“No,” he said, trying to stop her from upsetting them. Quickly, he moved off the bed, but her body and the spill of books caught him in their wake and he half fell on her.
“Ouch,” she said as his shin connected with hers.
“Sorry,” he said, moving off of her and lying on the various objects to his side.
“What are you hiding?” she asked, craning her neck.
“Nothing,” he replied with thin lips, but the mischief in his eyes was practically killing her. She had to know what he was hiding.
“What? Are there porn magazines or photos of ex-girlfriends in there or something? You’re not a serial killer and those are your trophies?” Laurie teased, but there was a question in there. How much did she know about him? Shouldn’t she know more?
He sighed and then leaned forward, revealing his secret. Games! The man had a huge box full of board games.
“Clue! You like Clue! I loved this as a kid!” She laughed. “Is this your deep, dark secret?”
“One of them,” he admitted with a half smile. “I played them with my grandfather. My parents didn’t really do games. Come on, let’s get back in bed,” he said to distract her.
“Jack, you haven’t really mentioned your dad that much. What was he like?”
Jack looked at Laurie’s pretend pout and caved.
“Don’t give me that expression. I’ll share. Sheesh, women!” Quick as a rabbit, he was on his feet. Then he scooped her up and placed her in the center of the bed, crawling in beside her. Jack opened his arms to her, and she cuddled close to him, laying her head on his chest.
The sound of his heart beating was soothing. Feeling his chest go up and down as he breathed was oddly reassuring and, well, nice.
He cleared his throat and began speaking. “After my mother died, my dad tried to hold it together, but child services kept coming to the house. It wasn’t violence necessarily that was the toughest issue. According to the social worker, the problem was neglect. He would forget to feed me, wash my clothes, fetch me from school, and general stuff like that. One day, the social worker came to the house because the school reported that I had missed three days of class. She found me locked in my room. I vaguely remember her helping me take a bath and then taking me to the hospital.
“I stopped speaking then. Didn’t really have anything to say to anyone. My dad saw me once more, to say good-bye, but I didn’t know what to say to him. He cried and grabbed me from the bed and held me, but I didn’t want him. I wanted my mother, but I knew she was gone and wasn’t coming back.
“My grandfather—my mother’s father—came to the hospital a few days later and took me to San Diego. That was my first plane ride and everything that followed was very… very surreal. He had a small house in a cul-de-sac near the beach. When I walked in the front door for the first time, I saw an enormous brass clock. He told me it came from the ship he’d served on in World War II. The floors were wood and everything was neat and clean.
“Giving me the room that had been my mother’s was nice. I could feel her there. But it wasn’t quite right for a boy—too much pink and too many flowers.” Jack grinned.
“But I wasn’t willing to speak up to complain. I didn’t say a single word for that first week. My grandfather wasn’t a man who gave up, so he brought down every board game they had stored in the attic, and we played until I ‘loosened up.’ I hadn’t had much fun in my life until then,” Jack admitted.
“Your grandfather sounds like a special person,” Laurie said.
“He was. And he had this great laugh, almost a guffaw. The first sound out of my mouth with him was laughter. Because he was laughing, I did, too. Talking came next, and once I began, I couldn’t stop. I told him everything that had happened since I could remember. I rambled on and on. When I finally realized the effect of my words, how they made him sad, I stopped again.
“He wouldn’t let me walk away from myself, though. He forced me to converse and encouraged me to reach beyond my own limits. ‘Never run from the truth. There is honor in facing life head-on. Be brave.’ I’ve always lived by those words.” Jack squeezed her tight. “So, that’s the story of me and my board games.”
“Precious memories, Jack. Thank you for sharing them with me.” She swept her hair over to one side. “Have you ever told this story to anyone else?”
He considered the question for a few seconds and then shook his head. “No. You’re different… easy to be with and to talk to. You speak your mind. And you’re not afraid to stand up to me. I like those attributes.”
“I’m doubly honored, then.” She threw her hands up. Another concern surfaced that she was going to face immediately. “Though, you must realize, Jack, I’m a physical therapist. Of course, you’re comfortable with me. There’s a certain amount of trust given to someone who puts their hands on your body.”
“Perhaps to some degree, or even for a short while,” he said seriously. “You’re mistaken in thinking that’s the reason. It’s you! I show you the inner me, because you’re… special, Laurie. I dread doctors and I hate having to talk about myself.” He scratched his head. “Crap! When we’re together, I feel… like you’re my friend.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I guess you are. Huh?”
“Yeah,” she said, somewhat deflated. She didn’t know what she’d been trying to get at, maybe some crazy declaration of love. A commitment would only have complicated things. The best plan of action was to enjoy what they had for as long as it lasted. Sometime in the future, she’d have to face the fact that this man would be operational again and he’d be out the door like a bullet. Nothing would stop it.
“We are friends, right?” he asked, drawing her away from her brooding.
“Definitely,” she said with a rallying smile. “Highest compliment a SEAL can pay a woman.” She kissed the palm of her hand, slapped his knee, and then stood. The right thing to do was to change gears and flip the switch on her mood. He hadn’t done anything wrong, though if she stayed on this current train of thought, she would be going down a dark and winding road. He deserved better, and so did she. Doubts had no place here. “Do you mind if I hop in the shower?” Soap and hot water were reliably useful in washing away worrisome mental patterns.
