Page 31 of Unlocked

“Bo?” I question, but he still doesn’t look at me. “What kind of injuries do you think I need treating?” I wait. We keep walking through the park. He doesn’t answer so I come to a halt, pulling on his hand until he turns to face me. “I told you yesterday; I’m fine. What are you worried about?” His jaw ticks in that way it does when he’s upset about something. I wait him out, knowing that eventually he’ll answer.

“I didn’t know what all they might have done to you,” Bo rushes out. His words running together. “I don’t expect you to want to talk to me about what happened, but you need to talk to someone. Someone who can help you deal with all this.”

“I already have someone,” I retort, trying not to be angry with him. He looks troubled for a moment, so I hurry to explain. “I have a therapist I’ve been seeing for years.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Would they be able to see you right away?” he queries. I shrug. It’s been a long while since I’ve had a relapse bad enough to warrant an emergency visit. “We can call and get you an appointment with your regular therapist, but let’s keep the appointment tomorrow. This therapist specializes in helping victims of traumas. I really feel like you need someone who has this unique skill set.” I turn back to the trail we are on and begin to walk again. He joins me, still holding my hand. I want to jerk mine away, but I can’t seem to muster the strength to even try.

Chapter 18

Bo

Shelby isn’t reacting the way I’ve feared she would. I expect her to rage at me or collapse in a puddle of tears, but she’s a picture of calm acceptance. I’m not sure I like this any better than I would the other two scenarios. I’m a little surprised she has a therapist already, but after she disclosed about the abuse at her father’s hands, it makes sense. I know it’s common for people to seek treatment from them for a variety of reasons. Her next words give me pause.

“My therapist is specialized in trauma, too,” she says so softly I’m not entirely certain that’s what she said. I turn to look at her, but she’s not looking at me. She’s staring ahead as if the trail is the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. I wait for more, but it seems she and I both are reluctant to show our hand where all this is concerned. We walk along until the trees thin to reveal a small pond. I lead her to a covered swing that sits along the bank. We sit, swaying back and forth. I keep a firm grip on her hand. I tell myself it’s to be a comfort to her or to keep her from running away from me, but the reality is I need the contact as much as she does. It keeps the mind-numbing rage and panic, which I’ve felt since I looked out over Jay’s back parking lot and knew my sweet girl was in the hands of monsters, at bay.

“You have a therapist?” I question to be sure I heard her correctly. She nods still not looking at me. “Who specializes in trauma?” Another nod followed by a loud exhale. I wait, giving her time to give me more, which to my dismay, because I’ve always had to drag answers out of her, she does without me having to beg for details.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist for over ten years,” she admits. Her head dropping down to stare at our joined hands. I remain perfectly still. She is like a wild animal that will spook at the slightest of movement. “I…I didn’t have the best of childhoods, like I told you before. When I left home at eighteen to live with my aunt, she could see I was having a hard time dealing with my…issues. So she got me in to see a psychiatrist.” I have the feeling there is a lot more to her story than she’s sharing, but I’m not going to push her to tell me. Not yet, anyway. I’m pleased she’s revealed this much. I have to believe she will tell me the rest when she’s ready. I can wait.

I lift our joined hands to kiss the back of hers. She holds so still I’m worried I’ve spooked her. Slowly I lower our hands back down to rest on my thigh. I wait for her to bolt, but she just stares out over the water. I follow her gaze, enjoying the way the small ripples from fish and frogs, dance over the surface of the pond.

“Did you get Marley away, too?” Shelby turns to me. I nod. I can see relief flooding her. “She’s okay, isn’t she? They separated us when they put the bomb on me. I was hoping she’d managed to get away while they were taking me to set it off.” I debate on just how much to tell her, not wanting her to have to relive the experience, but I won’t lie to my girl.

“Marley was under another boardwalk just north of your location,” I say after a bit. Her mouth pinches in a tight line.

“They put a bomb on her, too?” Shelby’s bottom lip quivers as she waits for my answer. Her blue eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Didn’t they?”

“Yes,” I answer truthfully. “Dalton removed her device before he removed the one on you.” Her eyes drop to our hands again as she seems to think about what I’ve said.

“I remember him saying something about them both being alike, but I was so thankful he was disarming it, I didn’t really understand what he meant.” Her eyes lift, and she watches the water for a while longer before continuing, “I was in survival mode at that point. I wasn’t really in the present. Parts are still very fuzzy.”

