Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (5 page)

            “A PA?” I was already lost.

            “Sorry. A physician’s assistant. In the Navy you have a lot more autonomy though. We were mostly in a hospital setting, seeing patients just like a doctor would. Patching up wounds, doling out meds, assisting in surgical procedures, even performing minor surgeries. I was
lucky
enough to be embedded with a Marine Corps unit based in Afghanistan for a tour.” He stood at the frying pan, flipping the vegetables around, seemingly not at all bothered by my questioning, so I continued.

            “So you were actually in combat?” I couldn’t even imagine.

            “Well, I mostly stayed at the base at the hospital station there, but I did have to go on two missions as a medic, one of which ended up in a firefight.” His posture stiffened, his movements becoming rigid, and his demeanor instantly changed. “So, yeah. I guess you could say I saw combat.”

            “Is that why you got out? Of the Navy, I mean.” I should’ve probably stopped and not taken the conversation any further, but my curiosity beat out my logic.

            “Uh, not exactly. Let’s just say that the military wasn’t for me.” It was clear by his body language that he was done answering my questions. “What about you? Sue told me you’re in school to be a teacher or something, right?”

            “Yeah. Special education. I want to teach children with special needs eventually.” Answering him made me think of Liam, and I missed him. I didn’t like not seeing my family for days at a time and I certainly didn’t like that I was lying to them.  

            A few more moments of silence passed before Alan restarted the conversation.

            “So it’s really none of my business, but I really hope you don’t go back to him.”

            I was stunned. Nothing to retort. Just shocked. And so incredibly offended.

            “Your boyfriend, or whatever he was, the guy that did this to you…he doesn’t deserve a second chance. A real man doesn’t hit women.”

            Fuming. I was fuming. I felt my heart rate speed up, my face grew flushed, and my hands began to shake. “Listen, Alan. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, but you know nothing about me. Nothing about Drew. I’m not in an abusive relationship. This was…
is
a big misunderstanding.” To say that I was insulted was an understatement. I felt the need to defend Drew; I was empowered to stick up for him. “I’m suddenly not hungry anymore,” I blurted, walking away from the kitchen counter.

            “Bree, wait. I apologize. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m sorry.” He turned the burner off, the food that I was no longer interested in apparently done cooking. “Please eat. You need to eat something. We don’t have to talk about it.” He threw the package of tortillas in the microwave and I stood watching, trying to decide whether I could keep it together enough to sit and eat right now.

            My stomach growled, deciding for me.

            I opened the fridge, looking for shredded cheese and sour cream, both of which were right in front of me on the top shelf. We’d both sat and begun plating and assembling our fajitas when the front door abruptly opened.

            “Honey, I’m home!” shouted Sue. “Oh, man, that smells awesome. Taco night, huh?”

            “We made fajitas. There’s plenty for you too. Dig in,” Alan commanded.

            Sue didn’t hesitate to retrieve a plate for herself from the cabinet and join us at the table, filling the room with a play by play of all that happened recently at her clinicals. Apparently she was in the middle of her Psych rotation and was assigned to a patient with paranoid schizophrenia who refused to wear any clothes because he believed that the government placed tracking devices in them.

            “No way, you got assigned to Walter?” Alan bellowed as he laughed aloud.

            “Yep. Sure did. He spent all day telling me about conspiracies and the times that ‘they’ have tried to kill him,” Sue complained. “Poor guy. I feel bad for him.”

            “Just don’t bring up cats. Whatever you do, make no mention of anything feline related,” Alan teased, the two of them sharing in a laugh. Apparently Alan had already finished his Psych rotation and knew all about Walter the schizoid with the cat issue.

            Feeling left out, I dared ask, “Why no cats? What happens when you bring up cats?”

            They both laughed again and Sue answered, talking around the food still in her mouth. “He gets a boner. Like, instantly. Anything about cats and he stands at attention. It’s the weirdest, most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen.”

