Running Home to You (The Running Series)

by Sweeney, Suzanne

  He never really talked about it, not to me, anyway. I know he didn’t speak with his parents or his sister, either, because we’ve shared our concerns about Evan’s refusal to discuss it. My worries began to vanish when, upon Evan’s insistence, we stopped asking him about it and went on with our lives. He put one hundred percent of himself into his recovery, sometimes so deeply that he ignored me and everything else entirely. I minded a little at the time, but frankly, I had a restaurant to open so I was busy, too. Was I too busy to notice the signs? Were there signs? I don’t really know what I should have been looking for. Is it too late?

  I open up Auggie’s iPad and start to do research on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There are literally thousands of sites with information on the condition. I avoid the wikis, and instead, concentrate on the hospital and university sites. The simplest definition I can find describes the condition as “an anxiety disorder that can develop after an individual has experienced or witnessed a major trauma.” Well, if that doesn’t describe Evan in a nutshell, I don’t know what does.

  I scroll down the page and it says that in order to be diagnosed with PTSD, an individual must demonstrate 3 or more symptoms that were not present before the traumatic event. I read through the checklist, and at first, many of them do not really describe what I’ve been seeing. But as I get further down the list, I start finding more than just three indicators. The first one to catch my eye is Nightmares. I know Evan’s been having nightmares; he’s woken me up numerous times. But every time I ask, he says he cannot remember his dreams.

  Next, they describe Feeling Estranged or Detached from Others. Evan’s come right out and told me he thinks I’m spending more time with Derek than with him. The fact that we eat dinner together every night and sleep together in the same bed is not sufficient. He feels like I’ve cast him aside.

  The next entry talks about Angry Outbursts and Irritability. That’s the one that’s really piqued my interest. It says that you might find some people snapping at others or getting extremely angry in situations that don’t rise to that level of concern. The explosions are often unexpected and unsubstantiated. Like when Evan freaked out just because Derek called me. Overreaction.

  There are others, too. Adam keeps telling me how great Evan’s doing at practice, but that’s not the story I get from Evan. He seems to think that the coaches and players are all waiting for him to screw up so they can get rid of him. But according to Adam, the coaches are thrilled with him and are all very impressed with his improved skill, dedication, and focus. Evan seems to be waiting for the hammer to fall, but there are no signs that it will. The articles call that an Impending Sense of Doom.

  The final nail in the coffin for me is the one that describes Avoiding Thoughts, Feelings, or Memories of the Trauma. There are other symptoms that I can identify with, but a few of them might be coincidental. All in all, I’ve definitely identified five from the list. That’s enough for me. Evan “Big Mac” McGuire is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Now what?

  Normally, I would rush over and talk it through with Auggie. But that’s not an option right now. I could talk to Emmy, but she’ll probably tell me to take him home and screw him until he can’t see straight. Actually, she’s already told me to do that, several times, in fact.

  Things are going really well with Reese again; perhaps I could talk it through with her. She’s always been there for me, even though I haven’t always been there for her. I make a quick call, and find out she’s at Rush. With my mind made up, I gather up all of Auggie’s things, toss them in the back of my car, and head out to Asbury.

  The moment I step into Rush, I’m bombarded with questions about Auggie. Everyone wants to know how he’s doing. I update them as best I can, but there’s really not much to explain. He’s been sedated all night, and his vitals are strong and steady. Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I’ll be able to talk with him, but until then, there’s not much more to say.

  I ask Reese to talk with me privately in my office. I shut the door and we sit on the small couch in my tiny office. She knows me well enough to know that I’m more than just a little upset. Without much prodding, I tell her everything – my concerns about Evan’s anxieties and the current condition of our relationship. I show her the article I was reading and wait for her reaction. Before long, she closes the cover on the iPad and pronounces, “You’re right, Jette. There’s no doubt. He ran as fast as he could, but it’s finally caught up with him. He needs help.”

  “I know he does, Reese, but how do I get him to admit it?”

