by Anya Summers
“Sadie. I’m glad you made it. Why don’t you go find yourself a seat and we can get started?” His gray gaze was filled with warmth; his body relaxed. But he stood at attention, like he was ready for anything.
“Yes, sir,” she said, with a nod and glanced up at him through her lashes. If she had closed her eyes or blinked, she would have missed the flash of lust. Her feet tripped over each other and she would have wiped out if he had not reached out and gripped her biceps.
“Steady there. You okay?” he asked, concern dotting his brow. But it was his hands on the bare flesh of her upper arms, the roughened callouses of his fingers, the strength in those hands, that sent her body into total meltdown.
Her nipples puckered into hard points and she pressed her thighs together, trying to stem the tide of need. She couldn’t want him. He was her therapist. He would think she was assigning feelings to him, or that she was crazy.
Sadie blushed three shades of red at the direction of her thoughts and hoped like hell he didn’t notice. Yet the man had eyes like a damn hawk. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at her chest. She wished she could find a hole to swallow her. It was embarrassing to be seen lusting after her therapist. She straightened her spine and decided she would do something about it—not with him, but she would go to that club.
When it came to Ram, she couldn’t do anything except toe the line if she wanted to go back to work.
“Yes. I’m fine,” she said and pasted a smile on her face. It took him a moment before he released his hold on her arms, like he didn’t want to stop touching her.
If only that were true.
A guy like him with a head case like her—it would never happen.
Ram let go of her arms, finally, and she headed over to one of the last few seats available. The room was a fairly standard conference room with off-white walls, gray carpeting, and a podium and projector screen at the front. The only difference was instead of the chairs being positioned into rows, they had been put into a large circle with the chairs all facing each other. Sadie was surprised at the number of people attending the Survivors’ Group.
There were fifteen, including herself and Ram. She took a seat in one of the two vacant chairs that were side by side. Then Ram shut the door and strode over, his gait steady and sure, just the like the man himself.
He took the seat beside her because of course he would. Her humiliation wasn’t going to be complete unless she sat next to him, her body openly lusting for his.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m glad you all could make it. Today, we have a new member of our group joining us. Sadie, welcome to the Survivors’ Group.” Ram clapped, giving her a warm glance, as did everyone else.
Great. Sadie bet they could all see how aroused she was, with her nipples stabbing at the material of her sundress. She just nodded and gripped her hands in her lap. It was either that or use them to cover her chest, which would only make it worse. Sadie was one of only three women in the group and that meant every male in the room, when they glanced her way, didn’t look at her face but her chest. Damn stupid hormones!
She fidgeted under their stares, uncertain what she was supposed to do. Should she speak up? Should she stand? Was she supposed to go first, as the newbie?
But Ram took the decision out of her hands. “Phil, why don’t you get us started today? How did your week go?”
Phil had a scraggly beard, the black threaded with silver, and rested his elbows on his knees. His dark gaze was distraught as he spoke. “It’s been a tough week. My wife decided that she couldn’t stand my flashbacks any longer. She took the kids with her to her mother’s house and said I should expect divorce papers from her lawyer. Even the meds aren’t helping stave off the attacks. Most nights, I wake up with the sounds of gunfire and IUDs exploding still ringing in my ears and reach for my firearm. I don’t know how much more of this I can stand. It’s been a battle here just making it through the day.”
Ram looked at him, the notes scribbled on the pad on his lap, and said, “I see. We should talk after group. We might need to contact your psychiatrist to adjust the meds for you if they aren’t working, because they should be. Now, what about working on the steps we talk about here? Recognizing the symptoms as they begin. Telling yourself that you are home and safe. Then, once you are out of it, do some type of physical activity that you can focus on to take your mind off the trauma. There are positive ways of coping with PTSD. Coming to group therapy is one of them. I recommend relaxation techniques like meditation and yoga, outdoor activities, being out in nature, having a friend you can confide in when things get really tough. That’s why I urge you guys to talk to each other, to exchange numbers and be open to helping each other out as a friend you can talk to when it gets tough. Avoid alcohol or drugs, as those can trigger an episode.”
“I got to admit, Doc, I’ve been falling down the rabbit hole again. It’s the only thing that takes the pain away for even a short time,” Phil said with a huge sigh that walked the line of being a sob.
The guy next to him wearing a backward ball cap put his hand on Phil’s shoulder. “We all fall down, dude. There’s no shame it in. Cut yourself some slack.”
“Tony is correct. Thank you for sharing today, Phil. We should talk at the end of group.”
Phil nodded. Then another person chimed in with their story. As Sadie listened to each of their heart-wrenching stories, she realized everyone in the group therapy was a war veteran from one branch of the military or another. All had their own horror stories of war, death, and blood that they brought home from the battlefield. Listening to their experiences made her feel small. Like her problems were little by comparison. Yes, it had been a horrible, tragic incident. But she didn’t have people shooting at her or roadside bombs exploding in her dreams.
