Chapter 4
Four
KNOX
“Are we going to talk about that?” I ask as we clean up in the shower after practice.
We’re the only guys left. Everyone else decided to go out for beers. Of course, while we were scrimmaging, none of them said a fucking word about Hope. No one mentioned her reaction.
“It’s her first day out of the house,” Jaxon replies simply.
“That was more than a panic attack,” Dimitri mumbles.
“And what did you do to help her, huh? Stand there? Man the door?” I snap as I turn off the water and grab my towel.
Dimitri rips open the curtain shielding me and glowers at me. “And what did you do other than make it worse?”
Jaxon’s already pulling on his jeans. “Not the time.”
He walks out just like that. I glower at Dimitri. “What’s your deal? You’ve been pissy since yesterday.”
“Let’s see, our girl is struggling, can barely eat without being reminded, and you carried her out of the fucking house this morning,” he accuses.
“You’re the one who said we’re being too nice,” I bark back before grabbing my clothes. “So that’s not the fucking issue. What is it? Pissed at the situation? We all are. You froze.”
“My issue doesn’t matter. Not when she—”
“It does matter!” I yell. “Because we’re in this together. The three of us and her. How the fuck are we supposed to take care of her if you can’t even walk into the room where she’s panicking?”
“Don’t push on this,” he warns, voice dark and eyes even darker.
“Or what? You’ll glare at me like you did Ben?” I sneer. “Or you’ll tackle me just like you did him? Dirty? Almost hurting him?”
“Ben has apologized plenty of times and you fucking haven’t!” Dimitri sneers.
“For what?! Not finishing things with Coach? For not being there when she needed me? For what, Dimitri?! We’re not leaving this fucking room until you—”
“You know exactly why I’m pissed. My reaction doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it either. At least I didn’t touch someone having a panic attack that was caused by being touched,” he sneers, shouldering past me and changing his clothes.
I don’t know where to start with that. I don’t know how to deal with Hope’s freak-outs. Is that why Jaxon keeps taking the night shift with her even though he looks like a zombie? Am I missing something that she’s told them and not me?
Either way, I’m tired of all the secrets. They’ll rip us apart, damn us more than we’re already damned
JAXON
“Baby,” I say gently, rubbing Hope’s shoulder. “You have to eat.”
“I’m tired,” she argues.
“Eat and then you can go right to sleep,” I promise.
Knox and Dimitri are having some kind of cold-war standoff, entirely unhelpful. Knox obviously wants to help, but can’t even meet Hope’s eyes. Dimitri made her dinner, but she’s just staring at it. She won’t eat at the table, we all know that. She eats on the couch.
“Half a bowl of soup,” Dimitri finally says. “If you don’t eat, you’ll have a headache tomorrow.”
“And if you have a headache, you won’t want to eat breakfast,” I remind. “Then how are you going to help the guys, hmm? You have to set an example for them when it comes to health.”
She sags under the weight of our comments, glances at Knox, then finally lifts the spoon. Knox takes a long swig of his beer, then digs into his own dinner. We all eat once she does. It’s an unspoken thing.
Hope finishes all but the very last bit of broth, mumbles that she needs a shower, and walks away. I wait until I hear the water turn on before looking at the guys. Knox holds up a finger. Once the sound of the water on the tub softens, he nods.
“Gotta wait until she’s in the shower if we’re going to talk about her,” he says evenly.
“She needs help,” I say honestly. I hate saying it. Don’t really want her to share things that could get us in trouble, but it’s true. “She needs a therapist or something.”
“Yeah. If she doesn’t have someone to talk to, she’s never going to sleep, you’re not going to sleep, and our lives are going to go to shit,” Dimitri agrees. “It’s the best thing for her.”
“She won’t like it.” Knox takes another long drink of beer. “If it’s not on her terms.”
“We’ve been too nice. She keeps saying that. She’ll thank us when it’s done. As long as we find someone who does the job well,” Dimitri argues.
Knox shoots him a look and Dimitri doesn’t back down. I don’t give a shit what problem they have. Hope is more important. I snap my fingers. “Focus on her, not whatever petty shit you two have going on.”
We pull out our phones and begin looking at therapists. Dimitri suggests a guy that has amazing reviews, especially with PTSD and trauma. Knox shakes his head. “No guys.”
