Chapter 12 #2
He gulped. “Which part?”
She glanced at the living room, which was open to the kitchen, her eyes positioned on the TV screen, and it suddenly dawned on him. PTSD. Did she think he’d hurt someone? Hurt himself?
His stomach clenched once again at the idea, and he did his best to keep his hands alongside his plate on the table, to not push away and stand. To not run away from this conversation.
“There’s a name and a number on this paper, and I know this isn’t my place, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but I care about you,” she said, her voice not quite as calm and even as normal, or maybe his heart was beating so loud in his ears he wasn’t hearing right.
“Riley Logan specializes in PTSD therapy for veterans, and she’s in the D.C.
area.” She kept her hand on top of the paper, but it was now close enough he could shift his fingers slightly and set a palm to both the paper and her hand.
“Her husband was in the Marines, and now he works private security. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Ben Logan.”
Chris positioned his eyes on her face, doing his best to make it through the conversation without saying something offensive or rude. But he’d had experience with people trying to push their particular brand of therapy on him, and he didn’t have any need for talking about his problems.
The first woman to press was after his mom left for a second time when he was in middle school. Then again, the high school counselor when he was sixteen. The last time? Mandated therapy when Marcus died.
But his problems were different.
He was upset that Jamel didn’t always remember him.
That Andy lost his eyesight.
And Xavier wouldn’t walk again with the legs he was born with.
. . . And more and more of his brothers from the Iraq War that still suffered.
He was just fucking fine. He hadn’t lost a limb. Or his vision. Or his mind. But his buddies, well, he couldn’t fix what happened to them. He couldn’t make things right no matter how much he tried, no matter how much money he donated.
So no, a shrink wouldn’t be able to give Jamel back his memories. Or Xavier his legs.
His body tensed, and his hand began to tremble on the table. Fuck, fuck. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I thought it might be fate that I stumbled upon her name because she’s from another small town outside Birmingham.
I even read a crazy story about a serial killer striking her town, and Riley nearly died.
So, she knows what it’s like to have PTSD.
And I just thought maybe you could talk to her. Not now. But sometime.”
He was biting down so hard on his back teeth that his jaw began to ache. He didn’t want to explode on her. She obviously cared, the way he knew Jessica and Harper cared about him and would push if they were to discover what was going on inside his head.
Chris slowly brought his hands to his lap. “I know of Riley,” he finally spoke. “And I know Ben.” He waited for his pulse to slow before going on. Rory continued staring at him, but there was trepidation in her eyes, in the way she held her body. “Ben works with Emily’s brother, Jake.”
“Liam’s Emily?” Her brows lifted in surprise, and he nodded. “Small world.”
“But this isn’t fate. This isn’t some ‘it’s meant to be’ scenario indicating I should talk to Riley.
I’m sorry.” He stood and grabbed his dish, went to the sink, and set it inside before bringing his hands to the counter while hanging his head.
He had to get a handle on his emotions. “I appreciate your concern,” he added at the sound of her standing.
“But I’m okay. I promise.” He forced himself to face her.
“I’m the last person you need to worry about.
” He reached for her plate and busied himself with loading the dishwasher, hoping she’d let this topic go.
Rory came alongside him and began cleaning up without another word and thank God for that.
“Tomorrow is that thing, right?” he asked after they finished the dishes.
“Oh.” Now she was the one who looked uncomfortable, which wasn’t what he’d been going for. “Yeah, the thing for Andrew Cutter. Is tomorrow already Friday?”
A package from A.J.’s sister, Ella, had been delivered earlier.
When Rory had lifted the red dress from the box, her face blanched.
Was the dress for tomorrow? Chris remembered A.J.
saying his sister toyed around with clothing design, and if she’d been the one to make that dress, well, the woman had talent.
“I might go. Or I might not. I have no idea.” She went to the dinner table and dropped back into her chair.
He started to say something, but his phone began vibrating in his pocket.
“Not going to answer?” she asked while noting him simply staring at the phone once it was in his palm.
“Don’t recognize the number.” It was a Massachusetts area code, but any number of his friends from back home would’ve already been programmed into his phone.
After a moment, the icon indicating he’d received a voicemail popped up.
Chris hesitantly lifted the phone to his ear to listen, leaning his back against the counter, a dish towel still tossed over his shoulder.
“Hello, it’s Carol. I know it’s been a long time, but we need to talk.
It’s rather urgent. Your father gave me your number, but he doesn’t know your address.
Can you please call me tonight? I know this is out of the blue, but it really is important.
” A voice he barely recognized, one he hadn’t heard in over twenty years, rattled off a phone number twice.
Chris lowered the phone in a daze, feeling as though all the blood had drained from his face.
“Hey, you okay?” Rory was on her feet and standing before him, a confused look on her face.
“I have to go.” He shoved his phone in his pocket, threw the dish towel on the counter, then grabbed his keys and took off out the door before she could protest his departure.
The cool night air slapped him in the face but didn’t shake him out of his stupor.
He started up his Jeep, cranked up the rock music on the radio, then gripped the steering wheel but stared out the front window, unable to drive. To move.
Twenty years without a word from his mom. Twenty fucking years.
Why now?
Why’d his dad give her his number?
He needed to get drunk. To get hammered and forget tonight happened. To erase that woman’s voice from his mind.
Call you. You think I’d call you? He tightened his hold of the wheel, preparing to leave when he spied Rory’s shadow in the living room from behind the partially closed blinds, and his chest fell. His breathing slowed. And some of his anger began to loosen from his body.
He closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath, then let it go. Four breaths in and four out, he reminded himself. A tactic he was taught in the Navy in the event a sailor began to panic.
He didn’t normally panic. But this was . . .
“I’m not Dad,” he said aloud, his voice low and deep. I don’t need to get wasted because of Mom. He forced his eyes open and shut off the radio. He shook his head and turned off the Jeep.
It took him a few minutes, but he finally made his way back inside. “I’m sorry,” he said the second he saw Rory sitting on the couch with Bear.
She turned to look at him, relief in her eyes he hadn’t left.
After locking up, Chris set his keys aside, then came into the living room and dropped onto the couch with Bear between them. Petting Bear helped calm his nerves, and looking into Rory’s eyes eased his tension, too.
“I’m not okay,” he confessed, his throat tight. “But I can’t talk about it right now.”
She worried her lip between her teeth, then focused on the TV. “How about your favorite movie, then?” She peered back his way.
“I think I’m more up for Bad Boys tonight.”
She nodded and rose. “Then I’ll make the popcorn.” When she started past him, he reached for her wrist, stopping her.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and her smile was enough to help relieve some of the pain that roared back to life with an unexpected voicemail. Pain he thought he’d let go of years ago. One call from his mom had proven he wasn’t as pieced together as he’d thought.
He had Bad Boys II ready to go when she returned, but instead of sitting on the other side of Bear, he shifted the sleeping dog so Rory could be right next to him.
She rested her head on his shoulder and stayed like that until the closing credits rolled.
Watching a movie in silence with her at his side had been comforting. Perfect. And a much better, more responsible choice than getting drunk.
“I haven’t seen that movie in ages,” she said while standing and stretching her back. Her eyes moved to Bear, still snoozing on the couch. “Maybe you should sleep with Bear tonight,” she added, her tone soft.
“Isn’t that breaking the rules?”
Her long lashes lifted, and the most magnificent hazel eyes stole his breath. “We both know you were always going to break the rules.”