  “You have to find a way, Jette,” she insists. “The article clearly says that if symptoms are left untreated, they will get worse, not better over time. The longer he waits, the worse things will get. Hey Jette, I have an idea,” Reese offers. “Maybe we should talk to Ryker. If anyone knows about PTSD, it’s him. He might be able to give you some good ideas on how to get through to Evan.”

  The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Evan won’t listen to me or to any of his friends or family. Maybe he’d listen to someone like Ryker. Although I don’t know much about Ryker’s personal experiences, I know enough to be certain he’s experienced trauma. His tattoos hint at tragedy and his own unwillingness to discuss it cements it for me.

  Reese steps out for a moment, and then comes back with Ryker trailing behind. I offer them the couch, and I take a seat in the small leather chair facing them.

  “So, Jette, what’s up? Is anything wrong?” Ryker asks.

  “There is, and I’m hoping you could help me.”

  “Just say it. Whatever you need. If I can help, I will,” he assures me.

  “That’s great to hear. Listen, do you know anything about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

  He chuckles, nods his head and adds a sarcastic, “A little.”

  Reese tells him that we think Evan may be experiencing some symptoms of the disorder. He listens intently as we describe in detail the symptoms that we believe point to an anxiety disorder brought about by the tragic events from April.

  “I don’t know, girls. I barely know the guy. I’ve only met him twice. The first time, he hardly gave me the time of day. The second time, he was yelling at you, Jette.” He pauses for a moment, gets up, and paces around the room. “What makes you think this is all related to Averee?”

  I explain, “Evan was never like this before, Ryker. I wish you knew him then. He was sweet, kind, and considerate. That’s why everyone loves him. That’s why I love him.”

  Ryker’s not as sure. “That man you used to know may be gone, Jette. Things like I’ve seen, things live Evan’s experienced, they change a person. I left for Afghanistan a boy. I came back a man. I’ll never again be that trusting, hopeful young man I once was. I know how cruel life can be. Happiness is short-lived and rare. You’re lucky you got to have any of it at all. That’s more than lots of us ever get.” He sits back on the couch and continues, “How do you know he even wants help?”

  Tears well up in my eyes, so it’s Reese that answers for me, “We don’t.”

  Before I was scared, nervous, and unsure. Now I’m terrified. Suppose the man I love is gone forever? People do change, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. But what kind of person would I be if I didn’t at least try? “Ryker, please. I know he’s in there. I know if he accepts help, we can get the old Evan back. Please.”

  Just then, there’s a knock on my office door. It’s Marcus. “Hey guys, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Reese, there’s a call for you from one of the suppliers. He has a question about one of your orders.” Reese excuses herself from the room, leaving me alone to plead my case to Ryker and somehow convince him to help.

  “What is it that you want me to do, Jette?” he asks.

  “Talk to him, man-to-man. Explain to him that getting help isn’t a sign of weakness. He’ll believe it if he hears it from you,” I tell him.

  “Why do you say that?” Ryker asks.

  Still sitting in m
y chair, I lean over and look him directly in the eyes. “He respects your service. Not just yours, but all military servicemen and women. I’ve heard him discussing it with Marcus. Evan has a great deal of respect for him, and I’m certain he feels the same way about you and your service to our country.”

  Ryker slides to the edge of the couch, leaning over towards me, and takes my hands into his. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. But you have to listen to me, Jette. The first time you see him begin to get violent towards you or anyone, you have to swear to me you’ll leave. Stay with a friend, get your own place, do something to protect yourself. I won’t watch it happen all over again. You have to promise me.”

  “Ryker, there’s no need. I know Evan. He’s got a temper, but he would never hurt anyone out of anger or frustration.” Of this I am certain.

  He squeezes my hand and remains resolute. “I’ve seen it before, Jette. It gets worse and worse until you can’t keep it bottled up inside anymore. The wrong look, the wrong word, a forgotten promise, can all trigger an extreme reaction.”