            “What Sue is neglecting to tell you is that the guy is probably in his seventies. Wrinkly, moley skin dangling everywhere, wiry gray hair, even missing teeth. But one meow and he stands at attention like a twenty-year-old about to get a piece.”

            They both laughed hysterically; I was trying to get the repulsive visual out of my brain.

            “You guys should really be a little more professional,” I commented, sounding like the teacher that I would hopefully one day be. “He can’t help it if he has a cat fetish.” The words sounded ridiculous as they left my mouth and they both continued to chuckle.

            Sue finally gained enough composure and stopped laughing. “Sorry, Bree. I’ll try to be less unappropriate when telling you my nursing school stories.”

            “It’s inappropriate,” I corrected.

            “Yeah, I know. I’ll refrain. Sorry,” she hissed, completely unaware.

            “No, you said
un
appropriate. It’s
in
appropriate.”

            “Ugh, whatever.”

            It was then that my cell phone rang, creating an uncomfortable tension in the room again. I glanced at the face of my phone; it was my father. I retreated down the hallway to talk to him alone.

Chapter Six

DREW

            I parked my car in the driveway next to Mick’s pickup and turned off the ignition. I needed a moment to collect myself before I got out, but when I glanced up, I saw that he was already on his porch. There was no delaying it. I needed to get it over with.

            I opened the door to my SUV, the thick, humid Florida air engulfing me as I stepped out. My slow and steady approach felt like I was marching to my death. I wasn’t scared of Mick. Not like I was of Pat. I was just ashamed. Each of my steps harbored guilt and remorse and most of all, defeat. I felt so beaten.

            I took each porch step slowly until my gaze met the eyes of the man that had become like a father to me. I had let him and everyone else down. His expression was blank. Expressionless. He just sat, calmly rocking in his chair with complete indifference on his face.

            “Take a seat, son.” He waved to the rocker next to him. “Pat called, told me you’d be headin’ this way.”

            I sat down next to him, the wooden rocking chair squeaking under my weight. “Did he tell you why?” My voice sounded weak. Pitiful.

            “He did.”

            That was it. Nothing. He obviously wasn’t going to elaborate or divulge the details of their conversation, but I was grateful that he knew. We sat for a minute, each of us rocking in our own rhythm, until I finally spoke.

            “I didn’t know.”

            “Didn’t know what?” He rotated slightly to look towards me for my answer.

            “I didn’t know they were that bad—the nightmares. I knew I had them. Almost every night since my mother died, I’ve had them. But no one has ever been sleeping next to me to witness one before. I had no idea I was capable of that, of hurting her. I would never have let her  stay if I’d known. I’d never have put her in danger.”

            “I believe ya,” he admitted, catching me off guard. I watched him as he took a long pull of sweet tea from his mason jar, the ice cubes clanking together when he lowered the jar and resumed his rocking.

            “I hurt her, Mick. Bad. I…I could’ve killed her.” Just thinking the words made me nauseous. Speaking them was painful. “I hurt her and then I let her leave. I didn’t insist on taking her to the hospital when she resisted. I didn’t follow her to make sure she made it someplace safe. I just paced around, trapped in my own head, horrified at what had happened, terrified of what was to come. I was an idiot and a coward. And now I’ve lost her.”

            “Yer probably right.”

            His candidness was sobering. I couldn’t think of any way, any rhyme or reason, that she could trust me again, that we could be together.

            “So what do I do?”

            “You do the only thing ya can do. You fix yerself. Ya can’t take care of a woman until you get yerself right.”

            “But how? How do I fix this?” I brought my face down, rubbing my hands over my head in an attempt to ease my nerves.

