Page 17 of Trussed In Hope
“Yes?”
“Nevermind.” I shuffled, not ready to say that last part out loud.
Amanda nodded, wrote something down in that big-ass red book on her lap, and continued. “How do you feel about that?” She clasped her hands in front of her, patiently waiting like she knew my struggles. I wouldn’t with this question.
“Like I’m supposed to do something more than just limp around here and have bad dreams. There was a reason I made it out, and they didn’t. But those shots, the damage they created, were bigger than the physical scars.” I swallowed and took a sip of my coffee while bouncing my knee. “My wife and I were completing our divorce when it happened. She didn’t even seem to care. We didn’t have any children or anything, and I know my job was tough on her, but I figured she’d care a little. It was like a stranger had taken over her.”
“What about your family?”
“I screwed up the generational legacy. I didn’t retire. An injury pulled me out of the military. It took everything I had in a split second. My career crumbled, leaving me to figure out the pieces. My family disappeared with it. My parents, my brother, my grandfather…”
“Who is Emberlynn again?” Amanda changed the subject, but she wrote more shit.What the fuck was in that big-ass book she was writing in?
“She’s… I don’t know how to describe it for sure. We’re here on a two-week-long date to figure out if we should be together. We were matched by Love Catered. It’s a dating site where they match you to find your happily ever after. I don’t think she still wants that. Plus, she wasn’t honest.”
“How so?”
“I overheard her telling a friend that she wasn’t supposed to be here long. She came to break this thing off before it even got started.”
“Is there a reason you’re eager to find someone after you’ve just gone through a divorce?” More writing.
“My marriage has been over for a while. It doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my mind about settling down and finding my love. After the accident, I’ve only wanted it more. I don’t want to waste time. And now, I feel like I am. It’s only been a few days since I met her, but I was hoping she’d be real.”
“What do you mean, real?”
“When I first saw her picture, I had this insane response to her. Like I could picture the future more closely. Vividly. And when she got here, I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. But overhearing that conversation was cold water thrown on the heat simmering between us.”
She was attractive, a pretty light brown woman with too much wisdom shining in her hazel brown eyes. As fine as she was, she had nothing on Emberlynn. I could tell that she was very put-together from how her blazer seemed to fit her perfectly. But she didn’t appear judgmental. Her question-and-answer combination dug in, but didn’t bruise. She was assertive without being offensive. The only thing that I didn’t like so far was that Big. Ass. Book.
“Ask her about it.” Amanda arched her perfectly sketched eyebrow.
This was the first time I’d stalled in the question-and-answer game we were playing.
She noticed.
“Hardison?”
“If I do, she’ll be able to deny it or lie. And what if the reason she’s leaving is because of everything happening with me?” I knew if I was struggling with it all, she had to be as well.
“Happening with you?”
“The scars, the trauma, the PTSD, the therapy sessions, my treatment plan. It could all be too much. She’s looking for somebody who has it all together, and I don’t.”
“Did she say that or imply it?” Amanda wrote something else, and I rolled my eyes at how that book was getting more play than I was.
“No, we haven’t talked about any of that. I just…”
“Want to protect yourself from being hurt?” Knowing eyes shone my way. Pen in hand, she’d stopped writing mid-pen stroke to ask that.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Listen, you can’t decide what’s happening on her side of things without discussing it. Give her a chance to show you who she is. Maybe there is more to the story. There certainly is when it comes to your personal story. Not today, but we’re definitely going to jump into more with the accident. I think you’re experiencing multiple things here. Survivor’s guilt, PTSD, anxiety, and maybe even some depression. The first thing we’re going to do is set up another appointment so we can meet again. I have an opening in four days. Same time. Are you interested?” She flipped through her pages and waited for me to respond. She was probably looking at her calendar. So damn organized.
I nodded, not sure how I felt about any of that. The possible diagnosis, discussing things with Emberlynn, and even the continued sessions seemed heavy.
“I can see you’re struggling with something. Want to tell me what it is?”
“Not really,” I admitted. It all felt like hands were wrapping around my throat, ready to strangle me.
