Chapter 1 #2
Dr. James Sutton was in his late forties-early fifties.
Though he’d been retired from the Army for many years, from his straight posture to his haircut, he still held himself like the soldier he’d once been.
In many ways, having a therapist who understood the nuances of military life was good because it meant Dr. Sutton understood things without Ranger having to explain the why of them, but in other ways, it was extremely annoying.
Dr. Sutton did not let Ranger deflect or push things aside, and calling Ranger out for his, as Dr. Sutton referred to it, “macho bullshit”.
Nothing like a six-five, two-hundred and fifty pound man of pure muscle telling you it was okay to cry in front of him.
Ranger nodded stiffly. The anxiety coursing through him felt very much like the night before his first mission as an Army Ranger. No matter how much prep work, how much training he’d gone through, there was still an element of the unknown.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Dr. Sutton made a point not to write down notes during his sessions.
He wanted to be in the now with his patients, not making their worries spike for fear of what he was writing down in front of them.
Was he saying one thing while writing down another?
Additionally, he didn’t sit behind his desk while they sat in front of it.
Two large, comfy chairs were set by a bay window.
“Fine. Good. I’m ready to get out of here.”
Dr. Sutton, though, shook his head. “That’s the answer you prepared on your way in here. What’s the real answer?”
Shit. After ninety days with this man, Ranger should know by now that he wasn’t going to get an answer like that past him.
He squirmed in his chair like a student facing the principal.
“I’m nervous as hell. I’ve thrown up twice.
I go from being excited about leaving to begging Colby to let me stay.
And I fear leaving here, wondering if it’s only a matter of time before I’m forced back—either by my own merit or my family’s. ”
“Those are all valid emotions, Liam. What would it mean if you did have to come back?”
Ranger’s stomach twisted at the thought. “It means I failed again, to which you’re going to say that I didn’t fail. I fell. And falling just means I have to pick myself back up again.”
Dr. Sutton’s deep chuckle echoed around the room. “I was unaware I was becoming predictable in my responses. So, what would I say next?”
Ranger wrinkled his nose. “That I have the means and the support not to fear falling. You’ll tell me that I will trip and I will stumble, and then add something sentimental about knowing who to call and what to do.”
“How about ‘there will be good days and bad days, and it’s okay to have good and bad days. The trick is not to let the bad days influence your good days.’”
Ranger nodded. “Seems like something you’d say.”
“I’ve been told I’m quite smart.”
Ranger snorted at the doctor’s dry sense of humor.
“You mentioned your club is coming tomorrow to pick you up. All of them, if I understand correctly.”
Nerves clawed at his stomach at the thought. Ranger eyed the trash can in the corner, wondering if he was going to need it. “I told them not to, but I know better. They’ll all come. Like a fucking parade.”
Which honestly served him right. He’d been on the other end of such a parade numerous times, and took great joy in the displeasure on his club brothers’ faces when he had. Now, he supposed, it was his turn.
“I’ve met a number of your club. They seem like good men, good people. Why does it bother you that they want to be here to support you, to celebrate your success?”
Ranger didn’t answer right away, knowing he needed to word this carefully, as well as truthfully.
“I don’t want to see the pity on their faces.
They’ll be happy for me, they’ll be here to support me, but underneath, they know I didn’t fall on my own.
They know I was pushed. I think if I’d gone out and gotten high on my own, made that decision, they would look at me differently.
Like I was sick and now on the mend. But now they look at me like I’m broken, fragile.
They don’t know everything, but in some ways, that makes it worse.
How would they look at me if they knew everything that happened?
I don’t doubt Ghost knows. Becks would have told him.
Maybe Tessa and Bear, but the others?” Ranger shook his head.
“They love me, and I know that, but this isn’t a celebration like when Pumpkin was released from rehab.
I’m here because I knowingly went out and bought heroin before shooting up in my bathtub.
I’m here because I fell, as you put it.”
Dr. Sutton waited a moment to see if Ranger would continue before he said, “You describe your club brothers as men you respect deeply. Men you consider to be physically and mentally formidable, but they’ve all stumbled before, Liam.
