“And the source of the nightmares?”
I told him much the same story that I’d told Charlie a few days before. It was easier the second time. Probably because she hadn’t judged me. Hadn’t responded with platitudes. She’d just let me get it out. I also told him about how I’d pinned her to the bed when she’d woken me in the midst of a nightmare. My stomach still knotted when I remembered how she’d carefully backed away from me afterward.
“I understand, given the high profile nature of your family, why you’ve opted not to seek treatment at the VA.”
This part made me feel like a hypocrite. Because most veterans didn’t have the financial means that I did—and would have no choice but to seek treatment at the VA. But I also didn’t want them to just write me a script for psychotropic drugs and send me on my way. I explained my reasoning, and he only nodded and continued with his questions.
“Have you told anyone this before?”
“Yes, just recently.”
“And how did you sleep after that?”
I thought about the last couple of nights, both of which I’d slept through without nightmares.
“Better.”
“I’m not saying you’re going to be healed just by talking about this with someone a time or two, but it does help. And making the decision to come here today was a big step.”
I continued to answer the questions he posed, and Dr. Carlson jotted down more notes. When the session was almost over, he laid his folder aside and studied me.
“While it is my opinion that you have PTSD, I think it’s a relatively minor case. From what you’ve told me, you function very well, and I believe the biggest block you’ve been facing is that you’ve refused to discuss your experience until recently. I’d like to see you twice a week to start, and then we’ll see how it goes from there.”
“What about what happened with my … girlfriend?” I liked referring to Charlie that way. Too much. It was way too soon, but that was where this relationship was headed, if I had anything to say about it.
“I don’t have any concern that you’d hurt someone, including her. I would suggest she not try to wake you from your nightmares, however.”
We shook hands, and I left, feeling lighter than I had in years. Hope was a heady thing. Now I just needed to track down one mouthy, tatted-up girl who’d been MIA since Tuesday.
On Friday afternoon, fifteen minutes before closing, the door to the Dirty Dog swung open with a whoosh. I looked up and almost dropped the stack of jeans I was holding.
Simon filled the doorway, his big body blocking out most of the late-afternoon sunlight.
“Well hello there, handsome,” Yve said. And he did look good. The light gray suit, crisp white shirt, and navy tie were understated yet sexy.
Simon nodded in response and looked pointedly at me. “You avoiding me?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t been answering my calls or texts.”
Oh. I’d called the clinic so many times over the last few days that I was burning through my small, monthly allotment of minutes way too fast. To conserve them, I’d kept my phone off the rest of the time. It was a double-edged sword, because with my phone off, the clinic couldn’t reach me—so I overcompensated by calling every few hours for an update. I’m pretty sure the woman who answered the phones was ready to strangle me.
“Sorry, I haven’t been keeping my phone on.”
Simon took it in stride. “Got it. I was starting to wonder what was up.”
I set the jeans down on the shelf where they belonged and arranged them into a neat stack. I had to keep my hands busy or else I might twirl my hair or something stupid like that.
He came closer, and I could smell the woodsy scent of his … cologne? Aftershave? Deodorant? Whatever it was, it made me want to rub up against the five o’clock shadow shading his jaw.
“I was hoping I could give you a ride to go visit Huck. I hear he’ll be coming home in a few days.” Warmth bloomed in my chest. He’d been checking on my dog.
I looked up at the Kit-Cat clock on the wall. It was quarter to five, and I had a shift at Voodoo starting at seven. Without a ride, I’d be cutting it close to see Huck. I’d been pedaling my ass over to the clinic every day after work, but riding through the somewhat sketchy area without Huck by my side freaked me out, especially when it started to get dark.
“That’d be great.” I met his intense stare. “I’ll be done here in a little bit.”
“You can clock out now. It’s cool,” Yve said, leaning up against the counter and shamelessly listening in. I glanced her way, but her attention was fixed on Simon. “Take that girl out to get some food. She ain’t eatin’ enough to keep a ghost alive lately.”
Finally, Yve looked at me, and I glared back, giving her a seriously, bitch? look. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Done.” Simon tucked a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear. “Anything you need before we go?”
“Just my bag,” I said, as Yve pulled it out from the cabinet beneath the counter. “And my bike.”
“We can put your bike in my car. I’ll meet you around back?”
“Okay. Thanks.” He smiled and headed for the door, pushing it open with as much gusto as when he’d come in. I looked at Yve.
“Seriously? Ain’t eating enough to keep a ghost alive? What the hell? Don’t even think about meddling.” Yve fancied herself a matchmaker. Her disastrous efforts to date hadn’t stopped her from trying.