Page 71 of Gunner

Freeway sneered at the sheriff, still pissed Declan put him away for more than a decade. But Tucker, who loved Dec almost as much as he did Maureen, growled low, and Freeway quickly left the room.

Aspen and Amber entered the room, and everyone got quiet. Aspen was visibly uncomfortable being the center of attention. Haizley stood and walked over to her. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw Aspen nod and then follow Haizley to an empty table, where they sat and waited while Amber walked into the kitchen.

Tucker stood from his place at Maureen’s feet and walked over to Aspen. He sat at her feet, laying his head on her lap. I watched as she absentmindedly petted the dog’s head. The longer he sat there, the more her shoulders loosened.

Brothers tried to sit at the table, and Tucker growled at each one, letting them know they weren’t welcome. Banshee moved toward the table, and I wondered how many brothers it would take before they realized the dog wouldn’t let anyone near her.

When he sat down next to Aspen, the dog’s ears perked up and then settled. That was interesting. He engaged her and Haizley in conversation, and Amber dropped off a plate of food, joining them.

“Don’t you need to get to work?”

“Yea.”

“Then go. She’s safe here. They both are.”

“It’s not just about her being safe.”

“I know, brother.” King sat down next to me, and I took a chance one more time.

“You deserve to be happy, Prez.”

“It’s not about what I deserve.”

Standing from my seat, I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed before I walked toward the front door.

Before I left, I turned back to look at her one more time. When I caught her eyes locked on me, I winked. Her eyes dropped, and her cheeks turned pink. Every time I had to walk away from Haizley, a little piece of my soul stayed with her.

Chapter Nineteen

Haizley

Just over a week had passed since Aspen and I had moved into the clubhouse. During that time, she and I met twice daily for our one-hour sessions. One in the morning, and one in the evening. At midday we also had a one-hour session that included Amber.

It was helpful for Aspen to hear Amber’s story. Learning what Amber had been through helped to put her own trauma in perspective. Aspen needed to understand that Amber’s story wasn’t any more important or traumatizing than what Aspen had been through. Only that they each had been assaulted.

She needed to understand it wasn’t a competition, nor should she use someone else’s recovery journey as a ruler to measure where she should be in her own healing. The purpose was to show her she wasn’t alone.

This week I was hoping to cut down to one session a day with Aspen, combined with the session with the two of them. Cutting down from three sessions to two was a big step; however, I was optimistic that by the end of this week we would be able to drop to three or four days a week rather than every day.

She was comfortable with most of the brothers. Maureen came by the clubhouse every morning for breakfast. With her came Tucker, who sat by Aspen’s feet. The dog decided which brother was deemed acceptable that day to sit with us.

Tucker was smart, and his presence made me consider getting a dog. If I started working with patients in person, a dog like him could prove really helpful.

“Morning, Tucker. How’s my boy?” Jack kneeled on the floor, rubbing the dog’s head. He seemed to be the only one that Tucker always let sit with us. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he always said hi to Tucker before addressing us.

“Morning, ladies.”

“Morning, Jack.”

“Morning,” Aspen greeted quietly. That was a huge improvement. After almost two weeks, she was finally interacting with the men that sat with us. The table had become a safe place for her. A comfort that allowed her to feel a little bit normal. Her words not mine. In my opinion, normal was a stupid term when referring to people.

Normal was subjective. To someone living in the United States, normal was living in a house with electricity and running water. To someone living in a remote part of Burundi Africa, electricity was not normal.

As therapists, we tried not to use words like normal. We also tried not to correct our patients if they used those same words. Correcting their word choice would be taking away a piece of their power, which would likely set them back.

Jack smiled at Aspen, then turned back to me. “Haizley, I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”

“Of course. Would you like to speak in private?” I moved to stand, but Jack placed his hand over mine.

---