And you were there to help them stand. Why is it so hard for you to be the one who needs help this time? ”
Ranger shook his head, not wanting to answer.
But Dr. Sutton didn’t fill the silence. He sat there, ankle on his knee, staring at Ranger.
Waiting him out. Frustrated, Ranger turned his face away from the doctor.
He both respected and hated that Dr. Sutton had the ability to wait him out.
He now had a new understanding of the expression “the silence was deafening”.
“Because I hate this. I hate what was done to me. I hate that I can’t just move on.
I hate that there will never be a day for the rest of my life where I don’t think of that crazy, fucking bitch.
” Though he was able to hold back tears, Ranger sniffled and rubbed his eyes like he was tired.
“I hate that I have this disease now. I hate that I have to lean on them, instead of being the one they can lean on.”
The club didn’t take away his enforcer title, but they didn’t have to for Ranger to know things were going to be different upon his return.
When Ghost stepped up as president over a year ago, it was with the understanding that Ranger would be his VP after an adjustment period.
Lucky stayed on so the club didn’t have such a major change after Steel stepped down.
Ranger accepted and respected that decision, choosing to use that time to learn from Lucky how to be the best VP for Ghost and the club.
But now… The club didn’t have to tell him.
Ranger already knew. They couldn’t have an addict as VP.
Hell, they couldn’t have an addict as an enforcer either.
Likely they were letting him keep the position out of pity, not wanting to hand him too many blows while he was in such a vulnerable state.
Ghost told him that Jigsaw and Starbucks were sharing his responsibilities “for now”.
But that was a line of bullshit. There was no “for now”.
It wasn’t like Ranger was getting out of here tomorrow and Ghost was going to hand him back the keys to the kingdom.
“You’ve worked hard these past ninety days.
You’re grieving, Liam, and it’s okay to hate what happened to you, so long as you acknowledge it.
From my perspective, you’ve been honest about the addiction, about your relapse, about your childhood before Andrew Fremont rescued you and your mom, about Cameron’s manipulation…
But there is one area I’ve noticed you always choose your words very carefully, and you and I both know what I’m referring to. ”
Dr. Sutton kept his expression professionally neutral.
“I’d like to talk about it today, Liam. Not because you have to have it resolved before you leave—you don’t.
You’ve already given me permission to send Dr. Rutenberg all my notes and our progress, so he can pick up where you and I leave off.
But I would like you to be able to name it before you walk back into your life tomorrow. ”
Bile rose, but Ranger was able to push it down. “My rape.” The words tasted like acid on his tongue, like he’d swallowed a handful of ground black pepper.
Dr. Sutton paused for a minute to allow Ranger to get control of himself before he continued. “What Cameron did to you while you were incapacitated—what word would you use to describe it?”
Ranger gripped the arms of the chairs, the ants starting their march up and down his arms like that fucking children’s song.
“Take your time.”
He wanted to say “emasculating” but knew he’d get pushback for that one. Instead, he said, “Dehumanizing.”
“You’ve spent your adult life being the strongest person in the room. The protector. The one who shows up. What does it mean to you that this happened and you couldn’t stop it?”
A wet heat touched his memory at the doctor’s words, and that was all it took.
Ranger bolted over to the trash can, barely reaching the small bucket before the vomit came spewing from his mouth for the third time that day.
Honestly, he was a bit surprised there was anything left in his stomach, since he’d only picked at his lunch an hour ago.
He probably wouldn’t have even had that if Colby hadn’t planted himself across the table from Ranger and stared him down like the pushy asshole he’d come to realize his friend was.
And of course he’d eaten all his sweet corn.
Dr. Sutton did not touch him, only approached him with a patient expression and a glass of water.
When Ranger was done dry heaving, Dr. Sutton took the trash can, keeping it held up at chest height so Ranger could rinse and spit.
As Dr. Sutton walked the trash can out into the hall for one of the orderlies to clean up, Ranger drank down the remaining water in the glass, went over to the pitcher, refilled the cup, and gulped that down, too.