Chapter 48 #2
“I know that up here,” I motioned to my head with a couple of fingers, my voice tight. “But knowing it and believing it are different things.”
“Alex, how did it feel when you found out he’d been hiding this from you?”
“Like I wasn’t important enough to tell.
Like he didn’t trust me to handle it, or worse—like he didn’t think I cared enough to want to know.
” She glanced at me, then our hands. “My brain went immediately to rejection. He’s keeping secrets because I don’t matter, because he’s already got one foot out the door, because I’m not actually part of his life in any meaningful way. ”
“That’s not—” I started, but Elena raised a hand gently.
“Let her finish.”
“I know that’s not what you meant,” Alex lifted her eyes to mine. “I know you were trying to protect me, not exclude me. But the RSD means my head doesn’t care about logic.” She looked back at Elena. “It just screams that I’m being dismissed, that I’m not enough, that he’s pulling away.”
“So Finn withholds to protect you from seeing his struggles,” Elena confirmed, “and your brain interprets that withholding as rejection and dismissal.”
“Yes,” Alex’s voice was impossibly small.
I hated she felt that way—hated I’d broken my promise to never be the cause of that pain.
“What do you do with that feeling?”
“Shove it down and move forward. Prove I’m fine and competent and don’t need anything from anyone, like always. Even Finn.” She exhaled slowly. “Which probably makes him feel like I don’t care, so he withdraws more, and the cycle continues.”
“Is that accurate, Finn?”
Shit. I’d felt it happening but never put it into words like that.
“Yeah,” I covered our hands with my other.
“Alex, when you go into competence mode, it feels like... like you don’t need me.
Like I’m just another problem you’re managing instead of.
..” I stopped, throat tight. “Instead of someone you want around.”
“So you both end up more isolated, even though you’re trying to protect each other.” Elena looked at me directly. “Finn, that isolation is one of the worst things for PTSD recovery. When you withdraw to protect Alex, you’re also cutting yourself off from support you actually need.”
“The cycle you’ve described—you hiding things, her reading it as rejection, both of you armoring up—it’s not just a relationship dynamic.
It’s actively hindering your recovery because it keeps you from getting the support that would help manage symptoms and prevent episodes from escalating. ” She made another note.
“So what do I do differently?” I asked.
“Trust Alex with the hard things, even when your instinct says to protect her. Not because it’s good relationship practice, but because isolation makes your PTSD worse.”
“And Alex, understanding your rejection sensitivity helps me help Finn communicate in ways that don’t trigger that response, which means he’s more likely to actually share what’s happening instead of withdrawing.”
Alex nodded slowly.
“The fact that you brought up the injection situation here shows you’re willing to identify what’s not working. That’s what I need—honesty about the barriers so we can address them.”
She uncrossed her legs, refocusing. “Let’s talk about support systems beyond each other. Finn, who else do you turn to when you’re struggling?”
“Dom,” I said immediately. “You. My family, though they don’t always understand what I’m dealing with.”
“And Alex?”
“Dom and Enzo. Tabitha and a few others at work. My family knows about us, but they don’t really get the complexities.”
Elena nodded. “So you both have support networks outside this relationship. That’s important—you’re not solely dependent on each other for emotional regulation.” She looked at me. “When was the last time you actually reached out to Dom about what you’re going through?”
“Two days after the flood. After the PTSD episode. He called to check in, I told him what happened.”
“So he’s aware of your current struggles, knows you’re in intensive therapy right now.”
“Yeah. He knows.”
“That’s good. You’re actually using that support system. What about other people? Your dad, other family members?”
I shifted closer to Alex. “Dad knows some of it. He’s seen me at my worst now, helped with the injections. But I don’t talk to him the way I talk to Dom or you.”
“Part of building sustainable recovery is distributing that support. Dom, me, your family—those connections matter. They give you outlets so Alex isn’t carrying everything alone, which reduces the pressure that triggers your protection instinct.”
“I can work on that,” I promised.
“Good.” Elena looked between us. “Now let’s talk about your physical relationship. How has intimacy been affected by Finn’s medical conditions and recovery?”
My cheeks flamed. I didn’t want to talk about this part with my therapist.
Alex spoke first. “The testosterone treatment’s obviously helping. Finn’s more confident lately, more willing to engage physically.”
