be pissed off at the woman who did this.
When Poe carried over the cooked food, he poured him some coffee, and placed the cup in front of him.
The smell was so delicious that his stomach actually rumbled in response.
“She’s winning, Gamble. She was so damaged she needed everyone to be damaged. Do you want her to win? Do you want her to have this moment where you succumb to her mental illness?”
He shook his head.
“Then, may I suggest you allow yourself to be angry at her, and work through that anger. If you die, who will get justice for your child? Her legacy will be forgotten. You’re the last person who can make her memory count.”
He’d never thought of that before. He’d wanted to die to go be with his daughter.
Not Storm.
But his child.
Now, he saw that doing that would mean she was forgotten from life, and that hurt too.
Gamble stared at the food in front of him.
As Poe sat across from him in that breakfast nook, he watched and waited. He could tell Gamble was hungry. He could hear his stomach rumbling.
This would be the first step.
If he could get him to focus his anger off of himself and onto Storm, he could save him. Then, they could work through forgiveness later.
As the steam floated up from the food, Poe held his breath.
Then, something short of a miracle happened. Gamble picked up his fork, and began eating on his own.
Poe joined him.
“Ketchup?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you if you liked it with your eggs.”
Gamble actually nodded.
“Yes, please.”
Getting up, Poe went to the refrigerator and fetched the bottle of ketchup, and a jar of his favorite jam.
He placed them in front of the wounded man, and let him control his mealtime.
It didn’t take long for Gamble to eat all of the eggs. It was crystal clear he’d been three days past hungry.
Poe pushed the little pot of jam toward the man after he spread some on his own toast.
Gamble picked up a knife and it shook in his hand before falling.
“I’m sorry,” he said, as it made a mess on the man’s table.
Poe reassured him.
“No worries, Gamble. Let me help you. You’re muscles are eating themselves without calories, and we’ll get them back,” he offered, going to stand behind the man, and handing him the knife again. Then, he gently placed his fingers under his wrists, and supported them as he tried again.
When he’d jammed up both pieces of toast, Poe sat and watched him as he sipped his tea.
His color was already looking a little better.
Poe took a chance.
“How about after you eat, we get you showered and shaved, and then, we see the horses? I’ll get them back into their stables for you.”
Gamble shook his head.
Poe really believed he was going to say no, depriving himself of that little pleasure.
Only, he’d been wrong.
“I’m going to need to sleep a bit,” he said. “After that, can we see the horses?” Gamble asked, quietly.
Okay, that was a good sign.
He placed his hand over Gambles, and gave it a squeeze.
“Absolutely, Mate. Let me know when you’re ready to shower, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Gamble nodded and worked on his toast. He ate it, and then moved onto his coffee. It took both hands to hold the coffee mug.
From where he sat, Poe was pleased with the progress so far.
But he knew the truth.
Gamble was his own obstacle. If he didn’t want to get better, there was no way he could make that happen.
They’d lose him.
Poe would lose his first soldier.
That didn’t sit well with him.
At all.