  “But Evan would never...”

  “Yes, he would. Maybe not intentionally, but if he’s got PTSD, he’s operating from instinct and self-preservation.” Ryker looks at me and repeats his warning, “Just promise me you’ll leave. I’m serious, Jette. You have to say it or I won’t be able to ...”

  Ryker stops in the middle of his sentence and stares, mouth agape, at the door. Evan is standing there, looking at Ryker with a hatred I’ve never seen before.

  “What the fuck, Juliette? At least give me the decency to move out before you move onto the next asshole that comes along.” He walks over to me and looks right through me, “So how long have you been fucking this prick?”

  Ryker stands up and tries to intervene, but Evan turns and shoves him back down onto the couch, hard. I hear a loud thwack as Ryker’s head bounces off the wall.

  “Holy shit, Evan.” I rush passed him to see if Ryker’s okay.

  Evan grabs me by the wrist to stop me. “Oh, no, not so fast, honey. Lover boy will be just fine. So does your boyfriend know he’s not your only boy toy? Does he know that you’re fucking Derek, too?” I can’t speak. The words won’t come. “Do you take turns with them, Juliette, or do you take them both at the same time?”

  And with that, Ryker gets up and punches Evan square in the jaw, knocking him back a few steps.

  “Jette, get out of here. Now!” Ryker demands.

  I race through the kitchen trying to find Marcus. “Marcus!” I shout. He comes tearing into the kitchen, followed behind by Reese, Derek, Emmy, and Adam. “Adam, thank God you’re here, you have to help.”

  “Jette, calm down. Where’s Evan? What happened?” Adam asks.

  “He’s in my office,” I shout quickly, pointing towards the back of the kitchen. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I hear glass shattering and voices booming. Adam and Marcus waste no time and rush into my office. Emmy and I stand at the door, watching in horror as Ryker and Evan continue to beat the shit out of each other.

  Ryker’s nose is bleeding and Evan’s lip is, too. Both men have blood all over their shirts, but they’re not slowing down. Adam gets a hold of Evan while Marcus tries to hold Ryker back. Fists are flying furiously and I’m afraid that someone is going to get seriously hurt.

  “Evan, please stop!” I shout. Just as I’m about to burst into the room, I feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist, lift me off my feet, and carry me away. I kick fight back furiously, but it’s no use. I hear the reassuring voice of Derek as he brings me to the back of the restaurant and places me on my feet. “Jette, calm down. If you try to get in the middle of that, you’re going to get hurt.” Emmy and Reese are with me and Derek is standing tall as my guardian.

  “What the hell happened?” Reese asks. “I was gone less than five minutes.”

  I close my eyes, trying to shut out the shouting I can clearly hear coming from what’s left of my office. “It’s over,” I confess.

  “What’s over? Jette, look at me,” Emmy demands. “What’s over?”

  “Evan, me, all of it. It’s done.”

  “Did he hurt you? Did he touch you, Jette? Please tell me he didn’t, because if he did, I don’t think I could ...” I can hear the concern in Derek’s voice. If he knew what Evan said, I can’t imagine what he would do.

  “No. He didn’t. He grabbed me, but that’s it. It’s what he said.” I plop myself into a chair and hold my face in my hands. This can’t really be happening.

  Emmy pulls my hands away and asks me gently, “Jette, honey, tell us. What did he say?”

  Before I can answer, I hear the back door open and slam shut, followed by the roar of a motorcycle engine. Ryker left. If Marcus let him leave, he must not be hurt too badly.

  “He called me a whore, Emmy.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I’m keeping it together for now, but only barely.

  “What?!” Derek shouts. “He called you a what?”

  “He didn’t use the word, Derek, but that’s what he was thinking. He asked me if I was fucking you and Ryker one at a time or if I took you both on together.” Everyone just stares at me.

  “Jette, that’s not possible. Evan would never. What would make him say something like that?” Reese asks.