“And the challenges?” Elena pressed gently, turning to me.
I took a breath. “ED sometimes. Energy fluctuations. The damn TBI affects everything—desire, physical stamina, even just maintaining arousal consistently.” I felt heat creep up my neck.
“I haven’t been ready to… we haven’t had…
intercourse. Alex has been amazing about all of it.
Just like she always is. Patient. Accepting.
Makes it easier to not feel like a failure every time my body doesn’t cooperate. ”
“That acceptance is important for recovery,” Elena replied.
“Sexual function issues are common with TBI and hormonal disruption. Treating them as medical challenges rather than personal failures reduces the shame that often makes symptoms worse.” She turned to Alex.
“How do you feel about navigating those challenges?”
“Honestly? It’s not as hard as I thought it might be. The physical stuff is just logistics, and I like a challenge.” Her lips hitched to the side. “We figure it out. What sucks is when Finn pulls away emotionally because he’s worried about his physical limitations.”
“So the withdrawal is more difficult than the actual medical challenges.”
“Yes,” Alex’s voice was certain.
“Finn, do you hear that? The limitations themselves aren’t the problem for Alex. It’s when you let shame about those limitations create distance between you.”
“I hear it.”
“Physical intimacy is part of how you connect and support each other. When trauma or medical issues affect that, it’s not just about sex.
It’s about maintaining connection and partnership.
The goal isn’t perfect performance, it’s finding ways to stay connected that work for both of you despite the challenges. ”
“We’re getting there,” I murmured.
“I can see that.” Elena’s voice softened slightly. “The fact that you can discuss this openly, that Alex can communicate what actually matters to her versus what Finn assumes matters, that’s healthy partnership functioning.”
She set her pen down, looking between us.
“Here’s what I’m observing. You both have strong foundations, good communication when you actually use it, support systems beyond each other, willingness to work through difficult topics.
The barriers aren’t about compatibility or whether you’re good for each other.
They’re about individual patterns, Finn’s protection instinct and worthiness issues, Alex’s rejection sensitivity and competence armor, that interfere with using the support you’re both trying to provide. ”
Alex and I sat silently for a moment.
“So what do we do?” I asked finally.
“You keep showing up. Keep being honest about what’s hard instead of hiding it.
Keep using the support systems you have.
” Elena paused, turning to me more fully.
“And Finn, you specifically need to work on believing that needing support doesn’t make you a burden.
That your worth isn’t tied to how useful you are.
Because that belief is what drives the isolation that makes PTSD worse. ”
“I’m trying,” I whispered.
“I know you are,” she nodded. “And Alex, you’re doing the work too—catching yourself when you armor up, being honest about your struggles instead of defaulting to ‘fine.’”
“This isn’t about being perfect partners. It’s about being partners who keep choosing to show up and work through the hard things together.”
I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“There’s another thing I want to observe before we wrap up my assessment,” Elena said. “I’d like to watch one of your flight sessions. See you in instructor mode, how you handle responsibility and safety decisions, how you teach.”
My stomach tightened. “When?”
“Friday morning, if that works.” She closed her notepad. “I’ll monitor from the ground with a headset, observe the instruction without interfering.”
“Yes ma’am,” I forced myself to sound steadier than I felt.
We all stood. “Thank you both for your honesty today,” Elena smiled. “This kind of vulnerability isn’t easy, but it gives me what I need to help rather than guess.”
“Thank you,” Alex nodded.
We walked out together, Alex’s hand in mine, both of us quiet with the weight of everything we’d exposed in that room.
“That wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be,” she spoke once we were outside, afternoon sun warm on our faces.
“Elena’s good at what she does,” I squeezed her fingers. “You were amazing in there, darlin’. All that directness.”
“No drugs,” she glanced at me. “Makes it painfully easier to say what I actually mean instead of deflecting.”
“I like it.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to lie awake at night replaying it over in your head.”
“Next time it does, wake me up and let’s talk about it.”
Friday’s flight observation was coming, but for now, I just wanted to be with the woman who loved me. Who’d sat through all of that—the hiding, the shame, the ways I’d kept failing us both—and still chose me.
Whatever Elena saw on Friday would be what it was.
All I could do was show up and be honest about what I still had.