Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance (2 page)

Some of her coworkers suggested that her success rate – especially with her male patients – was because so many of them fell in love with her. It was not the kind of love that led to illicit affairs and broken families, but rather the love that came from both attraction and being enthralled with Genevieve’s honest nature. She had a way of speaking to her clients as if they were the only people in the world.

As if they were special – and needed.

She believed with true conviction in the rights of all of the armed forces, and was one of their fiercest advocates – a calling that tended to steal away any and all opportunities for a social life. As much as her coworkers tried to tempt her from the office for parties and private get-togethers, more often than not, she declined, choosing to spend time buried in her work at the office over excitement and revelry. She was unmarried, with little interest in dating – despite the fact that several doctors who worked with her had tried to persuade her – and while she was one of the most devoted psychiatrists at the hospital, she was also the loneliest.

Genevieve declined to buy a pet because she was scared she’d neglect it. She didn’t date men because she knew her patients were far more important to her – and when it came to her intimate life…well, it was practically nonexistent. On the few occasions when she did manage to arrange a relationship of mutual benefit with someone, they quickly learned that her work came first and foremost, and quickly tired of her putting off rendezvous in lieu of pulling long hours.

Her mother called her a workaholic, and if there was anyone who understood Genevieve’s conviction to her position, it was Martha Thomas. The woman both appreciated and worried about her daughter’s dedication to her cause. Once she had been pulled far enough from the depths of her depression to realize how quickly her daughter had blossomed, she’d hoped the young woman would find a man she could settle down with. With her capacity for love, Martha saw Genevieve as a wonderful mother.

However, she quickly discovered that Genny was married to her profession. It was her most beloved child, and trying to pull her away from it was like squeezing blood from a turnip. It was Genny’s mother who had been most surprised when she’d taken her vacation, shocked that her daughter could separate herself from her obsession for long enough to take a breather.

But now, Genny was back.

And as she looked through the patients she was slated to meet with for that day, she pursed her lips in thought. Most of them suffered from PTSD. Thomas Shaeffer was a particularly difficult case who still liked to sleep under his bed with his rifle in his hands, and he came right after lunch. Rachel Manson was having post-partum depression, searching for a way to deal with the fact that her fellow soldiers were still fighting in the war while she got to live a bliss-filled life with her loving husband. Elmer Hicks was one of the few patients she did have on a low dose of anti-depressants. The man had already attempted suicide once, and she felt more comfortable having him on meds as long as he was under strict supervision for side effects.

A courtesy not paid to Spencer.

She forced herself to bury the thought deep under her current workload. She would go out for drinks with Stella later, and they would speak then. There would be plenty of time to express her leagues of dissatisfaction with her boss and the pain she felt knowing what the McAvoy family had lost.

She flipped to her file for the last appointment of the day and arched a brow in surprise. It was a new intake form. Genevieve hadn’t had a new patient in a very long while. She usually liked to work with the same people until she got results; and so even though she was very highly requested, there wasn’t enough time in the day for her to take as many patients as she wanted. She swallowed thickly when she realized that she must only be getting a new patient in the wake of Spencer’s death, and blinked back tears before urging herself to open the file.

The moment she did, Genevieve paused as she was faced with the most arresting pair of emerald green eyes she’d ever seen. For a good minute, she could do little more but stare at the picture clipped to the front of the paperwork as a flush crept up her neck. When she came back to herself, the young woman quickly glanced around the office to make sure no one else had caught her reaction before she looked back to the photo.

He was her patient – which meant that he had to be a Vet – so it would be her job to view him objectively. Unfortunately, Genevieve could instantly sense that this was going to pose a bit of a problem.

The man was absolutely breathtaking.

His facial structure was all masculine angles, from a strong, jutting chin with a pronounced cleft to high cheekbones and a wide brow. Dark hair beginning to grow out from a military cut curled about his ears and forehead, and a few days’ worth of stubble grew over the southern half of his face, giving him a roguishly rugged appearance that was softened by his full mouth. The only thing to mar the man’s startling attractiveness were three gleaming lines of scar tissue that zigzagged over the left half of his face, close to his ear. Though Genevieve wasn’t a medical doctor, she thought the wounds looked to be about a year old.

His name was Owen Sinclair, and he was a recently retired Navy SEAL. At his title, Genevieve’s eyes widened. She’d never worked with Special Forces before. Because of the classified nature of many of their missions, they often had their own specialist psychiatrists – government officials that they could divulge to without any fear of repercussions. Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline when she saw that the man had been specially referred to her, and, reluctantly putting his image aside, she opened the envelope beneath it.

It was a letter addressed to her - and the moment her eyes fell on the name of the sender, her mouth curved into a wide smile.

Dr. Bradley.

He’d been her training Doctor for her first residency outside of Brown, and it was easily he who had cemented her love for what she did. The man was a pioneer in the world of PTSD treatment, and he’d never met a patient he couldn’t rehabilitate. It was he who had gotten her the position at Riperton, and now, to hear from him when she hadn’t in ages…well, to say the least, it was a welcome surprise.

Hello Genevieve,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know we haven’t spoken lately for our busy schedules, but I heard you’ve been having a good year, and I congratulate you on your work. You’ve always made me proud, and I feel privileged to have been able to work with you for the time we had together.

