Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (22 page)

            “What do you mean, you ran the other way?” he asked with shocked eyes.

            I felt the embarrassment rise to my cheeks and was grateful for my sunglasses. “I don’t know. I just wasn’t ready to face him. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t prepared for that.” Alan just stared out at the crashing waves, wearing his disbelief. “He had just broken up with me,” I muttered softly, my voice cracking at the end.

            Alan reached across the table for my hand and held it. “He didn’t break up with you. He’s hurt, and confused. He’s pushing you away so that he doesn’t hurt you again.”

            I looked at him, listening to his confident explanation as if he knew Drew personally, and then my eyes dipped down to look at his hand laying over mine. Alan noticed and awkwardly pulled his hand back, which made it even weirder.

            “Listen, I don’t know this guy, but it sounds like he has a raging case of PTSD. He needs to deal with it. That needs to be his priority, so your dad, although it sounds like he’s a little controlling, is exactly right.” He stared out to the water again, sadness taking over his features. “I had a few good friends struggle with PTSD when we got back stateside. It’s a scary thing.”

            I was happy for my turn to listen.

            “Combat is the most terrifying thing anyone can ever go through. Nothing else can even compare. Don’t get me wrong, other things can be horrific, but nothing holds a candle to war. The things you see, what you do—things you have to do in the moment…they can twist your soul into something unrecognizable.” His leg was bouncing under the table a mile a minute and I swore I could see his pulse quicken on the side of his neck as he spoke. “People do what they have to do to survive and then they’re expected to just come back to their lives and be normal. They have to live every day like they aren’t haunted by what they’ve seen or done. No wonder so many of them commit suicide.” His leg suddenly stopped moving and he took a few deep breaths, trying not to allow the tears that I could see forming from across the table fall.

            “Did you lose someone…somebody close to you?” I whispered.

            “I lost everyone—everything,” he replied abruptly. “And my advice to you is if you truly love this guy…don’t give up on him. If you love him, he needs you. Now more than ever. He needs you to fight for him.” The table was shaking slightly, his leg back to its nervous motion in full force.

            How?” I asked desperately. “How do I fight for him?

            “You show him that you aren’t giving up on him. You have to be persistent. Show him you’re not leaving. Tell him over and over that you love him no matter what and show him by giving him the support he needs.” I watched Alan take a sip of his water and heard the gulp of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This isn’t his fault. You have to help him realize that and love him through it all. Prove to him that you believe he’s worth it.”

            This time
I
reached across the table to squeeze over his hand. “Thank you, Alan.”

            He smiled and squeezed back, then let go. “No problem. I’m just sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion about him. I apologize.”

            I felt like I needed to lighten the mood of our conversation, so I gathered the confidence to ask him, “So what about your love life? Any special girl around lately?”

            “Here we go,” he joked, laughing at my sad attempt of segueing the discussion back to him as the center of topic. “No, Bree. I’m afraid that you and Sue are the only special
girls
in my life,” he answered, getting an awkward look on his face. I furrowed my brow in confusion, making him laugh even louder. He snickered. “Surely you knew?”

            “Knew what?” I insisted, getting frustrated.

            “Bree, I’m…uh…I don’t bat for your team.”

            “Oh!” I yelped, hesitating then fumbling for what to say next. “How was I supposed to know that?” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at his finding all of this extremely funny.

            “I just thought you knew. I thought Sue would’ve told you.”

            “Well, she didn’t. I guess I have had a lot going on lately,” I grumbled. “You don’t
seem
gay.”

            He bellowed in laughter. “What
seems
gay?”

            “No, I didn’t mean it like that… Shit. I just mean, I thought…well, you were in the Marines, for crying out loud!”

            “Technically I was in the Navy, but I was imbedded with the Marines for a long stretch…and that didn’t work out for me so well. It’s not easy being homosexual in the military. Especially not in a Marine unit.”

            He didn’t elaborate much and I thought it best not to prod any further. He kindly insisted on picking up the check and we made our way out of the restaurant and back to my car. I hugged Alan tightly before he left, thanking him for helping me and for listening. I knew exactly what I had to do and never would’ve come to that conclusion if it weren’t for his well-timed visit.

            I wasn’t ready to let go of Drew yet. I wasn’t ready to give up, and it was time to show him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

DREW

            “You got a package today,” Joan called as I headed up the stairs.

            It stopped me in my tracks. I retreated down the few steps I’d taken two at a time to see her come around the corner with a look on her sweet smiling face like she had just busted the cat eating the canary.

            “I put it on your bed.”

            “Thanks,” I offered. “It’s just something I ordered online.” The truth was I had no idea what was delivered to me and I hated lying to Joan, but in the scramble to find something to say, it just came out.

            “Uh huh,” she grunted with a knowing look and a slight curl of her lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to
me
.” She meandered back into the kitchen, a laughing grin filling her whole face.

            I climbed the stairs and opened the door to “my” bedroom to see the box sitting just as she said, atop the quilt. Making sure to close the door behind me, I approached the box with trepidation, shaking my head at myself for acting so ridiculous. It’s not like there was an animal inside. Or a bomb. It could be
anything
from
anyone.

            But in my heart, I knew it was from her. Not many people knew I was here and no one else would’ve mailed me something. The address label was typed out, not revealing anything about the sender. I used my car key to saw through the packaging tape and opened the box.

            It was some sort of sound machine, for sleeping. I looked at it, really looked at all sides and angles of the box, puzzled as to why I’d received it. Maybe Dr. Greiner sent it? But why wouldn’t he say something to me about it? And why wouldn’t he give it to me in person? I searched in the brown cardboard outer box for something—anything—else to indicate where it came from and found a packing slip. And sure enough, in the bottom left corner of the packing slip was a typed note by the company.

