2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Ryan
A s I sat in Justin Bridges’s office, I glanced out the window. The lush forest beyond the parking lot called to me. Through his other window, the riding ring stood in contrast to the forest just beyond that. I’d spotted the barn and stables before Dr. Kennedy Dixon had ushered me from my car into the ranch house.
The massive great room we’d come through had soaring wood beams that stretched two stories, with a wall of windows facing out over the back deck and to the riding area beyond. To one side of that big room lay a corridor I was told led to three other therapists’ offices. To the right was a bright and cheery kitchen, and I’d been ushered beyond that to Kennedy and Justin’s offices.
Now I sat on a couch facing the two therapists who sat on high-backed chairs and watched me with what I could only term only term sympathetic looks.
I was so sick and fucking tired of people’s sympathies.
Whatever. Get over yourself. You’re one of the lucky ones. The phrase I’d used thousands of times since I’d come home. Like, dozens of times each day. Usually when I was grinding through physiotherapy and wishing I’d died. And how many did die?
Wrong thought.
I rubbed my hands on my thighs to keep from rubbing my chest. “Yeah, so I’m here.”
Kennedy smiled.
A genuine smile—which I appreciated.
“Your father’s worried about you.”
I rolled my eyes.
The psychologist tilted her head. Her stunning looks didn’t fool me for a moment. Chestnut-brown hair, luminous brown eyes, and a killer body. She wore her jeans and chambray shirt like a real cowgirl. A cowgirl with a PhD and a stack of accolades.
“You question your father’s concern?”
“Uh…” How to put this? “My father’s concerned about his reputation. Bad enough his son went off to fight in some far-flung war that has nothing to do with him…but to come home badly injured? With ugly physical wounds as well as some potential psychological trauma? Yeah. He needs me fixed up right quick so I don’t cause a ripple in his country club set.”
Kennedy exchanged a look with Justin.
Wow, he was also a looker. Red-gold hair and beard, stunning blue eyes, and also a genuine smile. Sincerity radiated off them in waves.
Too bad they couldn’t break through the ice around my heart.
I had no doubt they’d try.
And fail.
I scratched my nose, holding in the wince that radiated through my chest at the movement. “Look, Marcus Branigan says you’re the best.” My physiotherapist had offered several suggestions, but Healing Horses had been at the top of his list. “And my dad’s willing to fork over the dough.” This place wasn’t exorbitantly expensive—but it wasn’t cheap either. I’d heard something about a sliding scale. Or had that been funding to help people who didn’t have the means? Regardless, Daddy Dearest could pay for the Cadillac version of therapy. He’d written a huge check and told me to do my best.
“Your father paying for your treatments in advance was unnecessary.” Kennedy smiled. “Appreciated, but unnecessary.”
“Yeah, but I might’ve flaked or something.” I hadn’t in two years—not since leaving Canada and going to Ukraine—but my father didn’t know that. All he saw was a son who’d managed to be injured in visible and embarrassing ways. I hadn’t even had the decency to die.
“No one’s forcing you to be here.” Justin straightened a bit. He wasn’t a small guy. Taller and broader than me, that was for sure.
Not that I was puny…just not solidly built. Plus, between the months on the front line, where provisions were scarce, and my injury that brought me home, I wasn’t in great shape. Had lost a lot of weight in that time. I’d had the weight to lose, though. I’d always been…heavy. That version of me was unreachable. I barely remembered what it’d been like to be large and glued to my couch. Playing video games.
Don’t go there.
“I know you’re not forcing me to be here. That my father isn’t either.” I scrunched my nose. “Hell, my physiotherapist isn’t forcing me to be here.”
“But he recommended it.” Kennedy crossed her hands casually in her lap.
Neither therapist had a notepad, and neither had asked to record the session.
I assumed that meant they had excellent recall. Or they weren’t expecting me to say anything profound.
Could’ve gone either way.
“Yeah. He recommended it.” Because my physical exertions during the nightmares were proving bad for my recovery. In his physio office, he could ensure I was doing the exercises properly. Was protecting my chest wall. As I thrashed in my bed at night, all bets were off and, more often than not, I was sustaining additional damage. Damage my body couldn’t afford to endure. “He thinks if I, like, talk to you, the nightmares will stop.”
“It sounds like they’re frequent.” Justin held my gaze.
I’d read Marcus’s referral. I’d asked to…so I would know exactly what the two therapists did and didn’t know. That wasn’t to say they hadn’t spoken to Marcus informally. Hell, they probably had. My physiotherapist admitted he didn’t make many personal referrals. He could’ve just handed me a list of clinicians. Almost had, apparently. But he’d wanted my permission to speak to whomever took my case. So he can confirm how batshit crazy I am? Oops. Not supposed to use the ‘c’ word about myself. The psychiatrist who’d interviewed me after I’d landed back in Canada had given me some literature. She’d wanted to see me regularly, but I was only spending as much time in Toronto as it took to make me stable enough to get back to Vancouver. My medical team in Vancouver wanted me to stay in a rehab clinic.
I’d threatened to yank out my IV and walk out the front door.
Given I couldn’t take two steps without losing my breath, that’d been an empty threat.
But they’d gotten the message. They patched me up as best they could and urged me to seek rehabilitation services—if only on an outpatient basis.
I’d thrown a dart at British Columbia and landed on Mission City.
