Restoration 01 - Getting It Right

by A. M. Arthur

  The boyfriend also feels guilty for sneaking off to have a drink, leaving you alone in your dream and in your bed.

  Could someone ever truly stop being an asshole?

  “What’s the counselor think?” Nathan asked.

  “He thinks he’s going to refer you to a colleague because you need to talk to someone about this who is less directly involved with your job. I deal with PTSD all the time, babe. This is serious.”

  “I know.” Nathan kissed his temple. “Should I get some ice for your throat? Shit, what if it bruises?”

  “I wear a tie every day. No one will notice.”

  “Let’s get you into bed. I’ll get ice.”

  Nathan helped James onto his feet long enough to shuffle to the bed. He relaxed back into the mattress, grateful for the comfort of something besides a wooden floor. Nathan tucked the sheet and blanket up to his chest, misery etched in every line around his eyes, every crease on his forehead.

  James had done that.

  He snagged Nathan’s wrist and waited until Nathan met his gaze. “I’m sorry, Nate.”

  “For what? This wasn’t your fault.”

  “I left you.”

  “To what? Take a piss? That doesn’t excuse my—”

  “I went downstairs to have a drink. Two, actually.” His gut churned, the alcohol no longer playing nice with his nerves.

  Nathan stared down at him, some of his sorrow melting into surprise. Then a blanket fell over his expression, and James couldn’t read him anymore. “I’ll get you an ice pack.”

  Nathan was gone a long time before he came back upstairs with a plastic bag of ice cubes wrapped in a kitchen towel. He arranged it on James’s throat, then turned off the light. He crawled into the other side of the bed, curled away from James.

  Twelve inches of distance had never felt so much like a mile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Thank you for fitting me in today,” Nate said.

  “Well, James never calls in his favors, so I was happy to make room.” Dr. Michaela Sands shook his hand from behind her glass-top desk, which was overrun with files, notebooks and medical journals. With her free hand, she pushed a pair of black-framed glasses back up her button nose. The mess in front of her dwarfed the small woman, but she still had a presence that commanded the entire cluttered office.

  She looked more like a beleaguered college professor than a psychiatrist, and it eased some of the tension he’d been carrying since his last appointment with Dr. McMillian.

  “I’m clearing you for active duty.”

  Part of him had wanted to make her reconsider. The rest of him couldn’t wait until Monday.

  “Please have a seat, Detective.” Dr. Sands waved her hand at an assortment of chairs in a circle around what looked like a sawed-off log with a piece of glass on it that stood in as a coffee table. None of the chairs matched.

  The office was nothing like James’s carefully decorated, rented unit. Dr. Sands had nestled her space into the back room of her own house.

  Nate picked a hard plastic chair that reminded him of middle school. It helped him sit up straight, not slouch. Focus.

  Dr. Sands sat across from him in a wicker armchair. She had a spiral notebook in her lap and a pencil tucked behind her ear. “So, James wasn’t terribly specific when he called me this morning.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That you’ll be a challenge for me, and I never back away from a challenge.” Her bright expression went briefly fierce. “He also told me you were physically assaulted four months ago on the job, and that you’re having flashbacks.”

  “Flashbacks? I’ve never had a flashback.”

  “Detective, flashbacks aren’t often experienced how they’re depicted in movies. It’s not always images in your mind, or being back in the moment. Sometimes it is as instantaneous as a touch and bam. You’re reacting, protecting yourself.” She pushed those glasses up again. “Sound familiar?”

  Shame heated his cheeks. “I strangled him last night.”

  “Who?”

  “James.” Her lack of surprise was an unexpected relief. “He told you about us?”

  She smiled, showing off a slightly crooked front tooth. “He told me when I asked why he wasn’t treating you himself. You’re the kind of patient who challenges him too. Even if he does have a soft spot for teenagers.”

  “May I ask how you know James?”

  “We interned together with Dr. Abbott, and we kept in touch. Occasionally we refer each other patients. And you’re changing the subject.”

  “What were we discussing?”

  “Don’t treat me like a suspect, Detective. This isn’t your interrogation. We’re here for a chat.”

  Nate could pick her up and snap her in half without breaking a sweat, but she’d just schooled him in less than twenty words. He liked her immediately. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tell me about last night.”

  My lover snuck downstairs to have a glass of whiskey and I freaked out because I was alone in bed.

  “I was asleep. Dreaming. The dream turned scary. James had gotten about of bed,

  apparently, and he was coming back. He tried to wake me up. I knocked him down and tried to choke him to death before I really woke up and realized what I was doing.”

  “Have you had reactions to being woken before?”

  “Twice. My dad both times, and then he learned better.”

  “Was he hurt?”

  “Scared more than anything. Scared the hell out of me too.”

  “How do you feel about what happened last night?”

  “Ashamed of myself. James is the most important person in my life and that’s the second time I’ve hurt him in a week.”

  Dr. Sands arched a slim eyebrow. “When was the first?”