I hope you won’t think me forward in directing this particular patient to you. I have friends in the government and his case was referred to me for review when a suitable doctor couldn’t be found. Upon looking over his information, I immediately thought of you. If you chose to accept Lieutenant Sinclair’s case, there’s certain paperwork you will have to complete. Confidentiality agreements, government records, things of that ilk; however, I think there would be no one better to care for him. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting several of your patients, and from what they tell me, you have the exact manner needed to help guide Lieutenant Sinclair in the right direction.

Please review his documents and let me know if you would at all be willing to work with him. I’d be grateful for your assistance, and so, I’m sure, would the Lieutenant.

Best,

Ethan Bradley

It both thrilled and humbled her that her mentor thought highly enough of her to trust her with a case like the Lieutenant’s, and she felt her heart swell as she read the letter a second time. Carefully, she set it aside and began to sift through paperwork in the file.

Lieutenant Sinclair was thirty-eight years old – quite young for retirement – but then, the lives of Navy SEALs were notoriously dangerous. Large parts of his file were blacked out, but in reading over the visible portions, she managed to glean some idea of why she was needed.

The Seal had been on over fifty highly covert and extremely successful missions in the middle east. He’d been awarded a purple heart, a medal of honor, and a commendation for bravery by his commanding officer, and had been hospitalized for severe injuries no less than ten times over the course of his thirteen year service. He was an upstanding soldier, and a very skilled one by the looks of things. Trained in hand-to-hand combat with a myriad of weapons, and as a sniper, with an accuracy rate of close to ninety six percent. There was hardly a weapon that wouldn’t be at home in his hands, and in addition to completing a laundry list of missions, he’d also personally been responsible for the capture of some of the governments most wanted people of interest.

He sounded like a hell of a man.

But it was in Genevieve’s experience that the strongest people often needed to most help to reclaim what they had lost. They had problems admitting their own shortcomings, and never wanted to speak of the emotional difficulties they faced when it came to re-acclimating to a life that didn’t involve war.

There must have been something that had caused the Lieutenant’s early retirement…and it wasn’t long before she found it.

There were long sections of the last page of information that had been censored, but the last few lines revealed that the man had been caught in some sort of ambush on his last command and had lost a few of the men under his command. Genevieve was sure their deaths would be weighing on him and the guilt alone would be more than enough to cause the symptoms he appeared to be exhibiting.

Paranoia, nightmares, sleep paralysis, depression…the list was quite long, and her mouth turned down as she read that the man had declined to see any psychiatrist since his return to the United States almost a year ago. What information provided about him had been gleaned through cursory interviews and debriefings, and would only serve as a point of reference for a possible diagnosis.

Beneath the twenty page report was the actual intake form itself, along with a pile of forms two inches thick that she would be required to fill out if she was willing to take the Lieutenant as her patient. Genny’s hand ached just looking at all of the fine print.

She was flattered that Doctor Bradley had referred this case to her, but was she really ready to take on such responsibility? She already had eight other patients who took up a large chunk of her time, and she wanted to make sure they got the care they deserved. Accepting Owen Sinclair would undoubtedly be twice the work of any patient she’d had to date, and the man would require a level of secrecy that she’d never dealt with before.

Atop that…one glance at his picture did ungodly things to her libido – things that she’d forgotten were even possible. The man appeared to be chiseled from stone- gorgeous, powerful, and undoubtedly damaged. She would have to decide if she wanted to hand him off, or if she was willing to work past the effect his physical appearance had on her to help him through his issues.

Exhaling slowly, she contemplated.

Did she think she could help the Lieutenant? Certainly. Did she think she would be the best person for the job? That was negotiable. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had roused such excitement in her – even knowing the hell he must be suffering through. She could do some research and see if she could re-refer him…but she had no idea how Dr. Bradley might take such an action. He stated that he’d thought of her specifically – which meant that, for whatever reason, he believed she had something to offer Sinclair that no other doctor could.

Reaching towards the head of her desk, Genevieve withdrew a ballpoint ben from the cup next to the computer. She lowered it towards the confidentiality agreements, hesitating only slightly before beginning the long process of filling them out.

If Dr. Bradley believed in her, there was no reason why she shouldn’t believe in herself. She’d always been able to put work before pleasure, and she was sure that if she concentrated on finding the right treatment for Lieutenant Sinclair, she’d hardly have time to drool over him.

At least, that was her hope.

Chapter Two: Stubborn Soldier

He hated doctors.

Owen had never met a physician he liked, with the exception of a few of the medics that he had been deployed with. Of course, he’d rarely been under their hands, and when he had, he’d usually been unconscious; so he had never had the displeasure of having them cause him pain. As fucking awful as pain could be, however, it wasn’t discomfort that had turned him against the medical profession.

It was the fact that they seemed to want to know everything about you. Where you’d been, where you were going. How many people you’d slept with, how many bones you had broken, your family history…the list went on and on. He’d reached a point in his life where he had assumed that they knew half the answers to the questions they asked anyway. With all the places he’d been and all the things he’d done, he had no doubt there was a file on him half an inch thick somewhere with every injury from his fractured spine to the ankle he’d pulled in middle school.

No, doctors were far too invasive for his liking – which was precisely why he’d spent the past year fighting his commanding officer on seeing a shrink. The last thing he needed was another doctor in his life – especially one who thought they could mess with his mind. God knew he already had too many complications up there.