Page 80 of Gunner

“Have you told Jack that?”

“Fuck no.” He looked at me with shame. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You are allowed to express yourself in the way you feel most comfortable. A cuss word won’t hurt my delicate sensibilities.” My response elicited a slight smile from Derek. That phrase usually cut the tension with men whenever they felt like they had to be someone they weren’t for my benefit. Pretending to be someone you weren’t negated the point of therapy.

There were strong physical similarities between Jack and Derek. They both had the brightest blue eyes and dark, almost black hair. They were built similarly, though Jack was slightly larger. There was no mistaking they were brothers.

But that was where the similarities ended.

I didn’t know Jack well, but I had spent the past week getting to know many of the brothers. Jack was light and laughter, where Derek was dark and brooding.

“Why haven’t you told him?”

“I can’t.” He shook his head. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and held his head in hands, then continued, “He would never forgive me for causing Sam harm in order to meet him.”

“Would you want to cause Sam harm so you could meet him?”

He snapped his head up, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Fuck no.”

“But you just said you would do it all again if it meant it was the only way to meet Jack.”

“I didn’t mean I wanted to hurt her. Fuck, I didn’t want to hurt her the first time. I just lost control. I meant...” He shook his head, his eyes downcast.

“What, Derek? What did you mean?” I pressed when his sentence trailed off.

He stood from the bed and paced the room. When I sat on the dresser, it lifted me higher than where Derek sat on the bed, putting me subconsciously at a level of authority over him. Whereas, in an office, we would start off with an even footing.

Now that he was standing and pacing the room, we were more at an even keel. Which if I was perfectly honest with myself, I preferred over feeling at a disadvantage in a chair, lower than him once he stood. Most patients stood and paced during their sessions—it was something I’d come to expect.

“I meant thatIwould go through it again.” He slapped his chest as he said I. “I would take all the pain from our father, the shame of walking away from my daughter, and the guilt of what I did to Sam. I would take it all on again if it meant I got to meet him. I would even let him beat the shit out of me again.”

“You didn’t tell me about that part.”

He grinned and when he did, his face transformed from the angry, scared man he was when he walked in here to an almost boyish look.

“Yea, he came to my hotel room when I refused to sign the divorce papers and kicked the shit out of me. I was so fucking proud of him.”

“Why did that make you proud?”

He looked around the room, and I knew he was thinking about his answer.

“Because it meant he wasn’t like him. He had been spared, like our mom wanted. I forgave her then. Forgave her for saving him and not me.”

“How did you know he wasn’t like your father? Wasn’t he doing the same thing? Taking his anger out on you with his fists?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t there for himself. He was there for Sam. He loves her so fucking much it hurts.” Derek ran his hands through his hair, pulling on the strands.

“Why does it hurt, Derek?”

“Because I should have loved her like that.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No. I never should have touched her. She was too fucking young.”

“How young?”

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