by Mia Ford
“History?” I laughed. There wasn't much history, but I let it slide and answered her question truthfully. “Not really. I just don't like talking about myself.”
“I figured that much,” she said, her eyes softening as she looked at me. “Most of the men who come in to see me don't like talking about their feelings, it feels foreign or wrong to them. Because they weren't raised that way. Most of them have been taught to stuff all of your emotions down into a box. It's not manly to talk about your feelings. It makes you feel weak. Inferior. Perhaps even like a sissy. And of course, the military doesn't do you any favors with the macho –”
“Hey now,” I said, stopping her right there. “The military has done me a lot of favors. The military has been really good to me.”
“Yes, of course. I didn't mean it like that and I sincerely apologize,” she said. “I just meant that you're not really encouraged to talk about your feelings, even when you witness so much death and destruction. Keeping all of that in and never finding a way to express it does you more harm than good, Drew. It eats away at your mind and your soul. It's just not healthy.”
I shrugged.
“I'm right about that, aren't I?” she asked.
“I guess so.”
There was a silence in the room – a heavy silence as if she expected me to say more. But I knew what she was trying to do, and it didn't work. The silence didn't scare me; I was used to it. I came to expect it now that I was home. And I wasn't the type who talked just to fill empty spaces in the conversation. I wasn't one of those who got scared by a gap in the conversation and needed to fill it with whatever inane bullshit popped into my head.
“You guess so?” she asked, trying to nudge me into speaking. “I'm guessing this started at a young age. Why don't you tell me about your parents, Drew?”
My parents. As soon as she mentioned them, my entire body tensed up. My fists were balled up in my lap and I had to look away. Had to look at anything but her.
“I see that struck a nerve, and I'm sorry. There's just no notes in your file about your parents –”
“Because they're dead,” I said, letting out a deep breath. “They died a few years back. It was a car accident.”
Dr. Emerson's eyes grew wide. “I'm sorry, Drew. I had no idea.”
And I could tell by the expression on her face that she meant it. She was sorry. She was sincere, didn't try to patronize or placate me. She came across as genuine, sincere, and compassionate – and I liked her a little more because of it.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to smile, but failed. “It's okay. You didn't know, and I'm not here to be coddled, now am I?”
“No, you're not here for the coddling,” she said. “But I also don't want to make things worse for you. If I had known, I would have brought it up in a gentler way.”
“Gentle? With me?” I snorted. “No one has ever felt the need to be gentle about anything with me. I mean, look at me – do I look like the type of man who needs you to be gentle?”
Dr. Emerson smiled, a soft smile that felt warm and genuine. “No, but as I know from experience, looks can often be deceiving, Drew. Sometimes the biggest, most manly men are the ones who need the most help emotionally. They're the ones least likely to talk about what's really bothering them. The least likely to seek out help even though their soul is rotting from the inside out.”
I shook my head, trying hard not to laugh. This all sounded like new age, touchy feely bullshit to me, and I really didn't want anyone – including a woman I fucked the night before – to feel the need to be gentle around me. I wasn't some weak ass bitch and I didn't need to be treated with kid gloves.
“I'm a Navy SEAL,” I said. “I've seen men and women die, right in front of me, and in some really outlandishly terrible ways. I'm just fine.”
“Oh really?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “If that's the case, then why are you here?”
ooo000ooo
She had me there. As I left her office, I was as confused as ever as to why I was seeing a shrink. My dear old dad would be so fucking ashamed of me right now. Talking about my feelings and shit with a therapist – it just wasn't our way. Wasn't how we doing things. We sucked it up, dealt with our shit, and carried on. Dr. Emerson had been right about that. I wasn't raised to be open about my feelings, because I was a boy. A man. And I had a job to do – serve in the military, protect our country and eventually, one day, provide for a family. None of that would be easy and I never expected it to be.
I stopped in the hallway and turned around. Walking back to her office, I opened the door and peeked inside.
“So, you still won't tell me your first name?” I asked.
“No.” She didn't even look up from her notes as she answered.
“Then at least answer one question, please,” I said. “Why were you there last night? At the bar? And why did you go home with me?”
She stopped writing, but still didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the notepad in front of her.
“Why does that matter, Drew?” she asked.
“Because, well, I wasn't looking for this – whatever it is this is. I was just lonely and looking for someone to spend my birthday with. And then I found you. That's what I was looking for. And I just got to wondering what it was you were looking for?”
She turned and looked at me, finally, and there was sadness in her eyes. “Maybe I was looking for the same thing, Drew.”
It made sense, but it also didn't. Why was she lonely? It was no mystery why I was lonely. But she was a beautiful, successful young woman who could have anyone she wanted – I was sure of that. She had to have family and friends and co-workers – all things I'd lost and hadn't been able to find again.
But it was obvious by the way she sat there staring at me, that there was no way she was talking about it. She wasn't going to open up to me the way she demanded I opened up to her. Not now, at least.
“Well hopefully you found what you needed,” I said. “I promise to not bring it up again.”
