Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (27 page)

            The knock on my door ten minutes to seven was him, as expected, and once I saw his face, I was glad he’d come. It would probably be cathartic to talk about everything that had transpired since the last time I saw him. He always knew just the right thing to say and was objective and professional without making me feel ridiculed or judged.

            “Drew,” he greeted when I opened the front door. “Thanks for having me.”

            I gestured for him to come in. “No, problem. Thanks for coming all this way. Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

            “Not at all. And it took much less time than I expected.” He looked around, nodding his approval. “This is a great place you have here. Are you renting?” It was a nosey question by most standards, but I wasn’t offended.

            “For now. I’d love to buy it if the owner ever wanted to sell.”

            “Smells good,” he acknowledged.

            “Yeah, I cooked some spaghetti for us. Unless you’ve already eaten?” I questioned.

            “I had a snack earlier, but I’d love to eat before we start. It might be nice to relax a little before we dig into therapy, don’t you think?” he jabbed teasingly.

            It was sort of odd sharing small talk in my kitchen with my therapist, but nice at the same time. We ate on the back deck since the weather was perfect and I knew I’d be more relaxed out there. He actually opened up about his personal life a little, telling me about his wife and kids coming to Amelia Island for a family wedding and enjoying all that the area had to offer for vacationing folks. I didn’t know where he lived now, but his practice was in Jacksonville so he couldn’t be too far away. He seemed to enjoy his food and when it was clear that we were both finished, I cleared our plates, returning to the deck to get deeper into discussion.

            I caught him up on all of the recent happenings, cataloging my training, eating, and sleeping habits, making sure to brag that I hadn’t been recalling any nightmares recently. He brought up Pat, inquiring about the vibe of our working relationship now. I reported honestly that it seemed fine. We’d always worked well together and there didn’t seem to be any noticeable difference now. It was better than ever, actually, and that made my interaction—or lack of—with Bree even more stressful.

            “Bree and I have been talking…well, not really talking, but corresponding, I guess you could say,” I blurted out, guilty I hadn’t confessed it earlier.

            “Really? How so?” he asked patiently, touching his pen to his lips. He’d brought out my ominous file folder while I was clearing our plates, greeting me awkwardly on the patio table when I returned. As if to signal it was time to get down to business.

            “She left me another gift with a message,” I confessed, pausing to gauge his reaction, which was unrevealing. “And I returned her efforts with a message of my own.”

            He raised his eyebrows in interest, urging me to go on, and I told him every last detail—the blanket and its embroidered wording and the heart-shaped shell that had literally pierced my foot while walking on the beach to think. He listened patiently and attentively as I told him about watching her car at night to make sure she got home safely. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, appearing speechless.

            “Drew, that’s not okay,” he calmly instructed. I knew that, but waited for him to continue. “First of all, it’s creepy. Second, it’s not healthy.” I started to interrupt him to explain but he cut me off. “You’re coming to me, your people are paying a good deal of money for my professional council, for a sleep disorder issue. You can’t heal or improve anything if you aren’t doing the work on your end, which includes sleeping on a normal schedule.” He looked out toward the water, the reflection of the moon on the surface. “I thought you looked tired and worn down but I figured it was just the training.”

            “I know, Doc. I just can’t stand the thought of something happening to her because she’s working at night, all because of her dad’s rules to keep us apart. I wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, without knowing she’s safe,” I defended.

            He wrote a few things down and turned his interrogating eyes to me again. “Is there anything else? Have you seen each other yet?” He crossed his legs and looked pensive.

            “Not yet. But I feel like it’s coming.” He nodded, almost in agreement. “She put something up at the gym—one of those letter decal things with a quote—on the wall. It might as well have said ‘Dear Drew’ in front of it.”

            “What did it say?”

            “It said, ‘If you want something bad enough, you fight for it,’” I replied cautiously. “I’m ready to fight for her. I have to.”

            “Listen, Drew. I get that you love this girl, but sometimes that’s not enough,” he said, his words cutting and severe. “Just because you love someone doesn’t mean that you’re supposed to be together.”

            “Is that what you think? That we’re not supposed to be together?” I probed with a bite in my voice.

            “I don’t know. I’ve never met her. I don’t presume to know the ins and outs of your relationship prior to the assault,” he chastised, leaving me feeling battered by his harshness. “But I can tell you that I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be in
any
romantic relationship right now. You’re not in the right head space or emotional state to handle it.”

            I sat, digesting his professional opinion, and wondered how much of that was truly coming from him and how much of it stemmed from conversation with Pat. “Well, doc, I’m going to have to respectfully disagree.”

            “You can disagree all you want, but I’ve been doing this a long time and I need you to hear me on this issue…it will not end well.”

            “How much extra did Pat pay you to work
that
into your professional opinion?” I barked rudely. He stiffened in his posture and I knew I’d hit a nerve. He didn’t deserve to be accused of such a thing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

            “No, you shouldn’t have. I haven’t spoken to Pat since he first came to me to talk about us working together. I’m supposed to fix his prize fighter and he didn’t even have the courtesy to come to me before presenting you with the opportunity to fight.” He was pissed and apparently not in the mood to hold back. My respect for him inched up a little with his candor.

            “Would you have given your seal of approval?” I asked, knowing damn well what his answer would’ve been.

            “Unequivocally, without a doubt, no,” he opined firmly. “You have PTSD. And not even a little bit. Full blown, raging, violent tendencies when triggered, PTSD. You’re potentially a danger to those around you without the proper treatment and I fear that you may be making the biggest mistake of your life by agreeing to this fight.” He exhaled the breath he had pent up behind his admission and looked out to the dark ocean, broodingly.

            “Wow, Doc. Don’t hold back. Why didn’t you tell me all that when I called you?” I demanded.