  “Last Saturday, less than two hours after inserting myself back into his life.” Her frown prompted him to fill in some of the backstory. “After the assault, I went home with my parents to recover. Southern Delaware. The last time James and I spoke prior to that, we’d had a misunderstanding, and I think part of me wanted to punish him. I ignored his attempts to communicate with me for more than four months.”

  “And last Saturday you came back?”

  “Yes. We talked a lot. Got a lot of things between us straight, but there was a moment where I got lost in thought. Then someone touched me and I was back in that van. I punched James in the nose. Knocked him down.”

  “How did you feel afterward?”

  “Embarrassed. Mostly angry.”

  “At James?”

  Nate snorted. “Hell no, at myself. He said he should have known better than to come up on someone who’d been through what I had. He figured out the PTSD almost right away.”

  “Well, I’ve heard he’s pretty okay at his job.”

  “I’ll keep that between us.”

  She poked at those glasses again. “Detective—”

  “Please, call me Nathan or Nate.”

  “Nathan, your reactions are completely normal for someone who’s been through a trauma like yours. Taking time away to heal helped you physically, but it may not have been the best thing for you psychologically. You left the city completely, put the scene of the crime behind you, so to speak.” She went quiet a moment. “How have you been sleeping since you got back?”

  “I sleep fine when I’m with James.” It was strange admitting that to anyone, especially a stranger, but part of his job was reading people. He trusted her discretion. Plus the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing.

  “Have you slept next to James every night?”

  He appreciated her phrasing. “All except the first night I got back. I came in Friday, and I spent most of the night cleaning my house, instead of sleeping.”

  “Did you have the same trouble sleeping at home?”

  “Not always. My GP prescribed a sleep aid, but the damned things make me sleepwalk, so I don’t take them.”

  “How frequently is n
ot always?”

  Nate picked at a thread on the seam of his jeans. “My parents’ house hasn’t been this clean since it was built.”

  “Translation?”

  “I have a hard time sleeping at night, even if I leave the lights on.”

  “Were you able to nap during the day?”

  “Sometimes, when my family wasn’t pestering me to play board games or watch

  movies.”

  Her lips quirked. “Families can be like that. Why do you think you’re better able to sleep during the day?”

  He shot her a glare full of duh. “The attack happened at night. Even I can put that one together.”

  “Just keeping us on the same page.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about that?”

  She peered at him over the top of her glasses. “Talking about what?”

  “The attack.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because when you tell me about the assault, I want you to be completely honest with me about what happened and how you feel about it.”

  Damn, she was good. “Fair enough.”

  “So last night. You attacked James because he tried to wake you from a bad dream.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you had bad dreams before when he’s been sleeping next to you?”

  “None that I remember. James never mentioned anything.”

  “Would he?”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Hell yes, he would. He’d want me to talk it out.”

  “So you were fine until James got out of bed.”

  “Yes.” His cheeks heated. “It sounds idiotic, doesn’t it?”

  “What does?”

  “That one person can keep the nightmares away.”

  “It isn’t idiotic at all, Nathan. Maintaining personal connections is very important to recovery. Not all of my patients have someone like James in their lives, and if he helps bring you some measure of peace, then I’m doubly glad.”

  “But?”

  She pushed the damned glasses up. “But sometimes our support systems can become a crutch, and I will advise you against allowing that to happen.”

  “I don’t want crutches, Doc. I want to walk again, on my own, without jumping at shadows.”

  “Good.” Dr. Sands smiled. “I think this will work out, then. I won’t be easy on you.”

  “That’s fair, since I probably won’t be the best patient.”

  “I like a man who’s self-aware. Now, what kind of appointment schedule is going to work best for you? I’m very flexible.”

  “I’m not sure. I’m starting back on desk duty, so I’ll be off most days by four thirty or five, but once I’m back in the field I won’t have a set schedule.”

  “Okay.” She snagged a leather binder off her desk and flipped it open. “How about Mondays and Thursdays at five thirty? We’ll start there and see how it goes.”

  “Twice a week?”

  “Unless you think you need more.”

  Nate lifted one shoulder in a loose shrug. “I guess we’ll have to see if I try to strangle my best friend again.”

  “The fact that you stopped on your own says something, Nathan. You reacted, yes, but then you recognized a friend and you stopped.” She plucked a business card out of the sleeve of the binder. “And if you ever have a moment that you can’t deal with alone, call me, anytime.”

  He slipped the card into his wallet. “Thank you. So are we done?”

  She glanced at a clock behind her desk. “I have a few extra minutes if you have anything else you need to get off your chest.”

  As much as he wanted to get her advice on James’s drinking, it wasn’t his place to say something to a colleague. He and James would deal with it on their own. “No, I’m okay.”

  “See you Monday, then. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise.”

  Dr. Sands walked him down the long hallway to the front door. “I meant it before. Call anytime.”

  “Thanks again.”

  The text from James came through just as Nate climbed into the cab of his truck. He jammed his key into the ignition, then yanked his phone out of his back pocket.

