Page 16 of Rescuing Ryder

“It doesn’t work like that.” She sat down at her desk and pulled his folder from the pile.

“Considering how you massacred the poor thing, of course, it doesn’t work; you don’t even have the lightbulb screwed in,” he teased her as he turned the item around and shook his head again.

“I’m not discussing the lamp,” she took on a professional tone.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t this where you’ll try to convince me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“You’re not dying, Ryder. With hard work, I hope you’ll find peace and acceptance. You have a whole life to look forward to and I hope you’ll find something which makes you happy.” She pulled out a list and placed it to the side. “First, I want to address the medications. If I prescribe them, will you take them?”

He removed the lampshade and almost laughed out loud at the crooked screws. Taking the tool in hand, he began to remove them. “The ones they swore worked made me foggy as hell.”

“I understand the feeling. What about sleeping? How many times do you wake at night?” She scribbled a note next to his file.

“Sleeping seems overrated,” he snarked at her as he unscrewed the lightbulb.

“Ryder.” Dr. Meyers warned.

“I don’t sleep much. Maybe a couple of hours straight before the nightmares start.”

“Is it the same nightmare, or does it change?” She placed her elbows on her desk and watched him, genuinely interested in what he said.

“I don’t know. I don’t stay asleep long enough to find out.” The entire lamp fixture leaned to the side and he sat mystified at how a woman with a PhD hanging on her wall managed to screw up something so simple.

“What if I gave you something to take in the morning that won’t cause the foggy feeling and something to help you sleep? Can you try them for two weeks? It’ll take them time to get into your system.”

“I don’t like the drugged feeling. If you’re positive I won’t walk around like a zombie, I’ll agree to your two weeks,” he groused as he held the screws in his mouth and shook his head at the disaster before him.

“What kind of therapy have you tried in the past for the nightmares?” she asked as she made a note on her pad.

He glanced at her as he removed the screw from his mouth and put it into the fixture. “I’m not big on talking, Doc. In fact, I detest this whole thing the most. I’ve heard everything. You’ll throw more meds at me when you don’t see a change. You want an hour daily? Fine. I’ll give you the time, but don’t expect me to come in here and get all touchy and feely.”

She cocked her head. “Then why bother? If you can’t find a way to heal, you can’t move forward.”

“Let me ask you a question. When they send us over to one of those countries, do you think they give us time to reach inside ourselves and ask if we’re fine with taking lives? We realize some of these people are brainwashed or their family’s held hostage if they don’t comply, but we’re required to eliminate the threats.We know the risks. I knew what I signed up for. I don’t need someone to tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“What do you need?” she asked him quietly.

“I don’t know. And no amount of therapy will help me,” he raised his voice as he slammed down the lamp, now pieced back together the correct way.

“Oh.” She reached across the desk and scooted it closer. “I love it. Thank you. It’s going home with me.” She smiled at him as if he hadn’t made the outburst. She sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re required to give me an hour a day. Do you want to make a deal?”

“What?” he asked irritably.

“I want two hours a day. We won’t sit in my office and diagnose the hell out of you. You’ll help me move and assemble all my things that may or may not be missing parts or have a few extra pieces.”

He stared at her as if she lost her ever-loving mind. “Are you serious? I don’t have to talk. Just assemble shit?”

She held up her hand. “We’ll talk. I promise no pestering and you can refuse to answer.”

He closed his eyes and considered whether she planned to manipulate him. The idea of doing something instead of sitting across from a head shrink appealed to him.

“Fine. Two hours daily. I’m assuming you take the weekends off?”

“Does your mental health take time off? We live in a small town and I own my very first home. I have tons of projects. I’ll ask Doc to let you borrow one of the team’s extra vehicles to commute from the mountain to town. It’ll make it easier if we decide to meet in town. Two hours daily, and I’ll even let you select the time.”

He regarded her shrewdly. Thinking to outsmart her, he threw out a time. “How about 0400?”

“Perfect. I always run in the morning. Bring a pair of running shoes, and if you don’t have sweats, ask Whiskey to take you into town or borrow a pair from the team. Thank you for fixing my lamp. I’ll see you tomorrow. In case you didn’t notice, our time’s up.” She walked to the door and held it open.

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