Page 68 of Secret Twins for My Ex's SEAL Best Friend

My client for this session was already seated with Jeremy when I entered the room, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn’t look up when I greeted him, his focus on the tightly clasped hands resting on his lap.

“Hi, Matt,” I said gently, sliding into the chair across from him. “It’s good to see you again.” Jeremy sat in a chair next to mine, looking at me, letting me guide the session.

“Hey,” Matt mumbled, his voice low. He glanced up briefly, but his blue eyes darted away before they could meet mine.

“How’s your week been?” I asked, keeping my tone light but open.

He shrugged, his fingers twisting together. “Same as always.”

I nodded, giving him space to fill the silence if he wanted. When he didn’t, I pressed a little further. “And when you say the same, you mean…”

Matt shifted in his chair. His jaw tightened. “The dreams, obviously!” he snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. I didn’t react, holding his gaze patiently. He exhaled sharply. “Sorry. They’re worse.”

“What’s happening in the dreams?” I asked carefully, leaning forward just a bit.

Matt’s hands clenched into fists, his voice low and shaky. “It’s not just dreams. It’s the smells, sounds, the way light hits…like I’m right back there. People burning. Rotting flesh. Darkness so heavy it’s real. And the crying—always crying. I wake up, and I can’t breathe.”

My chest tightened with sympathy. “That sounds overwhelming,” I said softly. “It must feel exhausting.”

Matt’s gaze flicked to mine, and his voice dropped. “I just want it to stop. I can’t keep living like this.”

I glanced at Jeremy, who nodded slightly from his seat, but Matt’s words made my stomach twist. Saying he couldn’t live like this was serious—an indicator of suicidal ideation. “Matt,” I began gently, “when you say you can’t live like this, do you have a plan?”

His eyes snapped up, sharp and defensive. “If I didn’t kill myself when I was there, I’m not going to now. Jesus. Is there anywhere I can tell the truth without someone freaking out?”

“You can always tell me the truth, Matt,” I assured him, my voice steady. “But if I don’t take what you say seriously, I’m not a safe person for you to talk to, am I?”

He stared at me, his face softening slightly. “You think I can get better? That this…thisisn’t all there is?”

“I do,” I said firmly. “This isn’t all there is for you, Matt. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s possible. And you’re not alone.”

Matt nodded slowly, some of the weight lifting off his shoulders as we worked through some grounding exercises together. But as I guided him, I couldn’t stop thinking about Robert.

Matt’s struggles reminded me of him—how his face had gone pale at a backfiring car, how he’d confessed to handcuffing himself to the bed so he wouldn’t hurt Corinne in his sleep. The war still lived inside Robert just like it lived inside Matt. And yet, Robert had kept going. Ten years, still fighting the same battles. Was I lying to Matt, telling him it would get better? Or would it always just…ebb and flow like the tide?

I pushed the thought aside, focusing back on Matt. He needed my full attention right now, and I owed him that. When our session ended, I walked him to the door and gave him an encouraging smile. “Same time next week?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little stronger now. “Thanks, Delia.” He turned to Jeremy and said, “Hey, she’d better graduate.”

Jeremy gave a thin smile, but I could feel the tension lingering between us since the library before Thanksgiving. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to get back together or if he just wanted to keep me hanging on, but whatever his goal was, it wasn’t working.

As Matt left, I gathered my notes, my mind still lingering on the session. Jeremy shut off the camera and said, “You did good. That was a good session.”

“Thanks, Jeremy,” I said, holding my notes against my chest, but the tension in my body didn’t let up.

“I mean, it was bullshit, but it was good.”

My smile faltered, and I felt a rush of cold go through my body. “What?”

He started to unwind the camera from the tripod, not looking at me as he said, casually, “We both know these guys don’t get better, Delia. Look at Robert—he hears a car backfire, and he’s a total mess. And he’s in his forties. We’re just keeping them alive, that’s all.”

Clearing my throat, I asked, “Why would you say that? Do you really believe that?”

Jeremy fiddled with putting his hand through the strap on the camcorder. When he met my eyes, he said, “I’m kidding. Jesus, Delia. Of course, I don’t.”

I gave a fake laugh and muttered uneasily, “Oh, sure. Of course. Sorry, I guess I’m just…somewhere else today.”

“I noticed you seemed distracted. I hope Matt didn’t notice. It can trigger Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria in these guys when they think people don’t care.”

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