Well, not quite. I’d looked for the farthest I could get from Vancouver while still being within transit range. That meant Mission City. The commuter train ran into the big city in the morning and returned in the evening. I could get to higher-level medical care if I needed it, but I managed to find a small studio apartment I could call my own. I still needed my father’s help, though. Any potential disability payments hadn’t kicked in yet. The Canadian government didn’t know what to do with me. Canada hadn’t sent troops to Ukraine. They were completely in opposition to Russia’s invasion, but sending soldiers wasn’t possible.
Whatever.
I’d gone.
A few of us went over together.
More than half of our little group had come home in pine boxes.
I was one of the lucky ones. I blinked. “Sorry.”
The counselors exchanged another look.
Kennedy leaned toward me. “We can help you, Ryan. Both Justin and I have experience helping people who’ve suffered trauma.”
I nearly snickered. I wanted to say no one had been through what I had. Which was arrogant. Trauma didn’t differentiate. Plenty of Canadian soldiers had returned from overseas assignments with issues. And civilians could face trauma of all kinds. Just…I felt like no one could understand what I’d been through. Still, I managed a smile. “I’m quite certain I don’t need to keep seeing both of you. There must be other people in need of your services.”
For an instant, it looked like Kennedy was going to speak.
Justin beat her to it. “I’m a PhD student. I have six years of clinical counseling under my belt, but I wanted you to know I haven’t completed my degree.”
Understanding dawned. “My father said he wanted the best, and he assumed that meant the person with the most degrees.”
Kennedy’s smile was rueful. “He was…specific.” She met my gaze. “And I’m happy to take you on as a patient. No hesitation. I’m busy, but if you’re flexible, I can make this work.” She glanced over at Justin. “But there are things you might not wish to discuss with me.”
I snickered. “You heard my pecker’s not working.”
Where I expected she might blush, she instead held my stare. “Your father was…very forthcoming.”
Well, at least that hadn’t come from Marcus. I’d asked him to keep that part to himself. Honestly, I didn’t care who knew. But my father had a reputation to uphold. Dead heroic sons were best. He could still spin me as being brave. The physical flaws, however, didn’t sit well with him. Another reason I’d happily left Vancouver as soon as I was well enough to cope on my own. I now lived in a small ground-floor studio apartment in a massive apartment complex. Tiny. But I had a bathroom of my own and a small living space.
I was golden. No one bothered me. No one nagged me. No one looked down at me.
“Listen.” I took a deep breath. “I can talk to a female therapist just as readily as a male therapist. Heck, I’d be happy with an enby counselor. I can talk about my lack of action downstairs or not. It doesn’t matter. I mean…” I leaned forward. Not so much that doing so caused physical pain, but enough to get my point across. “I wasn’t getting a lot of action before I crossed the ocean. So if I don’t get much now, I think I’ll survive.”
An overweight gamer who never left his father’s basement didn’t tend to get lucky very often. The occasional hookup barely counted.
“So if Kennedy’s busy and Justin can make room, then I see Justin. Look, my father might be paying for this—for which I’m grateful but not enough to admit that to him—but I won’t feel beholden to him. He’s doing this because I’m not right in the head. He cares about shit like that. Me? I’m happy to hole up in my apartment, go to physio, and generally move on with my life.”
“What do you do when you’re in your apartment?” Justin tilted his head.
Does he know? If so, why ask? If not, do I want to reveal my secrets? “I read.” I patted my messenger bag. “I’m always reading. Good for the soul.”
“No television? I mean you likely avoid the news—”
“I read. Ever been to the library? Lovely place. Great librarians—Marnie, Loriana, and Johanna. Great ladies. Loving the purple hair Johanna rocks…” Jesus, shut the hell up.
“Do you have an eReader? Then you’re not confined to just what’s in the library.”
“Did you know that Cedar Valley has seventeen libraries? And that Marnie can order me books from all of them? They even have a reciprocal relationship with Vancouver. Takes months, but I can get books from there too. Hell, I even still have my library card from when I lived in the city—so I could drive in and take out books, and then the Mission City library can arrange to return them if I don’t want to drive back.” And they needed to know none of that.
“Do you listen to audiobooks? A local author has her entire trilogy on audio—”
“R.D. Watt? The Zaragosa Chronicles? Marnie recommended that first. Read and loved it.” I offered a sheepish grin. “The owner of The Owl’s Nest bookstore ordered me a copy and got it autographed by R.D. So yeah, I’m good.”
“My son has a signed copy.” Justin appeared to consider.
Do therapists talk about their families? Because that would be a good way to go. “How old?”
He shook his head. “Not why we’re here.”
Ah, so that’s where he’s going. Fair. “I’m private too. But I can see you’re trying to provoke me. Trying to poke the bear—”
“Oh no.” Kennedy shook her head. “We’d never—”
“I’ll save you the trouble. My car is twenty-five years old. Still in good shape…but old. I even drive a stick. No technology—of any kind. I don’t even own a microwave. No television, no e-Readers, no MP3 players, no computers…” I floundered. “Just a hard no. It’s not open for debate. Electricity to power my stove and my heater? Sure. I don’t mind some creature comforts.” Better than I had during most of my time in Ukraine . “The rest? Marnie looks on the computer to find me real books. I let real people check out whatever I buy. Although if I can have it delivered after I’ve placed an order on my flip phone, that’s even better. I don’t do tech and, for the most part, I don’t do people. As long as you don’t try to change my mind on those things, we’ll be fine.” Jesus. Word vomit much? Still, I focused my attention on Justin. “We clear?”
Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah, we’re clear.”
“Great…when do you want me to come back?”