  I’m picking you up 5:30 p.m. Dress business casual.

  Nate stared at the words, hoping to glean some hidden meaning from them. James hadn’t mentioned any previous plans.

  What the hell is he up to?

  The closer the clock inched past five, the less James was able to stay still. He didn’t want to admit that he was nervous, but yeah, his nerves were jumping. His stomach was a little sour, too, and a couple of Tums didn’t do much to settle him.

  He’d faced final exams, research papers, his PhD paper, published articles and even a patient’s furious stepfather with a kitchen knife and a serious hate for all things psychiatry-related. No sweat. He plodded through holiday meals and visits with his mother. Piece of cake.

  He picked up guys for sex and never gave another thought to them once he was finished.

  Asshole-worthy, maybe, but barely a blip on the radar of bothersome things.

  Nothing made him break out in a cold sweat and second-guess himself like going out on a date.

  A for real date, with Nathan, as a couple. For the first time ever.

  James stared at a small black stain on the carpet where he’d dropped a Sharpie and never managed to get the mark out. He hadn’t been on a date since high school prom, and even then it was with a girl who’d flat-out told him she wanted to use him to make her ex jealous. He hadn’t cared. At the after party, he ended up making out with a hot football player named Kevin, who he’d have never pegged as gay.

  Nate’s going to think I’m a moron.

  Nathan’s reply to his earlier text had been a simple See you then, with no communication since. James had resisted calling and asking how his appointment with Michaela had gone. He’d find out tonight, if Nathan chose to share. He was still a little surprised Nathan had agreed to the last-minute session.

  He shouldn’t have been. Nathan had spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, restless every time James woke up. He’d resisted James holding him, resisted any sort of physical contact or communication, even over breakfast. Nathan got mad quietly, keeping it in instead of yelling it out. James could tell Nathan was still upset about the whole choking thing, but he was more upset about James and that damned whiskey.

  James hadn’t tried to explain, and he wouldn’t try tonight. He had no answers, other than it helped chase the ghosts away. His ghosts and the ghosts his clients left behind on the really bad days. Yesterday had been a gut-kick of a day.

  Anxiety kept him from sitting still. He bolted into the bathroom to double check his clothing choice. Black polo buttoned high—the bruises wouldn’t last more than another day—

  that made his hazel eyes look gray. Tan slacks with a black leather belt. Nice but not fancy.

  He didn’t want to scare Nathan with their date, just seduce him a little bit. Prove he was more than a sultry smile and the hash marks on his bedpost, and that he was worth putting up with.

  Finally it was time to leave, and soon he’d parked in the short driveway behind the pickup.

  Part one of his plan was still in its box on the floor of the backseat. James took the potted cattleya orchid from its barrier of balled-up newspaper.

  Nathan opened the door before he could ring the bell, questions dancing in his eyes, a funny curl to his mouth. The beard was changing some of the familiar expressions, making them a little harder to read. The delight that blossomed on his face when he took in the orchid was impossible to miss.

  “Bringing you a bunch of flowers felt weird,” James said, a bit unnerved at doing this on the stoop. “And I remember you talking about orchids this past spring, that your schedule didn’t let you bother with pets, but plants were okay.”

  Nathan’s eyes danced with amusement. “You pay attention to the strangest things.”

  “I pay attent
ion to you, Nate. Always have.” He held out the ceramic pot. “It’s called a Siamese Doll.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Nathan angled it in his hands, studying the yellow and purple blossoms.

  “Come in.”

  James stood near the door while Nathan crisscrossed his living room four times,

  searching for the perfect spot for his orchid. The black jeans and blue button-down Nathan had chosen fit a bit loosely, but he still wore them like a champ. The man would be gorgeous in sackcloth.

  He was especially gorgeous naked.

  Focus.

  Nathan finally settled on the TV console to the left of his flat-screen. Good sunlight and air flow.

  “Thank you for this,” Nathan said. “It feels like a fresh start after last night. How’s your throat?”

  “It’s fine.” He’d sucked on a few lozenges that morning but it was barely sore. “You’re not as strong as you think you are.”

  Nathan arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge, old man.”

  “Maybe it was, but for later.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh yes. The orchid was part one of my plan.”

  “Your plan?”

  “My plan.”

  “Okay, so what’s part two?”

  “Come over here and find out.”

  With a cheeky grin that made James’s blood hum, Nathan invaded his personal space. He brought delicious body heat and a spicy cologne that begged James to make a snack out of his neck. Instead, he focused on Nathan’s mouth, kissing him as if it was the first and last time.

  Putting the taste of Nathan on his tongue, the scent of him in his nostrils. Exploring every inch, hard and soft.

  Nathan ended the kiss with a soft bite to his lower lip. “I like part two. Does part three involve nudity?”

  “Not unless you want to arrest yourself for indecent exposure.” The confusion that wrought was too adorable, and James chuckled. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, I am.” He draped his arms lightly around Nathan’s waist, liking him close. “We are going out on our first date.”