Just her husband and parents dying, over and over again. Thinking that she didn’t belong here was probably the opposite of what she was supposed to feel. But she couldn’t help feeling that way. She just did.
When Ramsey’s intense gray eyes landed on her, she shivered. “Sadie, would you like to share anything?”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. I think I’m in the wrong group. I’m not a veteran, I—”
“Sadie this group is for anyone experiencing PTSD and survivor’s guilt. Just because you’ve not been to war, doesn’t make your trauma any less devastating. Trauma is trauma. It’s okay if you’re not ready to share yet.”
She glanced around the room. There was no condemnation, no censure, no one saying she should be at a certain point in her grief journey. Just compassion and acceptance.
“No, I can share.” She gulped, drawing up her courage, and continued. “Two years ago, I lost my husband and parents in a car crash. A crash that I walked away from when no one else did. I was driving, and didn’t see the semi-tractor trailer that lost control until it was too late. I should have died with them. I know that, but I didn’t.
“I can’t drive without having a flashback, so I stopped driving. It was too dangerous and frankly, I don’t trust myself on the road. I could not live in my house anymore, the house my husband and I built, for a lot of reasons. About six months ago, I decided that I couldn’t stay in Seattle anymore. The memories were suffocating me. Anywhere I went, whether to work, the grocery store, or even the gym were too painful of a reminder. I even started having my groceries delivered so I wouldn’t wind up having a flashback in the frozen foods section and scaring the crud out of the other customers. So I picked a spot on the map and moved here.
“I don’t have any other family. My parents were only children. Both sets of my grandparents died while I was a teenager. While I did have friends who tried to help initially, trying to make someone understand this disorder was problematic. Even though they tried to be sympathetic, eventually they stopped calling and checking up on me. I’ve felt dead inside since the accident. Moving here is an attempt to get my life back. To see if I can find a way out of the malaise and l
ive again, or whether I will continue being a walking zombie through my life. My first few months here, I had been doing well.”
Then she shook her head and stared at her clenched hands. “That’s not true. I was still having some episodes, but they were small, manageable ones. Ones I could pull myself out of by talking myself down—until the other day at work. After the six-car pile-up on the Ponchartrain bridge a few days ago, some of the injured were brought to my hospital and ended up in the ICU ward where I’m stationed. There was a family brought in: mother, father, brother, and baby sister. They all died. All of them but the little girl. When the mother died, leaving the girl on her own, I just lost it. The night of my accident came rushing back in full technicolor surround sound.
“I don’t know how to move past it,” she admitted. Because it wasn’t the place she was in, she was coming to realize, but her. A part of her had broken and died in the accident. And from all the pieces that remained, she was still trying to figure out who she was and whether she could put herself back together. Deep down, she was terrified that she would never regain any semblance of normalcy.
At the soft clapping, she lifted her head. No one was sneering or looking at her like she was pathetic. The understanding written on their faces hit her square in the chest. Blinking moisture from her gaze, she turned her head to the side and found Ramsey’s warm dove gray eyes, suffused with pride, on her.
“Thanks for sharing, Sadie,” Ramsey murmured and then addressed the group. “Good shares today, everyone. I want you to keep working the steps. Every day, make sure you’re getting physical activity, do one of the guided meditations I provided, call a friend for help if needed, draw, paint, or write. Oh, and a quick reminder that for the next two weeks, we will be meeting here on Tuesday at the same time, ten o’clock, and not on Thursday.”
Then he delved into a few techniques he wanted the group to try any time they felt the onset of another flashback.
“That’s it for this week. Phil, let’s talk for a minute. And Sadie, could you wait a moment? I’d like to speak with you when I’m done with Phil.”
“Sure.” She sighed, feeling a bit like she was about to go to the principal’s office for being a bad girl. And there was a part of her that wondered if he would spank her because of it.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of being laid out over his lap with that big hand of his swatting her bare bottom. What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to get a grip on reality, not fantasy. As much as the thought might arouse her, it was never going to happen.
Ramsey turned her way once Phil departed the room, leaving the two of them alone.
“You did well today. It’s not always easy to share in group, but I’m proud of you for speaking up. Have you scheduled a night of fun and frolic yet?”
“No. Not yet,” Sadie admitted. She had been more busy researching his private club than places to go.
The stern, disgruntled look in his gaze said it all. “When I see you in the morning, I want a plan from you. This is not meant as a punishment, so stop looking like I’m putting you in front of a firing squad.”
“I realize that. So you want a full plan for going out?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want. Don’t disappoint me. And don’t think too hard on it. Fun should be fun. If you have to think on it too much, then it’s not the right kind of fun for you.”
Sadie had no idea why, but she didn’t like that Ramsey was displeased that she hadn’t followed his directives—at least, not all of them. She whispered past the lodge of tears in her throat, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” And then he smiled. Sadie stood there, stunned, like a rabbit caught in headlights. His smile almost knocked her on her ass. From the moment she’d met him, she thought he was attractive. Any woman with a pulse would think that way. The last time she’d checked, she still had a pulse.
