Saved by a Warrior Dog

by Cassidy Wells

  A police car cruised by, circled the park, and then pulled up to the curb nearby. A familiar figure got out.

  “Hey, Sheriff Daniels,” he called.

  The sheriff held out his hand. “Michelini.”

  Rob grabbed it and shook. “Any luck figuring out who burned down the apartment?”

  “Nick told me about your run-ins with Kent Barnard. I went to talk with him, and although he denied it, he had nothing good to say about you and your dog. He blames you for interfering with his relationship with his ex-wife and kid. You’d better watch your back. You need to make sure he doesn’t know where you’ve moved, although it’s a tall order to keep that a secret in a small town like Ridgeview.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to put MJ at any risk. Is his denial enough to get him off the hook?”

  “Nah. We’ll watch him. Let me know directly if you see anything that concerns you, and especially if you have another run-in with him.” He rattled off his cell number, and Rob grabbed the phone from his pocket and recorded it.

  “Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll let you know.”

  The man patted Maverick on the head, eliciting a doggy smile. Rob watched as he went back to the squad car and drove away.

  Hell. Maybe he should find another place to stay. He didn’t want to put MJ in danger, but he also didn’t want to leave. Staying there had brought them closer, and he wanted that. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted.

  “C’mon, boy. I need to get an appointment with a shrink.” Yeah, he needed to have his head examined.

  ***

  MJ drove toward Mom’s, trying not to feel hurt by Rob’s refusal to join their dinner. She wanted her family to accept him. If they dated and had a relationship, she wanted him to fit in. Didn’t he feel comfortable around her brother and mom? She thought they liked him. Nick had thawed, and Mom was supportive, as always.

  She put her feelings aside and wondered how to explain why Rob hadn’t come with her. As she let herself in through the back door, she forced a smile.

  “Hi, Mom! What’s for dinner?” she called as soon as she entered the kitchen.

  Mom stood over the stove, tongs in hand, and chicken frying in the skillet. “Guess.” She laughed.

  “Oh, fabulous. We haven’t had fried chicken for a long time. Want me to set the table?”

  “No, I’ve already done it. Sit down and keep me company while I cook.” Mom shot a look in her direction. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

  Jeez, she should have known. The woman had an uncanny ability to read her kids’ emotions.

  “Where’s Rob? I thought he’d be with you. Did you have a fight?” Mom wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Not really. I invited him, but he didn’t want to interfere with our family time. A lame excuse, I thought.”

  “Now, MJ, remember, he’s not used to being around families. His own family is gone and being around ours may be a painful reminder.”

  Mom always gave people the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe. It hurt my feelings, though.”

  “Honey, Rob is a grown man, and he may need some space now and then.”

  “I know, but I’m worried he’s pulling away from me. We’ve been getting closer since he and Maverick moved in. We’ve decided to date.” Should she tell Mom the rest? She took a deep breath, and dove in. “Last night I found out he has PTSD. He had a nightmare, and when I tried to wake him up…well, he sort of reacted and pinned me down before he was awake.”

  “Oh, honey. That must have been scary. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “Not really. I got mad at him for not telling me, though.” No way was she admitting they’d slept in the same bed. Mom wasn’t likely to take that news very well.

  “Sounds like Rob has to work out some things. You need to give him the space to do that, MJ.”

  The back door slammed. Nick and his fiancée Tess had arrived.

  “Hi, all,” said Tess as she entered the kitchen arm in arm with Nick.

  “Oh, man, Mom, you read my mind. I was hoping for fried chicken!”

  “Go wash up, all of you. As soon as I take the biscuits out of the oven, we’ll eat.”

  MJ followed Nick and Tess out of the room and into the bathroom where they took turns washing at the sink.

  “Where’s Rob?” Nick asked.

  “He had other stuff to do tonight. He’s planning to work with me and Maverick when I get home.”

  “How’s that coming?”

  “Really well. Rob’s a great teacher and gives me a lot of feedback and support. He can tell I’m getting more confident.”

  “Does that mean he’ll be leaving soon?” Her brother gave her an expectant look, as if he couldn’t wait.

  “I don’t know. We talked about dating.”

  Tess squealed. “Seriously? How neat!” She engulfed MJ in a big hug.

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and MJ started to feel better. “I don’t know where it will lead, but I like him, and he seems to like me. We’ll see where a relationship can go.”

  “Well, kiddo, I’m happy you’re finally climbing out of your funk. Trevor was a good guy, but I hated to see you put your life on hold,” Nick told her.

  A wave of grief hit as it always did when she thought about Trevor. “He was Rob’s best friend, so he’s grieving too. It makes it okay for us to remember Trevor and talk about him.”

  “Well, I wish you the best, MJ. You’re my sister and I want you to be happy.”

  Mom’s voice interrupted, calling them to dinner.