  I explain to them how Evan walked in just as Ryker was warning me. “He said that if Evan starts to become violent, I would need to protect myself. He made me promise I would leave.”

  “If that’s all Evan heard, then he must think you were making plans to leave him for Ryker,” Reese speculates. How could he think that?

  Derek turns to walk away, towards the kitchen where my office is, but the three of us grab him and stop him. “Derek, don’t go back there. It’s not worth it,” Emmy warns him.

  “You’ll only make it worse,” I beg. “Please don’t go back there, Derek.”

  “Fine, but I definitely need a drink. Anyone else?” We all agree and Derek pours all four of us a shot of tequila. Just as we all toss it back, Evan comes barreling through the restaurant, heading straight for the front door. He doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t look back. Evan grabs the door, swings it open, smashes it into the wall, and leaves. Adam scurries behind him and just like that, they’re gone.

  I can’t control the waves of tears that come bursting through the floodgates. Emmy hurries behind the bar to get me a box of tissues. This time, no one tries to stop me from crying. No one tries to tell me it will be okay. They’re silent. They know. There’s no coming back from this. Evan’s crossed a line, and I can’t imagine anything that could ever be said or done that would make up for his behavior. I love him, but I will not be a punching bag for him or anyone.

  The reality of my new situation hits me hard and I’m wracked with deep sobs and cries of anguish. I still can’t believe he’s gone. He just walked out without looking back. How could it be so easy for him to turn away from me like that? Tears of grief, heartache, and rage continue to build to a crescendo, making my body shake with broken sobs. Despite their best efforts, I find no comfort from my friends.

  Emmy stays with me while Marcus and Derek do what they can to clean up the mess in my office. Apparently, the shattering glass I heard was Evan throwing the picture of us that I had on my desk across the room, causing it to shatter into a million tiny little pieces. Marcus brings me my laptop, which now has a cracked screen. He thinks it also got thrown across the room because he found it behind the couch.

  Once I’ve cried all the tears I have to give, Derek comes over to try to talk to me. “You can’t go home tonight, Jette. It’s not safe for you.”

  While I seriously doubt Evan would ever do anything to hurt me, I have no intention of going home to him tonight. “I know. I’m going to the hospital to spend some time with Auggie. I’ll stay in my old room at Auggie’s for now.”

  “Good.” Derek walks away, leaving Emmy and me alone again.

  “You’re going to find out s
ooner or later, so I may as well tell you now,” Emmy begins. “Adam and I were with Evan for most of last night. He was in pretty bad shape. He knew he overreacted.”

  “What do you mean he was in bad shape?” I ask.

  “He was home alone getting shit-face drunk. He knows he’s not acting rationally, but he says he can’t help it. We had to take his keys away from him. He was going to drive back to the hospital last night to apologize. We put him in our car and told him we would take him to see you. We took him to Adam’s house instead. He passed out on the couch.”

  Well, that explains why the car was in the garage but Evan was nowhere to be seen.

  Emmy continues, “I called Adam when you got here, Jette. I thought he could bring Evan here to apologize now that he’s sobered up.” She takes a deep breath, and then admits, “I never should have called him. It’s all my fault. Do you hate me?”

  I wrap my arms around her and try to put her fears to rest. “Emmy, it’s not your fault. Evan walked in at the worst possible moment and jumped to all the wrong conclusions, like he always does. If it wasn’t Ryker, it would be Derek. Or, God forbid, a poor, unsuspecting customer.”

  Reese walks over to check on me. “So, Jette, I guess we can cross off our plan to get Ryker to help Evan. That ship’s pretty much sailed.”

  “No shit,” I agree, shaking my head. “Do you think either one of them will ever set foot in this place again?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I think so. Ryker is used to combat, so for him, this is probably no big deal,” Reese predicts.

  “And Evan?”

  “I think it’s time for you to play your Trump card,” Reese tells me.

  “My what?”

  “Your Trump card. When it comes to men, every woman has a secret weapon,” she explains.