Yet when the man smiled, it transformed him from merely being handsome into a panty-melting bronze Adonis who liquefied her body into a puddle at his impressively large feet.
Chapter 5
Later that afternoon, Ramsey was at home putting together a lasagna for dinner.
“Dad.” Rocky sat at the kitchen table, a pack of colored pencils beside him as he worked on his latest comic book sketch. His dirty blond hair had grown in the two months he had been in New Orleans. Ram added getting him to the barber to his mental to do list before taking him and his sister back to Dallas.
“Yeah?” He slid the pan into the oven and then turned, leaning against the counter to look at his teenage son. Jesus, how could he be thirteen already? Ram could still remember how tiny he’d been, and just how terrified he’d been of taking care of a toddler on his own after he and their mom had split when Rocky was two. It did something to him, staring at the boy on the cusp of manhood, and thinking back over the years. He would hit a growth spurt in the next year or so and be as tall as Ram.
“Do you think it’s possible that aliens exist?” Rocky asked, never looking up from his drawing. Ram had no idea how the kid came by his artistic talent. Certainly not from him. Although Rocky’s Aunt Becca, Ram’s baby sister, was an artist. So it was definitely there in the family tree.
“I think it’s a distinct possibility.” This planet had enough problems without adding aliens to the mix. Talk about throwing the world into a panic.
“Then why haven’t they come to Earth yet?” Rocky asked, lifting his face. It always filled Ram with wonder when he looked at Rocky and saw a younger version of himself in everything but eye color. Rocky’s eyes were a clear jade, just like his mom’s.
“And how do you know that they haven’t?” he teased his son.
“Because we would know. With technology the way it is, someone would have gotten a picture or video that proves their existence.”
“Have you considered the possibility that if they flew billions of lightyears to get here, it’s more likely that their technology is much more advanced than ours and they would be able to hide from detection?” Ram said with a smile hovering over his lips.
“Yeah, for all we know, the aliens left you with us at birth. It would explain a lot.” Hurricane Angela waltzed into the kitchen, her smartphone in her hand, and grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the counter.
Ram sighed. His daughter was fifteen going on twenty-five, with enough sass to outlast Satan.
“Then you should watch yourself. We like to suck out human souls at night. It would explain a lot about you,” Rocky countered.
Angela rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dork.”
“Ang, watch it. You can talk to your friends for an hour and then screen-time is done for the night,” Ram stated, hearing echoes of his own dad as he said it. Ram didn’t know how, but he had turned into his father. He’d like to think of himself as much cooler, down to earth, and more level headed. But yeah, it had happened. And the thing was, Ram loved being a dad—although the teenage years were going to give him a head full of gray hair.
“But that’s not fair. You’re punishing me for having a social life that you made me leave for two months,” she said.
“It’s not a punishment. I realize that your dear old dad is no longer cool to hang around with, but I don’t get to see you during the school year except for spring break.”
“And whose fault is that? You don’t have to live here,” Angela stated, with a hand on her hip and attitude written all over her face. A face that looked more like her mother’s. She was Kelly’s beautiful mini-me, except for the eyes. The eyes were his, although her gray was closer to silver.
Ram prayed for patience. Angela had been issuing the same snide comments all summer. He realized it was karma and payback for the hell he had put his parents through as a teen before the army straightened his ass out. But the girl was trying his sanity.
“Angela, it’s not that simple. My practice was established long before your mom moved you guys to Dallas. I have patients, and while I could do t
he work I do with veterans in another city, I’m not going to start all over again. If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to pay the tuition for your private school, or all the extra-curricular, after school programs like your cheerleading. I love you and your brother more than you can possibly imagine, but you’re going to be going off to college in a few years, with Rocky not far behind.”
“I’m going to be a Ranger like you,” Rocky interjected and before warmth could spear Ram’s chest, his son proceeded to stick his tongue out at his sister.
“Suck up,” Angela scoffed and made a face at her brother. Then she pegged Ram with a glare. “Whatever floats your boat.”
“If you would like to spend more time with me, I can talk to your mom, maybe we can set up a visit over winter break. Or I could even come spend the week with you there.”
“Mom’s taking us to the Bahamas with Brad,” Angela said.
Ram sighed. “Then perhaps Thanksgiving I could come for a visit in Dallas. Baby, we can make it work, but I need you to meet me halfway on this.”
She rolled her eyes. Again. Ram was surprised they didn’t roll right out of her head. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be in my room.” She stomped away before he could stop her. As much as Ram wanted to push, she had inherited his stubbornness.
“If anyone is an alien in this family, it’s Angela,” Rocky muttered, completely unfazed by his sister’s bad mood.
“Do you wish I lived in Dallas, bud?” Ram considered. Perhaps he had been too stubborn himself. When their mother had moved them to Dallas five years ago because her new husband received a job transfer, he’d refused to leave his patients and his practice. Perhaps that had been the wrong call and he should consider relocating.