“By all means, hop away,” he said. His long eyelashes shaded his light eyes, but she felt them track her to the bathroom. They gave off a heat signature that seemed to linger on her bottom.
A part of her felt good that he liked the way she looked, but her romantic nature still wanted more—more wooing, more verbal gushing, and more time spent together outside of the bedroom—and she wasn’t sure if that would ever happen.
Were some things just standard—men never wanted to commit and woman always wanted the gold ring? Laurie felt like she was out of her depth. If her mother were alive, would she have been better at this stuff? The reality was, there was no one to ask but Gich. Given their last encounter, she was not anxious to ask him anything about love, sex, or men. She’d just have to muddle though.
Buck up, baby, and concentrate on the happy things. Jack is making you pretty blissed-out… for the most part.
The sweat and oil had congealed on her body and a wish for a squeaky-clean body was her first priority. The rest would undoubtedly sort itself out.
The showerhead was one of those high-tech ones. As she turned on the spray, she tried to figure out how to get it set to her height. “Jack!”
An arm stretched past her and adjusted the water. On its way back, fingers pinched her.
“Eek!”
She looked over her shoulder and there he stood. Naked. Sexy. And oh, so desirable. He was wired for stealth, even at home.
He grinned at her with boyish charm.
“Hey, gorgeous, let me adjust the water for you,” he said with that wicked gleam shining again. “Just so you know, I’d be happy to wash your, uh, back, too. I’m a full-service guy.”
“Such a gentleman,” she replied, silencing her internal sound track and pre
paring for a little more fun. “Do you have any references?”
“I don’t like to rely on others for my praise. Let me show you my talents.” His grin had her smiling back. The spray came out strong, but soft—as if they were caught in a rainstorm. He adjusted the heat and then drew her close, running his hands over her shoulders and arms.
“Oh, boy,” she sighed as he kissed her. She couldn’t stop the shiver—it was half anticipation and half excitement—and it only made him draw her closer until their bodies were rubbing together. Skin on skin, and tantalizing every nerve ending.
“Not quite, honey.” His hands pushed her hair over her shoulders and his lips caressed her neck. “I’m all man, and I’m all yours.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she wiggled in his embrace. His touch drove her wild and his teasing words touched her heart. All mine.
Chapter 10
Nuts!
—General Anthony McAuliffe,
surrounded in Bastogne, Belgium
Jack dropped into his chair with one minute and fifty-three seconds to spare. Being in the psychiatry department of Balboa Naval Hospital made his stomach clench, though he’d never reveal the depth of his discomfort to any of the men in white. Some day these guys would learn to lose the office and meet their patients at the beach or in a pub for a chat. The doctor’s secretary poked her head around the door and said, “The doctor will be with you in a moment, Petty Officer.” Then she was gone.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, going over his strategy for the session. The best method would be to act calm, cool, and collected, which in all truth was the exact opposite of how he felt. Show him a guy who was comfortable talking about his emotions, and Jack would be amazed. He’d rather have bamboo shoots shoved under his fingernails, and since that had actually happened to him, he knew how torturous the pain could be.
His preference was for this appointment to be his final visit. He had a sinking feeling that he was not that lucky.
Heavy footsteps approached. Had to be the doc—sounded like he carried the weight of the hospital with him or perhaps a mega-sized ego to go with his know-it-all attitude.
“You’re here.” Strolling in with a pile of file folders in his hand, the doctor sat down at his desk. “I had my misgivings, especially given how many sessions you have actually made. Glad to see you didn’t violate your orders, Petty Officer First Class Roaker. Now, where should we begin?”
“Officially, I only rescheduled them,” commented Jack with a single raised eyebrow.
“On that topic, let’s clarify the rest of your attendance issues. When last we spoke, you had walked out of group,” Dr. Derek Johnson, the chief headshrinker, began. The man smelled of rubbing alcohol and cigarettes. Seemed like this doc had at least one bad habit and probably a few issues, too. Who was he—or anyone else—to judge?
“Correction, I was excused from group by the doctor, as were many other participants. With all due respect, there is a difference,” Jack replied in a monotone voice. He could maintain his blank expression forever, if necessary. It was too bad, really, that the doctors had become the enemy to him.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Only two minutes had passed. “Yes, of course, that particular group leader will not be providing that option next time around. I see your next group session is on Tuesday morning. I believe the topic is love and relationships and the importance of creating balance in a soldier’s and sailor’s life. I’m sure it will be fascinating.”
Good Lord, kill me now! Jack used every bit of control he had not to groan in misery. He would rather spend a month in a mosquito-infested jungle than talk about his interest in Laurie and the uncertainty about the future.
Wasn’t he allowed to keep anything private?
Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock pronounced each grueling second.
“Patients with acute psychological suppression and/or post-traumatic stress disorder can exhibit a number of symptoms, including but not limited to paranoia, persecution complexes, anxiety, mood swings, depression, and…” Dr. Johnson’s words droned on. Jack had heard the litany several times before—at the hospital when he first woke up and every time he was in group therapy. He had even read the pamphlet on PTSD and had no interest in tuning in to the lecture again.
