Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jude
I had no idea how to be part of a couple, and the week after I made up with Carson hammered home my lack of relationship experience.
“I feel like a kid picking you up for junior prom,” I complained as Carson climbed into my truck.
He’d darted from the bunkhouse to my truck, but it had been more than enough time for multiple faces to appear in the ranch house’s windows.
I spied Colt, Maverick, and at least one of the teen girls looking on.
“You rather go in? Say hi?” Carson gave me an expectant look.
“Not really.” We were due in Durango for a veterans’ support meeting, and the last thing I wanted was a family inquisition. “I mean, I’ll need to talk to Colt eventually.”
“Told you.” Carson nudged my shoulder. “He’s not pissed.”
I’d picked Carson up for dinner Wednesday night, but Colt had been out on sheriff business. Carson claimed their conversation earlier in the week had gone fine, but I wasn’t sure we had the same definition of fine.
“His stare out the window said otherwise.”
“That’s his happy face,” Carson deadpanned.
“I suppose.” I sighed as I put the truck in Drive and headed toward the main road.
“How’s Lucky?” Carson stretched in his seat, getting as comfortable as Lucky was at my house. “Mad about not coming?”
“A bit miffed.” I smiled sheepishly.
The week had passed without an owner coming forth to claim him or me listing him on the various rescue group sites.
Instead, I’d enlisted Carson’s help to fashion a dog run next to the garden on Wednesday.
Lucky had also been my ride-along on those calls where I thought I could get away with bringing him.
Far easier to have a dog than I’d let myself believe.
Now, if only I could apply that same epiphany to my relationship with Carson. This didn’t have to be so hard, but my brain refused to agree.
“Are you sure you want to do the support group tonight?” I asked as we reached the intersection where we could turn either toward Durango or my place. “I’d be okay skipping for a chance to stay in or go on an actual date.”
I didn’t precisely know what couples did on dates these days, but I assumed it was more than a support group meeting and the same burger place we always frequented.
“I’m sure.” Carson pursed his mouth. “Worried about folks knowing?”
“About us? Of course not.” It was a reasonable ask, given how concerned I was about Colt’s reaction, but I didn’t want Carson thinking I wanted to hide from the world. “I haven’t made a secret about being pan in years.”
“Also haven’t dated a guy.”
“True.” I couldn’t argue with his point. I hadn’t dated much of anyone beyond my string of friends with benefits back in vet school. “But let people think what they are going to think. I’m not nervous.”
“Liar.” Carson gave me a pointed look as the countryside sped by outside. The days were already getting a little shorter as we crept more into fall.
“It’s not about being public.” I worried the edge of my lip with my teeth. No surprise that Carson had noticed I’d been unsettled much of the week. “I keep feeling like I’m about to fuck this thing up. I hated canceling last night.”
We’d been planning Friday night dinner and a movie at my place, but a freak rodeo horse training accident upended all those plans.
“Emergencies happen.” Carson shrugged, not nearly as put out as I was. “Part of being a vet.”
“It is. I always used to feel so sorry for my mom when she’d have dinner waiting, but Dad would be out on one call or another.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t want that same fate for you.”
“Were they that miserable?” Carson sounded more curious than skeptical.
“No. They weren’t the most demonstrative, but they loved each other.
” I did well not to trip all over the L-word there.
Carson and I weren’t anywhere close to that word.
However, it certainly applied to my folks, who had been nothing if not committed to each other.
“Mom never complained beyond looking sad when Dad had to skip a meal or event.”
“Maybe she just missed him?” Carson suggested gently.
“Maybe.” My noncommittal tone earned a frustrated noise from Carson.
“You need to trust me.”
“I do.” I could be more earnest now because there were few people I trusted more than Carson. If he gave his word on something, I knew he’d follow through.
“I know what I signed up for.” The words were Carson’s, but I also heard an echo of my mom’s voice from long ago, telling some friend or another that this was the life of being married to a vet.
Maybe Carson had a point, and she wasn’t as unhappy as I’d assumed.
Carson’s voice went from firm to deceptively casual. “Could always take me along.”
“I don’t want to impose,” I hedged. The early evening sky above the desert was the palest of blues with nary a breeze to distract me from this conversation.
“Impose. Please,” Carson pressed, putting a hand on my thigh.