            “Well, it’s like this. I feel like you’ve never properly grieved the loss of yer folks. Ya don’t have any closure. So yer haunted by it all. Every night, yer brain tries to process and heal but it can’t. That’s why ya have the nightmares.” Mick rose from his rocking chair and stepped across the porch, leaning back onto the railing to look at me. “When I lost Russ, I didn’t get closure either. I never got to say goodbye. He was stolen from me and I didn’t know how to cope with it. I used to have nightmares somethin’ awful ‘til I got help. Joan set me up an appointment with a therapist. I thought, ‘I’m a man! I don’t need no damn therapy! I don’t need to cry on some stranger’s couch and pop sad people pills to feel better,’ but once I gave in, seein’ him was exactly what I needed.”

            I listened to Mick and contemplated the whole idea of going to therapy. Of course I had thought about it before. The family lawyer had even advised me to seek grief counseling. I don’t even have a good excuse for never seriously considering it. I guess I just thought I could deal with it myself. I thought it would get better with time. That obviously didn’t happen.

            “I see ya over there tryin’ to wrap yer head around it. Trust me, I was right there with ya. But I really think if you give this guy a chance, he just might be able to help ya.”

            “I’ll go. I’ll try it. I’ll try anything. I have to,” I resolved.

            “Atta boy,” Mick asserted with a smile. “Now go grab yer bags outta the truck and come on in. The gnats are gettin’ started out here. Joan’s makin’ us dinner now. She’s happy to have ya, whatever the reason.”

            After briefly stopping in the kitchen to give Joan a hug and thank her for having me, I hauled my bags upstairs to the bedroom I’d slept in before. The same quilt was spread over the bed, but in the middle of the pillowcase was a piece of paper folded in half.

            I set my things down and walked over, sitting on the side of the full size bed and reached for the note. Opening it, I found a handwritten quote. I assumed it was Joan’s hand, since it was decidedly feminine. I took a deep breath and started to read it.

            “Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” -Vicki Harrison

            I had been drowning. It was time for me to swim. It was time for me to fight.

Chapter Seven

BREE

            I took a deep breath to prepare, staring at the incoming call screen flashing with his name. “Hey, Dad.” I tried to sound healthy and happy, excited to hear from him.

            “Please come home.”

            He knew. I could tell. I could hear it in his tone, his inflection, in each word. He knew what happened. He knew I was lying.

            “Why? Is something wrong?” My stomach was in knots. I was a horrible liar.

            “Bree, I know. I just left Drew’s house. I know everything. Are you okay?”

            I leaned back against whatever wall was behind me, lowering the phone to my waist and staring up at the popcorn ceiling of the stranger’s house I was hiding in. The tears welled up and I couldn’t hold them at bay. Enough. I’d had enough.

            “Bree? Hello?” I heard coming through the phone at the end of my fingers.

            “Sorry. I’m here.” It came out in a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

            “You have nothing to be sorry about. Please just come home. I want you here. We can take care of you here.”

            His tone was caring but stern. I knew he meant well, but if I went home, I was confident that I would be cooking, cleaning, and caregiving instead of recuperating. And I couldn’t let them see me.

            “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want Liam to see me like this.” I didn’t want to imagine Liam’s reaction if he saw my face in its current state.

            “Where are you?” He sounded flustered and impatient. He had no control over this situation and I was sure it was tearing him apart inside.

            “I’m with Sue. I’m okay,” I assured him. “We’re staying with a friend of hers in St. Augustine. I’m really okay. I just look awful. I’ll come home when my face is healed enough.”

            “You don’t have to hide from us, Bree. We’re your family. We love you. We can take care of you.”

            I thought about it. Genuinely considered it for a minute. Home meant being comfortable in my own bed, with my own stuff, in my own clothes. Home meant familiarity, convenience, relaxation. But home also meant my life. The gym, my job, school, and, of course, Drew. I wasn’t ready to face him. I missed him with every fiber of my being but I wasn’t ready to talk to him. I was hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. And so damned confused.

            “Dad? How is he?” My meek words escaped my mouth before I could reign them in. But I wanted to know. I needed to know.

            “He left.”