“I understand, sweet girl,” I assure her. In times of great stress, you learn to separate things into manageable chunks. I did it many times when on a mission. I don’t know who helped her perfect it, but I’m glad she was able to cope until I got her out. “I’m here to listen any time you want to talk about what happened. I understand if you aren’t ready, yet, but just know, I’m here when you are.” Shelby stiffens next to me. Her hand flinching in mine. I wait to see what her reaction is going to be. I may have just fucked up, but I want her to know that I’ll do whatever is needed to help her heal and get past this trauma.

“You said appointments,” Shelby turns to face me. “What’s the other one for?” I look out over the water not wanting to answer this one. I take my time trying to formulate the right words to say in an effort to make this easier for her, but I’m not sure there is an easy way to say it. How do I tell her it is with a nurse who specializes in sexual assault? If they did hurt her in that way, we need to know, but at the same time, I’m not sure I can handle it if they did. I scoff at myself. She had to handle it. She’s sitting right here next to me, and I’m worried how I’m going to feel about it? I need my ass kicked.

I take a deep breath, holding it before exhaling slowly. I can do this. “Yes, I made you an appointment with a SANE nurse.” I rush the words out. Shelby’s head whips in my direction.

“You already have me an appointment with a therapist. You think I’m so crazy I need a mental health nurse, too?” Shelby’s voice holds a hard edge with a bite of anger. I’m a fucking coward, so I don’t turn to look at her.

“No, sweet girl.” I swallow hard before I continue. “A SANE nurse is one who is specializes in…sexual assault.” An eerie silence descends. Even the birds have ceased their relentless chirping as if they know I just made a colossal mistake. Shelby shocks the shit out of me when she begins to laugh. I mean really almost hysterically laughing. I glance over at her to see tears streaming from her eyes as she full on belly laughs. Maybe she does need more than one therapy appointment? She’s completely lost it. “Shelby, sweetheart.” I attempt to put my arms around her to hold her together, but she jumps up, knocking my arms away. She takes a few steps toward the pond, keeping her back to me.

“Bo, I don’t need to see this SANE nurse.” She says the words with disgust. “It didn’t happen.” She gives a humorless chuckle. “Things like that don’t happen to women like me. Thank God! That is one thing where being fat and ugly has an advantage.” I’m on my feet, gripping her shoulders, spinning her to face me before I’ve had time to think better of it.

“Don’t ever say that about yourself!” I roar menacingly. My anger flaring at the derision in her voice directed at herself. Shelby’s eyes widen in fear. Her shoulders hunch in a protective stance. I don’t want to scare her, but I need her to stop seeing herself negatively. “You are gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise…not even yourself.” She stares up at me, astounded by my words. Fresh tears fall, and she looks away, but I saw the hurt in her eyes and a brief flash of hope as I said the truth toher. She wants to believe me, but for some reason, she won’t allow herself to consider I’m being truthful.

“I want to go home,” she says softly, tears still falling. I pull her to me briefly, needing the contact. She is rigid in my arms as I hold her. I turn her, keeping my arm around her and lead her back toward my home. To my delight, she doesn’t pull away from me. We walk in silence the entire way, both lost in our own thoughts.How can I help her?She’s been through so much. Am I enough to help her get past all of this? I know the answer to that is no. She’s going to need so much more, but I’m more than willing to do whatever is needed to make her whole, again. To make her see the woman I see when I hold her.

We reach my place, and I unlock the door. I lead her inside. I relock the door and reset the alarm system. She watches my every move. I make sure to keep the code out of her line of sight. I don’t want her to disarm it so she can run from me without my knowing. When I’m finished, I turn back to her to find she’s staring at me. I can’t get a read on her expression. “What?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks. “This seems like a nice, quiet neighborhood. I didn’t think you’d let us stroll around an unsafe place so blatantly.”

“It’s a very safe neighborhood,” I tell her. “I work for a security company, Shelby. I don’t take your safety lightly. While I don’t expect a home invasion, I’m prepared to at least have a warning if someone shows up with ill intent.” Her eyes narrow as if she doesn’t completely believe me.

“I said I want to go home,” she states. Her throat bobs nervously as she swallows. “Back to Maryland.” My heart stops beating for a full minute, I’m certain, before it jumps back into a rapid irregular rhythm.

“No.” I reply, firmly. Her eyes remain narrowed. Her lips pinching tightly. She’s about to explode, but I need to defuse thisbefore it escalates any further. “The FBI wants to interview you. I’ve put them off saying you need time to recover, but they won’t allow you to leave the area. Not until they’ve concluded their investigation.”

“Fine!” she pouts. “Take me to them. I’m ready to get this over with.” She crosses her arms over her chest, defiant as ever.

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