Page 125 of Gunner

“She is. She’s never been like this. I guess with all the changes recently she just needs something.”

Ellie looked to be on the verge of tears. I knew she was pregnant, so hormones weren’t helping.

“Ellie, this is perfectly normal. Kids choose an item, and that item becomes their security.”

“But it’s filthy.”

I looked at the bear. It had a few spots that looked like maybe marker or paint and what looked like maybe chocolate. At least I hoped it was chocolate.

Jingles, who I had learned was Ellie’s brother, swooped Tabby up in his arms. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “Leave her fucking bear alone!”

“SEBBIE!”

My hand reached out and touched Ellie’s. “Hey, let’s talk, ok?”

She shook her head as a tear slipped out, and I pulled her into my arms.

“Hey, what’s going on? This can’t be about the bear.”

Leading her over to the couch, we sat down, and I waited for Ellie to tell me what was really bothering her.

“I know she misses Rachel. She’s only three. She doesn’t really understand why her auntie went away.”

The tears came steadier now as we talked about how they were dealing with Rachel’s death and the rift between the club from the animosity between Cash and Ryder. She told me about her friend Danny, who’d had an accident and how worried she was because she hadn’t heard from him or his partner and didn’t know if he was ok.

“Ellie?”

Ellie looked up at Cash.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Sitting quietly, I waited to see if Ellie would tell Cash what was bothering her.

“I’m fine. Just pregnancy hormones.”

Cash looked at me for confirmation. I gave him a blank look, revealing nothing.

“Are you sure?” he asked her. The pained look on his face said he knew it was more than that.

Swiping her fingers under her eyes, she wiped away the tears and stood. With a smile, she looked at Cash. “Yup. I’m good.” Turning back to me, she said, “Thank you. Maybe we can talk again?”

“Anytime, Ellie.”

Ellie rushed away, probably to go find her daughter. Cash stared after her.

“She’s not good, is she?” he asked without looking my way.

“You know I can’t answer that.”

His hands fisted at his sides. “I can’t let it go.”

“We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

Cash stormed off outside, and I remained seated on the couch. For the first time in my career, I questioned my ability to help anyone. I’d taken everything that had happened last night and put it away neatly into a box. As a therapist, I learned quickly that emotions make it hard to help others. So, I locked them away.

Including my own.

---