“I appreciate it,” she said, turning back to her work briefly before looking back up at me. “Oh, and happy belated birthday.”
“Thanks,” I muttered to myself as I continued walking toward the waiting room.
AMELIA
I listened to his footsteps fading away as he made his way out of my office and down the hallway. As soon as I heard the door at the end of the hall close – which meant he was back in the waiting room, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My body relaxed into the chair as a powerful wave of relief washed over me.
I'd see him again in a week, but at least I had a week to mentally prepare myself for it. I'd been completely blindsided when I opened the door and saw him standing there. But I'd do a better job of keeping an even keel next time. I made that vow to myself.
He'd promised to not mention sleeping together again, but I wasn't sure it would be that easy. It was on his mind – as it was mine, truth be told – and it would always be the elephant in the room, no matter what we were talking about. It was the one reason I wasn't sure this arrangement was going to work out.
I had second thoughts about keeping him on as a client. Then third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. Reaching for the phone, I came so close to calling Dr. Frank and requesting he see Drew Hunter from now on. But the man had requested to stay with me. Maybe he was hoping he could sleep with me again, or perhaps he actually needed me. It was a crapshoot at that point.
But I was an expert in what he was going through and knew that if anybody could help him, it would be me. It was just impossible to know if I was doing the right thing or not.
I held off on calling Dr. Frank and put the phone back in place. I wouldn't refer Drew out. For now, at least.
My cell phone buzzed, pulling me back to the here and now. It couldn't be Drew, he didn't have my cell phone number, but my pulse raced nonetheless.
Can I see you? Please, Amelia, the message read.
My heart sank.
; It was Charlie.
My finger hovered over the Delete Message option, but my hand shook violently as I stared at the words on the screen. I moved to delete it again, but couldn't bring myself to do it.
It buzzed again.
I screwed up, I know it now. I miss you so much.
Tears welled up in my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed him too. Or at least the man I'd always thought him to be. The last few months though, I'd seen somebody entirely different, somebody I hadn't even recognized. And I didn't like it. Not one bit.
I silenced my phone. No need to deal with that at work. Not now. Not ever, honestly.
ooo000ooo
The train ride home was uneventful. Some nights, Charlie joined me on my ride home, coming to my house to spend the night. Other nights, we went to his place. We didn't spend every night together, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to live a double life so easily. But we'd spent enough nights together for this solo train ride to feel extra lonely and depressing.
Charlie tried to call while I was on my way home. A few times actually. I never even bothered to listen to the voice mails. Hearing his voice might break me, might convince me to cave in and see him, and once that happened, I would lose it. I would give in and go back to him. I knew myself well enough to know that.
I was sad, of course, but there was anger seething underneath the surface as well. A deep, abiding, and justifiable anger. We'd been through so much together, how could he do that to me? Did I really matter so little to him that some other woman could take my place so easily?
If you listened to his frantic text messages, you'd think that wasn't the case – that he thought me irreplaceable. But I saw what he'd said to her. I'd read his texts to her. I knew he said the same things to her that he'd said me.
And what he'd told her – as well as what he'd told me – were utter and complete bullshit.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to block out the visions of him with her. I tried to think of anything else, anything at all. And that's when I thought about the night before with Drew. A smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way he'd touched me, the way he'd kissed me and how good it felt to be with him.
Drew had made me feel desired and sexy – something Charlie hadn't done in a while. Over time, the sex had slowed down between us, but I'd just assumed it was normal. That's what happened when couples were together awhile, right? But eventually it stopped altogether, and I no longer felt that he wanted me in that way. He was always content to keep his distance, and he never looked at me as a sexual being again.
Little did I know at the time, that he was seeing other women in that way.
But Drew – just the way his gaze moved over my body was enough to make me stop doubting my attractiveness. He made me feel beautiful again. Sexy. Desired.
Earlier, when he'd asked me what I needed from our encounter, I'd told the truth. Yes, I wanted to escape the never-ending loneliness that had become a part of my life. And being with someone, even for just one night, was a cure for that. At least temporarily. But it was more than that. I needed a man to make me feel sexy again, to desire me in a way Charlie hadn't in a very long time.
And I'd found that with Drew. He'd given me exactly what I needed. And for that, I was grateful. Eternally grateful. And I always would be for that gift.
Because, while the loneliness was there to stay with me for a while like an unwanted roommate, I could cling to our time together and remind myself that Charlie wasn't the only man in the world. There were others out there who would find me desirable and sexy. And that the loneliness and pain I was feeling so keenly in that moment, wasn't going to last forever.
DREW
“So what happened to you while you were over there?” Dr. Emerson asked. “The notes don't go into too much detail about what you went through, but they mention somebody in your unit named Mason Shoemaker –”
I flinched when she spoke and it was almost as if she'd slapped me. Honestly, I would have preferred it if she had. I probably would have preferred a million other things other than her bringing up Mason. I sat on the couch across from her, doing everything within my power to avoid turning the conversation toward her. The temptation to crack a joke or talk about anything other than Mason or my time overseas was strong. And it was apparently my most common avoidance tactic.
