Page 22 of The Darkness Within

“But you didn’t say anything.”

Trust is imperative in any relationship, whether it’s a friendship, a working relationship, or a doctor-patient relationship, and no matter what kind of relationship Nash and I develop, I want it to begin with the truth. I want him to trust me.

“I didn’t because I didn’t know how to bring it up.” Nash looks away first, his gaze settling on that string wrapped around his finger. “Nash? It doesn’t matter if I recognized you or not. It doesn’t matter if I know your story before you tell it to me. I was honored and pleased to meet you, and I hope that someday you’ll tell me your story in your own words. I hope that someday we can be friends.”

It feels like minutes pass instead of just seconds before he lifts his eyes to mine. “I thought we already are.”

“We are,” I breathe in a whisper. “You can trust me.”

“How did you do that? How did you pull me out of it like that?”

“I’ve learned tools for coping with PTS. If you come and see me one-on-one in my office, I can teach you how to do it.”

“Can I meet with her?”

A heavy breath passes my lips. “Not today. I think she’s been through enough today, and so have you. This isn’t the time or the place.” Somewhere behind me, a baby cries, a cell phone rings, and someone drops a dish and everyone claps, further proving my point. “Someday, when you’re both ready, we’ll sit down together in a quiet place, and I’ll mediate.”

“Does she even want to meet with me? Has she asked about me?” His heartbeat has slowed to a normal rhythm, and I drop my hand from his chest, instantly missing the warmth from his body.

“She has,” I admit, “but I think Violet is afraid of learning what she doesn’t yet know. I think she’s also afraid of bringing you more pain. I don’t think you have the tools yet that you need in order to cope with that kind of pain, which is why I really want you to come and see me.”

When Nash nods, I add, “I’d really like to take you home, but first I’d like to get you something to eat.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I know. I knew you’d say that. But you can’t take those pills you’re taking on an empty stomach. They’ll cause an ulcer, eventually. Let me get you a plate.”

“Don’t leave,” he pleads, grabbing my hands.

“Okay, then why don’t you come with me and help me pick out what you like?”

I can tell it’s the last thing he wants to do, but he doesn’t argue, and he lets me pull him to his feet. The buffet line is full, and a couple of kids dart past us, playing a game of chase, crashing into Nash’s bad leg. His knee buckles, and he almost loses his balance until I catch him in my arms.

“Can we just leave? I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Yeah, just let me take care of Violet.”

His expression transforms from physical pain to emotional, as if he’s forgotten about her in the ten seconds it took us to stand in line. His head is truly a mess.

Nash doesn’t wait around. I catch up with him in the parking lot, limping along at a snail’s pace. He follows me to my car.

“In the morning, Mandy can drive you to work, and you can take your car home.”

“I’m off tomorrow. It can wait until Monday.” Whatever that string is tied around his finger, it holds all of his attention. “Is Mrs. G going to be okay?”

“Yes. One of the wives is taking her home shortly. She’ll be fine.”

Nash stares absently out the window. “I’m worried about her. She must be in so much pain.”

What about your pain? “I think she feels the same way about you, Nash.”

Everything about Nash brings out the worst of my caretaking tendencies and my savior complex. I’ve talked many patients through their flashbacks, but I’ve never hugged any of them, never felt that stirring in my gut that I felt today when his eyes dropped to my lips. I’ve never breathed in someone’s scent and wanted more.

Nashville Sommers is dangerous for me.

If I’m not careful, he could be at the bottom of my next bottle. I know better than to think I can save anyone. I can’t. I’m powerless over other people. They have to save themselves. All I can do is plant the seed and be there when they hit rock bottom.

He needs to eat, and he needs to rest.

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