Restoration 01 - Getting It Right (19 page)

He had a large extended family on his father’s side, most of whom lived within thirty miles of Oak Orchard, which meant frequent visitors while he healed. Which meant lots of hugs once his ribs had mended. Hugs that left his insides squirrelly and his shoulders tight. He hadn’t said anything. His family loved him, and they wanted him to get better. How could he tell them their hugs and shoulder pats made him feel worse?

“Nana,” Nate said. His paternal grandmother lived a few doors down from his parents, and she’d been a part of his life always. A steady, kind woman with a big heart, her hugs were infrequent, but she meant business when she offered one. He’d never jumped at her touch.

“Sometimes Mom.”

“What about your dad?”

“I attacked him twice, remember?”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Nate looked everywhere except at James. “We didn’t hug much before this, and he hasn’t tried since. But whenever he touches my shoulder or pats my arm, I get tense. It’s stupid, right?

He’s my dad, he’s not the asshole who hurt me.”

“PTSD doesn’t always make sense, babe.”

“No shit. Look, can we go home? The whole welcome-back party has kind of lost its sense of fun.”

“Of course.” James grinned. “My home or your home?”

Nate thought about last night’s absolute failure at getting any sleep at his place. “Your home, if we can swing by mine for a few things.”

“Sure. You can stay with me as long as you need to, you know that. You’d have been staying there this whole time if I’d had my way.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You want to wait here while I make our excuses?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t handle another trek across the dance floor tonight. All he wanted was fresh air and James.

“Be right back.”

James planted a firm kiss on his mouth before he left. Nate licked his lips, not caring who had seen, because why should he? James was his. Even if he couldn’t say it first, nothing or no one would ever make Nate deny it. Not ever again.

All day Sunday, James seemed to make it his sole mission to stay as close to Nate as physically possible—not that Nate was complaining. He enjoyed their day spent napping, cuddling, sucking, fondling and generally being together, in bed and out. They ordered delivery and spent hours curled together on the couch watching movies. Nate couldn’t have asked for a better day, or a keener sense of safety. It was the safest he’d felt since the assault. Even two hundred miles away with his parents, he hadn’t felt this protected, and it had everything to with James.

Monday, he woke with the sinking realization that James had to go to work, which meant at least eight to ten hours without him. He tried to push it out of mind while he and James got ready for the day.

“Want me to stop by after I get off work?” James asked as they walked toward the parking garage.

“Sure, just call and let me know. I can throw together something to eat.”

“Out of milk and frozen dinners?”

“And Oreos.”

“Can’t forget dessert.”

“I’ll go to the store and buy real food, okay?”

“Okay. You’re going into the station?”

“Lieutenant Danvers is expecting me by nine.” Nate’s stomach tightened at the thought of bullshitting his way through this interview, but he had no other choice. He needed to get back to work. Sitting around all day was not helping his state of mind. “I’ll also do my first surveillance of your mom this afternoon.”

James smiled. “I hope this works and she’s just being paranoid.”

“Odds are in your favor.”

“For a change. Any plans between the station and my mother?”

Nate shook his head. “I was thinking about a walk down by the Brandywine.”

“Alone?” The curious, nonpatronizing way James asked that was the only reason Nate didn’t slug him.

“Yes, alone. It’s broad daylight, the sun is shining and I won’t be the only person walking or jogging. I’ll be fine.” He just had to repeat “I’ll be fine” a few hundred more times so he’d believe it himself.

“Call me if you need anything.” James stopped near the stairs. He’d parked on a higher level. “I mean it. I’ll tell Gina to put you through unless I’m dealing with a crisis patient.”

“Thanks, Jay.” Nate glanced around, then kissed him. Fast, because every time they’d kissed during the weekend, it had led to more. More would make them both late. “See you tonight.”

“Definitely.”

He waited until James disappeared into the stairwell, then continued on to this truck. He wasn’t used to getting to the station from this side of town—living close to work had its uses when he ended up doing twelve hours or more—but he still found it by memory. For four years, he’d worked in this station as a junior detective. He had an exemplary record, a high number of solved cases and the respect of his coworkers.