  “Thanks, Nick,” MJ said as they walked into the dining room. Her family was the best.

  After stuffing herself with Mom’s wonderful cooking, she gave everybody a hug, and drove home, ready to see Rob and Maverick. Her heart leaped as she pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. She’d do whatever it took to make things right.

  As she got out of the car, the back door opened, and Maverick ran to meet her. “Hi, Maverick.” She dropped to her knees and hugged him, and he responded with a cheek lick. She heard a laugh and looked up. Rob. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them.

  “I’m sorry. I was a jerk this morning,” he said into her ear. “I was embarrassed about last night. I made an appointment with the VA clinic. I hope they’ll be able to help me with the PTSD. I couldn’t get an appointment for two weeks, though.”

  “Oh, Rob. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. It hurt my feelings that you didn’t want to come be with my family. I thought maybe you didn’t like them.”

  “No, it’s not that. I didn’t want them to judge me because of the PTSD.”

  They spent moments talking in each other’s arms, and then Rob lowered his mouth to her lips and kissed her silly. When they finally broke apart, Maverick had gone into the yard, sniffing around a bush along the back fence.

  “We’d better get to work,” she reminded Rob, although she didn’t really want him to stop kissing her.

  “Damn it. You’re right.”

  She laughed and called Maverick over. He seemed reluctant to stop his sniff-fest, but when she called again with iron in her voice, he came to her, and she attached his leash.

  “This time, let’s go around the block in the other direction. You want him to be flexible and listen to your directions as to where you want him to go. We’ll go around the block and then, when we’re about three-fourths of the way around, we’ll turn around. I also want you to use ‘stay’ and ‘sit.’ I’ll walk about ten feet behind you. I want you to be on your own more.”

  She did as he’d suggested, and she and Maverick made several trips around the block going different directions, without Rob being on their heels. It pleased her that he had confidence in her ability to manage the military canine. They’d come a long way in a relatively short period. He brought out her strength and encouraged her determination. Now she planned to use that determination in their relationship. She wanted to see where it could go.

  Chapter Seventeen

 
They’d settled into a routine for the past two weeks. Coming clean about his PTSD had opened the floodgates to nightmares nearly every other night. Rob didn’t know which was worse: nightmares or flashbacks. He seldom had flashbacks unless a truck backfired, or he heard gunshots. Both were frequent in this part of rural Tennessee as old cars and trucks seemed to be around every corner, and hunting or homemade shooting ranges contributed to the sound of gunfire.

  Rob’s nightmares added the element of creative horror as he dreamed of his buddies blown up and falling to the earth in a million little pieces, children getting murdered by their own parents when the suicide bomb strapped onto a mother’s belly detonated early, and all other manner of man’s inhumanity to humans and animals played through his dreamscape like a horror movie.

  Maverick slept in MJ’s room because, apparently, his nightmares disrupted the poor dog’s sleep or triggered Maverick’s own PTSD. How did MJ manage living with two emotionally crippled former warriors? At least she’d stumbled on a system for waking him up without putting herself at risk.

  He’d woken more than once to the light in the guest room flashing on and the sound of her voice from the bedroom door, ordering him to wake up. Occasionally, Maverick added his barking to the chaos that swirled around him as he woke from the depths of horror-filled images.

  Today was the day he’d tackle his demons with the help of a psychologist from the VA’s outpatient clinic. As much as he dreaded having to open up all the things he’d bottled up for years, it was time. Overdue. His relationship with MJ was important. If not for her, he’d probably crawl off to a cabin in the woods and spend the rest of his life avoiding people. No, she was worth it.

  She’d kissed him tenderly as she went off to work a few hours ago, asking him for the twentieth time if she should take the day off and drive him to his appointment. He’d refused. No telling what he’d be like afterward. Maybe better, but he couldn’t expect miracles after a single hour. He’d been dealing with this shit too long. Instead, he’d warned her he might need some time alone. Hell, he might need to spend the night away.

  Even though his imagination conjured images that scared him, he had to do this. He was a Marine, damn it. He’d do whatever it took. He always did.

  He let Maverick out into the yard one last time and refilled his bowls with kibble and water.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours, boy. Be good. Don’t answer the phone.”

  Maverick looked at Rob with his intelligent, brown eyes as if the dog knew he’d forced the humor.

  “Wish me luck.” God willing, it would be worth it.

  His cell dinged with an incoming text. He looked at it as he walked toward his truck. It was from MJ.

  Good luck. Thinking of U.

  He smiled. She was a special woman. One he’d fight demons to win.

  Forty-five minutes later, he sat in a crowded waiting room, filling out paperwork. He had just finished the details of his military service when the receptionist called his name.

  “Give the clipboard to the doctor,” she told him as she handed him off to a young man who escorted him down a long hallway and into a small office.