“I’d rather our time together be fun, not work.” I mashed my lips together in a bid to keep my voice even. “I want you happy.”
“I am.” Carson groaned, his head thumping back against the seat. “Better question is why you can’t…” He paused, mouth working to catch up with his brain. “You can’t let yourself be happy.”
“I know.” I was powerless to get out of my own way.
Carson said he was happy, wanted to help me with my vet work, and wanted me to trust him. I couldn’t seem to do any of it. I flipped on the radio to avoid making things worse, but several sad country ballads in a row had me even more depressed by the time we arrived in Durango.
I found parking near the community center, but Carson stopped me with a hand on my shoulder before I could exit the truck.
“I’m not mad.” His voice was sure, but there was some lingering hurt in his eyes that made my stomach twist.
“Thanks. I’m not mad either. Just frustrated with myself.” I leaned into his touch, letting him give me a brief massage.
“Well, stop,” Carson said reasonably.
“You still want a burger after?” I needed to know we were back on something of a normal footing. Might not be a fancy date night, but I’d settle for a return to our usual friendship routine.
“Yep.” Carson released my shoulder, and we headed into the meeting.
Simone was at the door to greet us. Many of the regulars were already there, as well as two newcomers who had staked out our usual seats near the door.
Darn it. No choice but to join the main circle.
Simone smiled encouragingly as we took seats near the gap in the circle where Alan had pulled up in his wheelchair.
For his part, Carson seemed unfazed, far more comfortable than he’d been at the first meeting, nodding a greeting for Ron as he took the seat on my other side.
Ron wore a Grandpa of the Year shirt and looked spry as ever.
Simone started with the usual announcements before holding up her sign with the word for the month.
“Our word this month is a tough one, but one we all deal with far too often. Guilt.” She pointed at her whiteboard. Hell. I knew I should have read my email before coming. Didn’t matter how colorfully Simone wrote the word, I hated the topic immediately.
Judging by the amount of shifting bodies and downcast eyes around the circle, others shared my discomfort.
Guilt was something I carefully managed and carried in a tightly locked box deep in my chest. It was partly why I came to these meetings, an obligation I couldn’t shake, but also something I tried never to dwell on.
Simone, however, doggedly pressed on, voice dropping to a more soothing pitch.
“Guilt comes in different forms: survivor’s guilt, guilt over past actions, guilt over present needs, guilt over our behaviors or words, and the sort of nameless guilt that seems to pile up unless we address it. So, let’s start.”
No one rushed to be first, so Simone shared this month’s poem, written by a veteran in North Dakota who was struggling with survivor’s guilt. I listened with one eye on the door, unease growing with each stanza.
“That hits,” Alan said softly as Simone finished. He spun his wheels in place, gaze on the scarred linoleum floor. “I was one of only two on that chopper to make it out.”
His admission brought a round of sympathetic murmurs from the others.
“It feels like I should be more grateful,” Alan continued, shaggy hair falling forward, voice pained. “Doing more with my life. Honoring theirs. Struggling less.”
“Be gentle with yourself,” Valerie urged from across the circle. She wore a T-shirt that offered zero stars for adulting. “You’re doing plenty. Sometimes making it through another day is the victory.”
Her comment got several “yes” replies from others, including the two newcomers against the wall.
“Might be the victory, but it sure ain’t the war.
” Bert’s voice came out louder than Alan’s, startling Roxie, who’d been snoozing at Bert’s feet in her canine service dog vest. The dog immediately went to nudge Bert’s hand as he continued, “I feel guilty every month when the damn disability check arrives. I should be able to work. I should be able to sleep through the goddamn night.”
“You’re should-ing all over yourself.” Ron shook a bent finger in Bert’s direction, but his voice was a gentle rasp. “You’re not at fault here. You did nothing wrong. You didn’t ask for PTSD.”
“True.” Bert leaned to pet Roxie.
Not at fault. God, I hated that statement. I’d heard it enough. Seen it on paperwork. Used it myself countless times in this group and with clients alike. Yet something black and sticky bubbled inside me every time I tried to apply it to myself.
A frustrated noise escaped my chest, causing several heads to whirl my direction.
“Jude?” Simone prompted.
“What about the guilt when someone did do something wrong?” The question slid out of my mouth on the barest whisper. “Followed an order they knew was a clusterfuck waiting to happen? What about that guilt?”