Drew,

This is to help bring you restful sleep with the peaceful

sounds of the ocean while you’re away from it.

You’re not getting rid of me that easily.

I love you, broken parts and all,

and I’ll still be here waiting.

            It was unsigned, but she didn’t need to sign it. I couldn’t believe her. But I
so
could. My feisty, persistent Bree. My heart swelled with love for her and I could’ve combusted at how grateful I was for such a kind and well-thought out gift. It was perfect.

            As fast as my hands could rip through the packaging, I plugged the device in and pressed the button for ocean waves, the musical nature sounds of the beach filling the bedroom. I leaned back, placing my linked together hands behind my head, and relaxed into the bed. My eyes closed and my heart listened, hearing everything all at once—the breeze, the water crashing into the sand, the soft cawing of seagulls in the distance, and the peace. I heard and felt the overwhelming peace.

            I pictured her beautiful face before me, sunlight highlighting her porcelain skin, the tiny freckles across her nose making their shy appearance. I gazed into the crystal blue eyes that I knew by heart, icy in the center and turning a darker sapphire around the outer edge with her long lashes fanning over them. I would never forget those eyes. How they seemed to change shades depending on what she was looking at, appearing more of a marine blue when she was at the ocean, her love of the water reflected in her own face. They truly were the windows into her soul. And her lips so impeccably soft and inviting, faintly rose, beckoning mine as if they were made for my lips to enjoy. 

            In my imagined daydream I saw her honey brown hair tumbling carelessly down her back and whipping around as it blew with the sea breeze that I could hear so clearly. I couldn’t remember her ever looking so delicate before. Gentle and serene. Happy. She looked so happy.

            I wanted to make her happy.

            Momentarily lost in my reverie, secure in the warmth of my bed, I wished my musings were true. I opened my eyes, the reality of my surroundings coming into view, and reached over to turn the sound machine off. As much as I loved her, I knew there was no going back. I lay there wondering if love was enough. Does she love me enough to look beyond my past? Can she forgive my hurting her and ever be okay with the threat of me possibly doing it again?
No! I would never let that happen again.

            It had been over three weeks since I had the nightmare and it still felt like a raw, open wound. My sadness was only a reflection of the damage I had inflicted on her. I deserved the ache and loneliness. Every time I slipped and thought about it, it was like pouring salt on the wound. I couldn’t shake it. Perhaps I couldn’t because I wouldn’t allow myself to. That’s what the doc thought, anyway.

            Our session earlier was tough but productive. I’d consented to continuing the EMDR. It was with reservation, but he convinced me, explaining that I couldn’t use the buffet approach when it came to therapy. I didn’t get to grab a plate and go through the line, getting only the things that appealed to me. It was all or nothing to truly heal and I had to trust him. I was actually feeling better about the EMDR the more we did it, especially since I hadn’t recalled having a repeat of my original nightmare since we started the process, and not had any more altered visions of the nightmare—that I could remember—which was a good thing. I honestly felt like it would all but kill me to have to see that again. And just when I thought I was feeling more confident about it all, he switched it up by introducing a new image. Memories that I thought I’d gotten over were merely just repressed, sitting just below the surface, impeding my progress.

            The doc was very bothered by my stubborn unwillingness to even consider Bree participating in my therapy. I know he was disappointed in me even if he didn’t say so, but I didn’t expect the curveball he threw earlier.

            “Today we’re going to talk about forgiveness,” he declared, almost proudly, daring me to refuse. I acted indifferent and waited for him to continue. “I think we need to discuss how to begin moving forward. We’ve successfully faced the trauma. Now we need to get over it.”

            “And just how are
we
supposed to get over it?” I retorted defiantly.

            “You need to find a way to get over it.” A simple statement for a non-simple problem. So calm and matter of fact, as if it were that easy. “
I
believe that the only way for you to get over it is forgiveness.”

            I shook my head slightly side to side, pissed that he was even asking that of me. “I’ll never forgive him. I can’t.” My blood, before sitting at a slow simmer with the anxiety of being at therapy in general, was now at a full rolling boil. He was cooking with gas. “I won’t do it.”

            “You have to find a way to forgive him, Drew. And then you have to forgive yourself.”

            I rose from the couch, standing suddenly, and began pacing. This would definitely be the toughest task asked of me yet. I couldn’t even fathom it. It was impossible. He may as well have asked me to sprout gills and breathe underwater. He went on talking, knowing that I was still listening, even during my patrol around the office to escape.

            “Forgiveness isn’t pretending that it didn’t happen, and it’s certainly not forgetting. It’s simply accepting it and figuring out how to move past the hurt.”

            I paused to look at him, wondering how in the hell I was ever supposed to accept what my father did.
Simply
accept it. Bullshit. There was nothing simple about it.

            “I don’t think I’m capable,” I mumbled, my anger festering beneath the surface. “He got off too easy. He didn’t have to pay enough for what he did.” I came back around to sit on the edge of the cushion, feeling weak in the knees at the stress and glanced at the doc for direction.

            “You’re very justified in your anger, Drew. It’s a normal response, an expected coping mechanism. He abused you for your entire childhood and eventually took away the one person that loved you. But the more you carry around this burden…the longer you hold on to it, the longer you’ll be haunted by it all.” He set his pen and paper down and placed his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Not forgiving him is only hurting you.
You
are the one still being punished for what
he
did.”

            I looked to him, his serious expression, and exhaled. He was right.

            “But how?” I begged.

            He didn’t break eye contact with me in the slightest and calmly replied, “You have to let it go. When you’re ready, all you have to do is
decide
. Make the decision and let it go—all of it.”