Dimitri obviously wants to argue, but we all know that putting her alone in a room with a man isn’t going to help her situation. I scroll through some female therapists but see a lot of back and forth on them. Finding one that can handle trauma, especially sexual trauma, isn’t easy.
By the time Hope gets out of the shower, we still don’t have a person we all agree on. She looks at the three of us while in her pajamas, then focuses on me. “I’m going to bed.”
“I’ll be there soon, sweetheart,” I promise.
She wants to say something but beats her fist against her thigh for a moment, then looks at all of us. “I’m going to work tomorrow. You can’t stop me. I’ll find a way.”
“No one’s going to stop you,” Dimitri promises. “None of the guys will touch you without permission.”
Yeah, he made sure of that. Poor Ben took more hits than he should have on the field, apologized for scaring Hope no less than ten times, said he just wanted to check on her, and Dimitri’s only reply was not to touch her. He said it loud enough that the whole team heard.
Hope’s gaze moves to Knox. He clears his throat. “You’re going to work. We just have to keep you where we can see you.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“Sure it’s not,” he snorts.
“It’s not. If I wanted to stay home, I would, too.” She crosses her arms and a glint of fire rises in her eyes.
“I proved this morning that you go where we take you,” he argues.
She narrows her eyes at him and grumbles about him being an asshole while going to bed.
Once the springs on the bed creak, Knox rubs the back of his neck.
“Josephine Grant. She helps with family trauma, PTSD, and specifically trauma with women. Five-star reviews across the board. Has been practicing for fifteen years.”
We all look at her profile and agree.
“She also has appointment availability tomorrow afternoon. A spot at five-thirty,” he points out.
I stretch, glance at the couches and sleeping bags out here, and nod. “Second priority is us getting a place with more than one bedroom if we’re keeping this shit up. I hate going back to my place to get clothes.”
Dimitri sneers, mutters that he’s taking the couch tonight, and that’s the end of it from him. While he gets ready for bed, Knox stops me. “I can take her tonight, Jax.”
As much as I want to remind him what happened today, I don’t. “I have it down to a science.”
“You still have to sleep,” he insists.
“I’ll wake up the second she screams anyway. I’m sorry if she keeps waking you. We’re working on it,” I reply.
Knox studies me for a long time. “Try to sleep for more than a few broken hours tonight, man. You’re going to start looking worse than our girl.”
HOPE
I zoned out today. I woke up tired, walked around work as a zombie, and now I can’t even grasp what the guys are telling me as we take the wrong turn home.
“What do you mean we’re going somewhere? We’re supposed to be going home,” I point out.
Knox rubs my knee. I try to cool the flinch that feels natural. His other arm is around my shoulders in the back seat. I feel like he’s keeping me in place as much as the seatbelt. Even as I want to push him away, the light way his fingers massage my shoulder keep me in place.
“We’ll go home, but we have an important mission first,” Knox says evenly. “Dimitri is driving, which means you’re going to accept it.”
“Maybe,” I snort.
He smirks at my sass. “Not maybe. You are.”
“You’re going to make me?”
Something passes across his eyes, but Jaxon answers. “Yes, we’re going to make you. We’ll fill out the paperwork, carry you into the office, and make sure you sit there and do what you need to do.”
Something eats at me. It’s more than nerves. I don’t like how cagey they’re being about where we’re going. They didn’t tell me that we weren’t going home until we were walking out of the gym ten minutes ago.
“I just want to go to sleep,” I argue. “I can get some nighttime cold and flu. That’ll keep me from waking up.”
“Not a better option,” Jaxon says.
He’s not the only one that looks tired today. Dimitri still vibrates some kind of annoyance that feels like it’s going to stab anyone who gets too close. Knox looks like he’s been worn down and dragged out.
“None of us want you trapped in your nightmares, sweetheart,” Knox says. “And we’re definitely not going down the self-medication rabbit hole.”
“So you don’t want things to be easier for you, got it,” I bait.
“If I wanted to manhandle you into sleeping, I could and would. There are plenty of better ways to make you tired,” Knox argues.
His fingers stroke along my throat, but I have a feeling that he would back down the second I took him up on the offer. Not that it matters, because I still end up getting out of the car on my own when we park.
My guys flank me. Jaxon focuses on me, Knox glances around, Dimitri charges ahead. This must be what it’s like to have a security team. Or to be a prisoner. I know if I try to go back to the car or slip away, they’ll grab me and carry me in.