So why was he sitting in the parking lot with the engine idling, both shoulders locked so tightly that he couldn’t go inside? He couldn’t turn the key, open the door or climb out. His limbs weren’t responding to his mental commands.

“It’s a fucking interview, Wolf. Get your ass inside and talk to your lieutenant.”

The verbal command didn’t help. The dash clock screamed that he had five minutes to get inside or he’d be late, and being late was not something Nate liked. Early was on time and on time was late. His parents had installed that in him, and it had been a revelation to find the same trait in James—especially as college freshmen. The guys on their dorm floor used to make fun of them both for never missing a single class.

What would Jay think of you sitting here like a wimp?

His arms unlocked. Nate yanked his keys out and tried to keep a steady gait on the walk to the station’s front doors. He answered friendly greetings from the desk clerk and the desk sergeant. Slid his ID card into the lock, then opened the door to the rear offices.

“I heard a rumor you’d resurfaced.” Detective Cary’s voice boomed across the bullpen, causing several heads to raise from their desks. He strode over, a wide smile on his lined face, hand out.

Nate shook, hating himself for his stiffness but genuinely glad to see the older man. “Hi, Wally.”

“Welcome back, son, and I mean that. You had us all worried.”

Bravado in the face of comrades overcame his underlying fear that everyone was staring at his scars. “It’ll take more than a nutjob with a knife to take me out of the game. I come from heartier stock than that.”

“I believe it. You here to see Danvers?”

“Yeah. I’ve been laying on my ass for too long as it is. I need to get back to work.”

“I hear you. Welcome back to the land of workaholics.”

“Gee, thanks. You been taking care of my cases?”

“Sure enough. I even solved one for you. Grabbed the two guys who did the Hilltop burglary.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. One of them got a deal for turning over information on their fence, but we got most of the stuff back.”

“That’s great.” Nate hated having missed out on solving one of his own cases. Knowing a couple of thieves were off the streets for a while made it worth it.

He bypassed his old desk, pleased to see his nameplate was still there and the blotter set to the month of September. The LT’s office was in the back, the glass windows shuttered. Nate checked his watch. 8:59. He tapped the glass.

“Come in!”

Lieutenant Charles Danvers was the kind of police officer that Nate aspired to be—

committed, fair, long-term career, with nearly every commendation the mayor could bestow on a cop. He oversaw his detectives and officers like a benevolent ruler, watching and offering support, but not a man to ever be crossed. He sat behind his desk, red-haired and freckle-faced, and still in perfect shape despite his age.

“Welcome back, Detective Wolf,” Danvers said. “Have a seat.”

The gruff formality raised Nate’s hackles a bit, but he did as told, sitting in one of the pleather chairs opposite the wide desk. “Thank you, sir.”

“I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

Nate frowned. “Sir?”

“You took more than four months of leave after your injuries. Most men would be back at work as soon as they hit the doctor’s minimum, so they don’t look weak. I say a strong man knows when he needs his rest.”

“I didn’t want to risk a physical relapse, sir.” The lie fell off Nate’s tongue easily. He’d stayed away so long because he was fucking scared. Scared of going back to work. Scared of being vulnerable to the next crazy who decided he was an easy target. Scared of seeing James again. Not that he’d admit to anyone that he’d been scared. Especially not to James.

“Good, good. Now to business. I have you scheduled to see Lisa today, Wednesday and Friday. If her report is positive, you can return to regular duty a week from today.”

Nate had met Dr. Lisa McMillian once about a year ago at a work function. She seemed to be a competent psychiatrist, and he had no qualms about three appointments with her. He had the proper letters from his downstate doctor and psychiatrist, and he knew all of the right things to say. Going through Dr. McMillian was a formality, not a challenge.

“I appreciate that, sir,” Nate said.

“Now, you know you won’t be back on active cases right away.”

“Of course.” He had known that, and it didn’t bother him. Desk duty would give him a chance to review his own case file, as well as see what progress had been made with Mitchell Spokes’s case. Sometimes fresh eyes put things together in a way that the active investigator couldn’t see.