            “Would it have made a difference? Pat knew exactly what he was doing when he avoided asking for my professional opinion before telling you about the fight!” he scolded, raising his voice just enough for me to startle. “Once you knew what was before you on a silver platter, it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to be able to say no and he knew it.” He reached for the file and wrote something down, lifting his eyes to me in question as he asked, “What does Mick think you should do?”

            Checkmate. He knew Mick wouldn’t have approved and wanted me to admit and acknowledge it. “He wasn’t thrilled and voiced it plain and simple to Pat and me.”

            “Does that carry any weight with you—his opinion on all of this?”
            “Of course it matters,” I retorted.

            “Just not enough?”

            I took a few breaths, feeling cornered. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I’m under contract and this fight is happening, regardless of how Mick, or you, or I feel about it.” I stood up, needing to move to settle myself, and rested my hands on the wooden railing of the deck. “I’m sorry that you weren’t consulted properly. I’m sorry that I’m too fucked up to be doing this,” I sputtered, looking out to the black abyss before me. “But I’m doing it. And I could really use your help.” I turned my head back to the doctor for an answer.

            He took a minute to fold the file closed and place it back into his canvas bag, glancing back up to me with assertion on his face. “You need to sleep at night, now more than ever. You can’t continue to burn the candle at both ends and produce a win in Abu Dhabi. From what I understand, this guy isn’t a chump and isn’t going to be an easy victory.” I nodded in agreement. “Hire a security guard or something, if it really makes you feel better, but you can’t be up all night and then train all day.”

            “Yes, sir,” I agreed.

            “I’m going to ask Mick to come stay with you and you’re going to agree to it.” I stood up straight in shock at his pugnacity. He saw that I wanted to resist and explained further.
“He’s the best person to support you right now and he’ll keep you accountable. You need him and he needs to make sure you’re okay. He cares about you, Drew.”

            I did actually like the suggestion, although it wasn’t exactly up for negotiation. “Okay,” I agreed.

            “We need to talk every single day until you leave, even if just for a few minutes. We won’t proceed with any further EMDR right now, but you need to keep in contact with me. You have a little over a week until you leave and one chance to get this right.”

            I squared my shoulders and nodded. I was on board.

            “I support you, Drew, even though I don’t support this decision. I will help you, but you have to let me.”

            We shook hands and I walked him out. At quarter to ten, I didn’t have much time to hire any sort of security to watch over Bree, but I had a crazy idea. It had to work or I was going to have yet another sleepless night against the doc’s orders.

Chapter Thirty-Four

BREE

            I’d been done for over an hour, ready to leave, even nodding off at my desk staring at the screen, but couldn’t go yet. It was a good thing that I glanced at the cameras before making my exit, because sure enough, someone was out there. A car that I didn’t recognize had backed in and was parked in a spot on the very edge of our parking lot—a car I
knew
wasn’t there when I came in.

            Curiosity quickly evolved into unease circling in my stomach and I stared long and hard at the grainy, pixelated image our security camera provided. While I could tell someone was sitting in the driver’s seat, I couldn’t for the life of me tell who it was. I really didn’t even know if it was a man or woman. I assumed it was a man.

            To say that it made me nervous was an understatement. It was past two in the morning and there was no good reason for anyone to be in our parking lot. No reason but to be waiting for me. No reason but trouble. Only bad things happened to people out this late. I’d recently heard someone on television say that the only things open past midnight were the emergency room and legs. It’s all I could think about.

            Just when I’d resolved myself to sleep with my head on my desk, I saw some movement. I jolted up and gawked at the camera view, forgetting to even blink. It was definitely a man, not a huge guy, but a man. I watched as he got out of his car and walked around the front to the other side of his vehicle, all the while looking around frantically to make sure no one could see him. He glanced at his wristwatch, yawned, looked around in all directions again and then… wait…was he unzipping his pants? He unzipped his pants and strolled over to the line of bushes to…yep…he was peeing.

            A snicker escaped and I had to remind myself that this was still a potentially dangerous person waiting to attack me on my way out to my car. When he finished doing his business, he paced the parking lot a little, finally coming closer to one of the cameras. Close enough that I recognized him. My would-be attacker was none other than Wes Yates, one of our clients at the gym. One my dad had even been letting come in to most of the closed sessions to help run drills or grapple techniques with Drew and the team. He was only eighteen and was a good church-going guy. We’d known his family for years. I exhaled my anxious breath at the relief; he was harmless. But why was he there?

            I collected my things and locked up, marching right outside to confront him. He must’ve heard me leaving the building and tried quite poorly to run and duck down behind his car. It made me shout laugh at how absurd he looked.

            “Wes?” I called out. “Wes! I know that’s you! Come out and quit being so ridiculous.”

            He slowly stood up from his crouched position, looking like he had just been busted stealing from the collection plate. He attempted to brush off the dirt and gravel from his jeans but didn’t say anything.

            “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

            “I’m so sorry, Bree. I didn’t mean to…I just…well, I had to pee and…”

            “You didn’t drive to the gym at two in the morning to pee in the parking lot,” I joked, trying to show that I wasn’t angry with him, merely curious.

            “Yeah, I guess. Trouble is, I’m not supposed to… I mean, I can’t…just, can we please just pretend that you didn’t see me? Y-you weren’t s-supposed to see me. But I had to p-pee so bad!” He fumbled and stuttered his words, terrified of someone or something bad happening to him if he fessed up.

            I became more and more intrigued with every second that passed, determined to get answers. I just had to keep him talking. “Wes, why are you here? Who sent you up here?” I wore my “I’m serious” face and tried to look rough and tough, but he wasn’t budging.

            “I’m sorry…really, I am. But I can’t tell you,” he resisted. “I won’t get my…I mean, never mind. I’ll just be on my way then.”