I leaned back on the couch and actually felt myself drawing inward beneath her scrutiny. I wasn't one who could ever be considered a wilting flower. I didn't back down from anybody and always confronted things head on. But for some reason, when it came to Dr. Emerson – specifically, Dr. Emerson prying into my past – I just clammed up. Intimidated wasn't the right word, but it was probably close. That uncertainty was a new, strange feeling – and one I didn't care for, truth be told.
And she knew that cracking jokes or diverting the conversation was my way of getting out of talking about myself, and especially about what happened over there – and called me out on it regularly.
“Who was he, Drew? This – Mason?”
I remained quiet for a moment and tried to sink into the couch cushions. I didn't want to talk about Mason. There were things I didn't want to talk about. Things she wouldn't understand. Things nobody who didn't serve, didn't have to do what we had to do, would understand. There were also things I couldn't talk about – aspects of our missions that were still classified. Aspects that helped shape and define my relationship with Mason. It was a fine line and one that I had to tread carefully. A line I didn't know that I even wanted to approach, let alone cross.
“Drew?” she asked softly.
“Mason was my – best friend,” I finally said in a voice barely more than a whisper.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Her eyes grew wide, her expression one of sympathy. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, that's what everybody says,” I muttered to myself, avoiding the look in her eyes. “No offense, but it doesn't particularly help. I mean, it's not like you knew him or anything... ”
“No, but I can see that his passing had a profound effect on you. And I'm sorry for that. It's a pain nobody should have to endure.”
I nodded. “I appreciate that. It's just – I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. “I don't know what I mean.”
“Well, what would you prefer I say, Drew?”
I shrugged. “There's really nothing you can say,” I said. “That's not a knock on you, it's just that there's nothing anyone can say to make it better. I watched as my best friend was blown to pieces right in front of me. My uniform was coated in his blood. And the real bitch of it is, that it's all my fault.”
“It's not –”
“Yes, it is. You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there,” I snapped.
She lowered her eyes and looked abashed. “No, I wasn't there. But from what I know of you –”
I snorted derisively. “No offense, but you don't know anything about me,” I said, my voice rising. “The only thing you really know about me is that I'm really good in the sack.”
Her cheeks colored, but when she raised her eyes and looked straight at me, I could see the defiance in them. I'd crossed a line and had pissed her off. But to her credit, she remained composed and didn't let my outburst rattle her.
“We're getting a little off topic, Drew,” she said. “I know you're angry – and we certainly can talk about the reasons for your anger. I'm sure they're justifiable. But I'm not the enemy here, so let's just take a breath and try to calm down a bit.”
I sighed and slumped back in my seat. She was right. I wasn't pissed at her. She just happened to be there and was an easy target. I felt bad for cracking back on her like I had.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“It's okay,” she replied. “Please, go on.”
I cleared my throat and looked up, but still couldn't force myself to meet her eyes. “It is my fault because what everyone seems to forget – what isn't in the
official reports – is that I was supposed to run point on that mission. Me. But I sent Mason out ahead of me instead. I hung back a bit and screwed around because I thought it was going to be boring as shit. It was just a standard recon. We hadn't had any enemy contact in a few days and everything was quiet. It was supposed to be mellow. But guess what? He walked right over an IED that I failed to detect because I figured we were safe and didn't have my head on straight. I sent him out there ahead of me and he got blown to shit because of it. Because I didn't do my goddamn job. That should have been me. Not him.”
My heart felt like it was breaking all over again and my eyes welled with tears, but I fought them off. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut tight, cursing myself for giving in and crying. Again. And more than that, for crying, right in front of a woman I'd fucked a little more than a week ago. Yeah, I was sure my little display of weakness in her office was getting her all hot and wet for me again.
“Listen, I'm not comfortable –” I said, standing up and heading toward the door. “I have to leave. I can't do this anymore –”
She moved so smoothly and quickly I hadn't even heard her stand up. The next thing I knew though, she was beside me and grabbed my arm. Her grip was tight – she was stronger than she looked.
“You can't keep running away, Drew,” she said. “You have to confront this and do something with it otherwise it's going to keep eating away at your soul. It is going to rot you from the inside out. You're going to change – become a shell of yourself. Is that what you want? Is that what Mason would have wanted for you?
Pulling my arm free, I snapped back, “OH yeah? You're one to talk about running away. You seem really well versed in that,” I roared. “And you don't know shit about Mason, so keep your fuckin' mouth shut about things you don't have the first goddamn clue about.”
She didn't try to stop me again. Instead, she just stared up at me, an expression of hurt upon her face. Her mouth was open as if she wanted to say something. To fight back. I thought she was going to for a moment, but then that moment passed and she didn't say anything. She simply closed her mouth and lowered her eyes once more. With a small sense of triumph – one I knew would fade and leave me feeling like shit later – I walked out the door and slammed it as I left. I strode down the hall, my boot steps echoing off the walls, anger coursing through my veins. I didn't even bother looking back as I walked through the waiting room and out of the building.