Page 119 of Luck Be Mine
She showed up and made it impossible for him to stay gone.
They didn’t make love which slashed their norm to pieces, but her weight on him brought back good memories. He would bank on their healing power.
Because he’d forgotten the good.
He’d ripped out her heart.
Now he had to figure out how to fix it.
§§§§§§§§§§
◊ The Therapist’s Door ◊
Dr. Ian McIvers had a corner office on the second floor of the building next door to Operations. Close, but not too close. His waiting room was like every other doctor’s office. Grays, greens, and blues in the furniture, the walls, and the carpet. The waiting room was windowless because the doctor’s actual office had a bank of windows that looked over a copse of tall, green trees.
Hunt sat in one of the chairs, silently coaching himself into calm. From an early age, he learned the hard way to self-protect. It was the only strategy he’d had to stay alive with abusive parents. Talking to a person who was secondary in his life didn’t come easily. He trusted Doogie. He trusted his team. He trusted Cait.
Hunt had sore spots inside like anyone, but he’d die to protect his. Having to open up rubbed fight or flight instincts the wrong way. SEAL training taught methods for how to overcome the instinct, and he settled back to get comfortable in his discomfort. Because his life had slopped over hard on Cait.
She slept. He held her. They ate. She wasn’t talking. She slept again. He finally got a few hours, too. He made her breakfast. She went to the hospital for her shift. She kissed himgoodbye, but the hesitation was still there. So yes, God dammit, he’d pour his guts out on the therapy room floor. Because he needed to be operational, but he also needed to fix this so he wouldn’t hurt Cait again.
Every door opened with some type of noise. Though muted, Dr. McIvers’s office door was no exception. He gave the man the once over. At six-foot three, Ivers, as the team called him, had a lean runner’s body layered with muscle, sandy blond hair cut close, and wire-rimmed glasses covering intense gray eyes. Clean-shaven, he had a face where smiling only accentuated the lines. It was a plus he was former military in a civilian contract with the Navy. He was Hunt’s age, a marathon runner, and he always kept coffee in his office. Hell, the man might be as reluctant for this session as he was.
“Lieutenant Commander? Are we staring each other down or are you coming in?” McIvers’s dry tone settled raw nerves.
He rose, adjusting the uniform he wore today. “Coming in.”
For Cait.
In the office, there was no sofa. He chose a forest-green chair with arms. Expecting Ivers to go behind his wide wood desk, the doctor surprised him and dragged a matching chair across from him. A light scent of cedar made him relax. Tricky.
“Need coffee?”
Hunt shook his head. “No. Full breakfast at home getting my wife off to shift.”
“I was surprised you got married, Hunter. I don’t get caught off guard very often.”
“Guess marriage can happen to the worst of us.”
Ivers frowned. “I’ve never thought of you as the worst of us, Commander. Where does the idea come from?”
“You can call me Hunt, Doc. I kill people for a living. Does our purpose make it noble?”
“No, Hunt, but it doesn’t make it wrong either. But we aren’t here for a philosophical discussion. How are you?”
Hunt’s gut jumped like he’d eaten live grasshoppers, but laying it on the table required honesty, and he would do this. “Not sleeping. Wife says I’m shut down. I don’t disagree. I was standing right next to Baxter when he took two in the head. Could have been me. I’m struggling with the replay.”
“You’ve lost teammates before.”
“I wasn’t married before. It was only me. I could throw myself into whatever was necessary, whether death or injury was an outcome or not.”
“It doesn’t change the job. Psych evals are never voluntary.”
“No, they aren’t.”
“Good. Let’s skip the small talk and get to it.”
Hunt cleared his throat, his purpose clear. Ivers may be judging his operational fitness, but he needed the man for his marriage. “I am here because I need to be.”