A part of me is tempted to try it. I want something normal from them. Not Jaxon holding me at night and making me feel like he’s the only thing keeping me together. Not Knox giving me longing looks, as if he’s dying to touch me, hold me, tease me, but can’t. Dimitri’s silence is deafening.
“Don’t think about it,” Knox says, grabbing my hand, not my wrist. “This is something we worked hard on for you.”
My brow furrows. “Worked hard on… what?”
“Welcome to Palmer and Grant Counseling,” I hear as we walk through double doors.
“Appointment for Hope Harbaugh at five thirty,” Dimitri says simply.
I blink a few times, feeling myself pale and rebel at the same time. I want to run. I want to fight. I want to escape, but some part of me wants to do this too. I want to talk without having to pick my words carefully.
At the same time, what am I supposed to say?
Am I supposed to out everything my own father did?
That he killed my mom, that he spent years and years hurting me physically, emotionally, and verbally?
That he encouraged others to hurt me? That he recorded himself…
doing worse and shared it with the world? That I…
“No,” I breathe softly.
“You need this,” Jax says evenly, no sign of gentleness. “Be a good girl and try it.”
“Something has to change, sweetheart. You need a place to talk openly,” Knox echoes.
Dimitri brings me a tablet. “You need to answer these questions.”
They swim in front of my eyes. They’re multiple choice, but I don’t know what they mean. I know what I’m supposed to say. That I’m fine. I’m okay.
But when I get to questions about eating and sleeping, I hesitate. Jaxon leans over and speaks in my ear. “Be honest. It will come out either way.”
I grit my teeth together, close to grinding them.
I start from the beginning, honestly answer everything, then return the tablet just as a woman with graying blonde hair walks out.
She adjusts the glasses on her nose. She looks professional, put together, but in a cozy and open way.
A knitted burgundy sweater and a gray pencil skirt give her an odd mix of straightforward and welcoming that I can’t make sense of.
She motions me forward and guides me to a nice room. I don’t trust it. Terrible things could happen in nice places and this one seems fake. The fake plants, the perfect candles, the slightly messy, but all organized décor.
“Hope,” the woman greets, then motions to the couch. “Please, have a seat. We’re just going to get to know each other today. No pressure. We’ll just talk a bit about why you’re here, what you’d like to work on, and you can ask me anything.”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
She pauses, then cocks her head to the side as she grabs a tablet and stylus. “Josephine Grant. You can call me Jo. I like to keep things casual.”
She writes something down and I rub the back of my neck. I don’t want to touch her pillows. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to share.
“I know that it can be overwhelming, sharing deep things with a stranger, so let’s start with the basics. Your name, how old you are, what you do for a living, any meaningful relationships, friendships included, and then we can go over the survey you filled out.”
And that’s what we do. I mention work, cover the basics, then mention Jax, Dimitri, and Knox. She asks if I’m dating any of them and I hesitate. She doesn’t push more and asks why I’m not sleeping.
“Nightmares,” I whisper. “Memories sometimes. The worst things twisting together. It seems… I don’t know. I’m just always tired.”
“And you’ve had a panic attack recently?”
Those bastards.
I tell her about Ben. I’m vague about being attacked, about video being taken, but the more she nods and encourages me, talks to me, validates me without question, the more I open up.
I don’t mention everything. I mention my father being abusive, keeping me from friends, keeping me from dating, trying to keep me out of college, how he’d hit me, how he stalked me.
Her face twists ever so slightly. I ask her about it, but she waves her hand.
“You’re in hyper-awareness mode. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.
We can get you on sleeping medicine for that, but I think anti-anxiety medication will do more.
You’ll need to be able to reach a kind of calm for us to dive into the harder things. ”
“I don’t know about medication. I don’t want to have to take time off work. I don’t want to be dependent on things,” I say slowly.
“Right now, you’re dependent on your over-alert system.
The anxiety is going to keep you from sleeping.
Your panic is going to exhaust you. It’s going to run you down until you can’t function and then you’ll grasp at anything, even if it’s not good for you,” she explains.
“The worst memories you can think of will become the anger that keeps you going until it eats you alive.”
I shudder.
She smiles kindly. “Let’s avoid that.”
My shoulders slump and with a sigh, I give in with a nod.