Jack needed to redirect the topic and get this guy and the rest of the psych team off his back. “I was thinking about the breakthrough I had. You know, the missing information. I’ve been able to fill in some of it.”
Dr. Johnson looked surprised. He pushed his glasses up and leaned forward. His voice held a hint of excitement, too. “Excellent news. What have you learned, and how?”
Jack held his smile in check and began his buildup. He leaned in the doctor’s direction and used his hands to illustrate the experience. “I’ll begin with the how. As you know, I’m a down-to-earth guy, and I am partial to a natural approach. I went to a physical therapist who has been using a number of alternative therapies to help me dislodge the barriers.”
The head doctor was hooked. Now, control of the conversation was in Jack’s hands. Ha ha ha! Come into my crosshairs, Doc Johnson!
“Together, we have succeeded in piecing together several of the steps in the Op.” As Jack spoke, the doctor scrawled hurried notes. When he reached the end of his narrative, the doctor continued writing for at least ten more minutes. Was that a good sign or a bad one?
Then Dr. Johnson looked up and asked, “Is that it?”
“For now, yes. Doc, this is what I wanted, to know the details of what happened. I have more work to do, and I know this is an excellent beginning.” Jack grinned as he leaned back in the chair. His arms settled on the chair’s armrests.
Taking his glasses off, the doctor studied the nose guard on his glasses. His body language suggested that there was going to be some kind of heavy-duty chat about something. When he put the glasses back on, the doctor’s eyes were hard and dark. “This therapist you speak of… was she on the approved list for working with the military personnel?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t check her out, if that’s what you’re asking me.” Jack crossed his legs. “Why?”
“We have very strict rules when it comes to civilians working with military personnel, especially when that sailor has Top Secret Clearance.” Dr. Johnson’s words were clipped. “While I am pleased to learn several of your barriers to memory have been removed, a physical therapist is for body movement and healing, and a psychoanalyst or psychiatrist is for mental recuperation. Do you understand the difference?”
Is he kidding me? “I’m not a child. I get it. But what does it matter how I found answers, as long as I have them?”
Johnson looked angry. “Because you’re missing important steps. You have to walk each one! It’s important. Otherwise, how did you learn the answers?” He sucked in air greedily and continued. “Were they told to you? How can you be sure these are your words and memories? By going through our system, you will be exploring your own mind in controlled circumstances. What if you have a break from reality—are you taking into account that you are a lethal weapon?”
“Why are you doing this, cross-examining me? Making me feel like a bad guy for finally learning the truth?” Frustration flared inside of him, but Jack tamped it down.
“I’m not making you feel anything, Jack. Emotion is a choice, and you are choosing to be upset by this conversation.” The doctor spoke very evenly and softly as if he was speaking to a child. Looking down at his pad of paper, he made a few notes. “How are you feeling now, Jack?”
“A little pissed off, Doc, because it seems like the fact that I didn’t find the answers while I was sitting in this chair or out there in group therapy means that the information is less valuable or accurate. Am I right about you… feeling threatened by your lack of success, Doc?” Jack’s temper was rising, though he was trying desperately to hold it at bay. Unfortunately, he was losing the battle and his usual steady finesse was gone.
Jack continued. His voice was growing quieter and more stoic. This was pure white anger for him. He had never been a shouter. “Or are you afraid of me babbling about some Op that would bring the whole country down? You know we don’t get that much information. SEALs only get enough information to operate, to perform the necessary tasks or duties. We rarely, as in almost never, get to see the whole picture. That’s a privilege for the upper brass.”
“Petty Officer, I am simply saying that I cannot approve you to work with a person unless you give me a name and make sure this is a legitimate consultant for our program.” The tone of Dr. Johnson’s voice was extremely condescending. “Do you understand?”
“I understand that you want the inside track on what’s going on in my head. This is real life, Doc. It doesn’t unfold in a textbook manner.” Jack uncrossed his legs. His eyes automatically checked the clock, and he smiled.
The alarm on the clock buzzed loudly. Thank God!
Jack unfolded his body and stood in a single movement. “Good day, Dr. Johnson. See you next week.”
He hustled double-time out of the man’s presence.
Before he rounded the door, he looked back. The image of the doctor sitting—unmoving behind his desk, with his mouth gaping wide—was reminiscent of a stunned fish on a dock.
Jack was both elated and sad. If this had been a different man, one who was secure in his own abilities and ego, they might have worked together. He would have been willing to give a guy like that a chance to help him.
Instead, being the progressive guy he was, Jack had called the doctor on his shit. Another SEAL, or someone secure in his or her sense of self, would have appreciated it and owned up to his or her responsibility. But Dr. Johnson was the head of the department and the team leader on his case, and nothing short of the man’s obvious blunder was going to have him admitting that this PTSD program was flawed in terms of addressing the type of issues Navy SEALs faced. There needed to be a more specialized program that had the doctors working out with them and becoming a part of their world. Then a SEAL might take treatment more seriously.
A SEAL at Heart Page 15