Danvers smiled in a way that might have been patronizing if it had been anyone else in that desk chair. “You’re an excellent detective, Nathan. We’ll get you back out there as soon as we can, you have my word.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He slid a piece of paper across the desk. “First appointment is at eleven. Figured you’d want to get started.”

Nate took the paper, printed on department letterhead. All three appointments were at the same time. Good. “I appreciate that.”

“Then welcome back, son. I’ll see you again on Monday.”

“Count on it, sir.”

James couldn’t explain the jolt of relief he’d felt that morning when his assistant told him that Romy Myers had made an afternoon appointment. Part of him was afraid he’d scared the poor guy off on Saturday after practically shoving his business card into his pocket. Hell, he’d see Romy free of charge if it helped exorcise some of the demons in his eyes and bring back a sliver of the spunky young man he’d hooked up with last year.

No, stop that. He’s a patient. Only.

Their past history, fleeting or not, made a professional relationship dangerous, but James had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing different aspects of his life. Tag the party guy had been with Romy. James the shrink had not.

Gina let Romy into his office at four on the nose. James stood a little to the side, notepad and pen in hand, assessing the hunched shoulders and wide eyes that took in everything around him. Common traits in people who’d learned to jump at shadows and expect danger in every stranger.

“Good afternoon, Romy,” he said warmly, hoping to put him at ease right away.

“Hi, Dr. Taggert.” Romy swallowed hard, fingers plucking at a frayed spot on his jeans.

“Please, sit anywhere you’d like.”

James often tried to see his office as his patients might. The colors were light blues and ivories, peaceful colors. Two suede ivory sofas faced each other across a glass coffee table, with a single ivory chair at the head of them, giving the patient ample choices. They often sat with a view of the door, and Romy was no different. He chose the sofa farthest from the desk, perching on the end away from the door. James sat opposite him, a little more centered. It gave them possible eye contact without being confrontational.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” Romy said.

“What prompted you to call and make this appointment?” Easy enough place to start.

Romy blushed. “I had pretty awful nightmares this weekend after I found out what Brendan did.”

“So Brendan was the man who beat up Carlos.”

“Yeah. He admitted it when I asked him.”

“How did that make you feel?”

He shrugged, still picking at that fray. “Betrayed, I guess.”

“Why betrayed?”

“Look, I don’t have a lot of money and I know shit—um, stuff like this is expensive, so maybe we shouldn’t do this, you know?” The miserable way Romy blurted all of that out spoke volumes about his feelings of self-worth. So much came down to money.

“Yes, private therapy can be somewhat expensive, but I wouldn’t have suggested it to you if I’d planned to put you into debt. I do pro bono work—”

“No.” Something dark flittered across Romy’s face. “No more charity. Either I pay or I can’t.”

James wasn’t going to push Romy on the topic of money. It wasn’t that important to James, but he wouldn’t downplay the importance of Romy paying his own way. “All right, then we’ll work out a payment plan that you can afford and feel comfortable with, along with a hefty discount. How does that sound?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He tried another friendly smile. “You mentioned nightmares before?”

“Yeah. I’ve been living with Donner and Ezra ever since they got me out of Carlos’s place, and I’ve had nightmares before that woke them both up, but these were really bad. And this time Jaime and Alessandro were there, and they heard it all, and it was fucking humiliating.

Freaking,
sorry.”

“Don’t worry about swearing. You don’t have to censor yourself with me, Romy. This is a safe space where you can speak freely and allow whatever feelings you’re experiencing to come up. That’s the whole point.”

“My friends have been really patient but it’s been three months and it’s not getting better.”

James made a note on his pad. “What isn’t getting better?”

“The nightmares. Me. I mean, I guess some things are getting better, but not the nightmares. Not what’s all crammed up in my head.” Romy frowned. “Aren’t you going to ask about my childhood and shit?”

“Do you want to talk about your childhood?”

“Not really. Most of that was really good. I had a great dad. We did everything together.