  “Take a seat,” he instructed. “The doctor will be in soon.”

  Hurry up and wait. Some things about the military never changed. Ignoring the butterflies that dive-bombed his stomach, he looked around the room. He sat in a chair next to a large L-shaped, cherry desk. Behind it were bookcases from floor to ceiling, filled with books. He leaned forward to sneak a peek at the titles. War and Trauma. Modern Warfare and Its Effects on Troops. Hypnotherapy Scripts for Trauma. Yep. Looked like he was in the right place.

  The door opened and a thirty-something Hispanic male burst through it. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dr. Rodriguez.” He stopped a few feet away and stretched out his hand.

  Rob reached and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. I’m Rob Michelini.” He remembered the clipboard clutched in his left hand and handed it to the man. “I suppose you want this.”

  The doctor gave him a warm smile. “Thanks.” He glanced at the form for a few moments. Not enough to read it thoroughly.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? That’ll likely be more helpful than trying to read where you’ve been deployed and guess how it has affected you.”

  Rob swallowed and dived in head-first. He described the incident that had killed his best friend, how he’d tried to cope, but lost his edge, making him vulnerable. How his lack of attention had led to his own wounds and eventual discharge.

  “Let’s back up a bit. When did you join up?”

  “After high school. I didn’t know what I wanted to do and thought the armed services would give me a career and let me serve my country. I loved the Marines. Loved the comradery. The people I met were the best, and we worked hard to keep ourselves at peak readiness. After my best friend was killed, I felt overwhelmed by all the waste. The lives destroyed. Not just the loss of life, but also the destruction to those who loved them. I felt disillusioned. There was so much—I don’t know—butchery, I guess you could call it. Our troops, civilians, the Taliban, children. Even the loss of whole villages. Their homes and businesses were destroyed, their livestock killed. Some places, there wasn’t much left. I couldn’t figure out what could justify the enormous loss.” He fell silent, wondering if he’d said too much. He didn’t want this guy to think he wasn’t a good Marine.

  “Sounds like you began to question what you were fighting for.”

  Rob studied the psychologist and decided the man was stating the obvious, not judging. It felt safe to continue.

  “Yeah. I wasn’t sure why we were there. The toll was too high. We kept taking and retaking the same pieces of land. It didn’t seem like we made much headway.”

  “These wars are like that. They involve insurgents and guerrilla tactics, and you lose sight of why you are fighting. What have you experienced since you got out?”

  “Nightmares hard to wake up from. Flashbacks. I get lost in my head and at other times, I startle easily.”

  “Been aggressive?”

  Rob hung his head. “Yeah. The woman I’m living with tried to wake me up from a nightmare, and I attacked her, tried to choke her before I realized what I was doing. That’s what led me to call. Obviously, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I thought it would go away with time. Instead, it seems to get worse.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because instead of having nightmares once a week, I have them nearly every other night. They’re gory. Horrific.”

  “Sounds like you’re ready to deal with things.” Dr. Rodriguez asked several other questions about whether he’d lost his interest in things he liked to do, whether he experienced anxiety or depression, the frequency of mood swings, his use of alcohol, and finally, whether he’d thought about suicide.

  Rob looked at his lap. “I thought about suicide at first. When they medically discharged me from the Marines.” He winced, remembering his inattention had nearly cost him his life. “I’m concerned about what the future has in store for me, but since meeting MJ—Mary Jane—I’m feeling more hopeful. I still have to figure out how to earn a living. Maybe farming or ranching. That’s how I grew up.”

  Dr. Rodriguez nodded. “I’d say the first order of business is to move on. We’ll tackle the PTSD you’re suffering from, and once you’ve resolved that, it’ll be easier to make those life decisions.”

  “You mean it’s possible to get over PTSD? I thought it was something that sticks with you for life.” Was there really hope for him? Could he move on from the trauma and not be messed up forever by things he’d seen and done?

  “While there can be some lasting impacts, there are new methods we’ve been doing to reprogram your brain as well as teach you coping strategies. I’d like you to see one of our counselors once a week to start. I’d also like you to join our PTSD support group that meets Tuesday nights at seven. Hopefully, you’ll see some significant progress within the nex
t couple of months. I’m not saying you’ll be cured in that length of time, but you seem very motivated. Admitting the problem is always the toughest step. Now that you’ve done that, it’s like basic training. Put one foot in front of the other and do what you need to do. You build up your stamina, and soon you’re able to do things you never thought possible.”

  Rob nodded. He didn’t know what it would require of him, but he knew from experience, a “can do” attitude would help. “Thank you, Dr. Rodriguez. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

  The doctor stood and so did Rob. “Stop at the desk and tell them you need an appointment once a week for the next few months. Have them also give you information on the Tuesday night PTSD group. Today’s Wednesday, so you’ll start next week.”

  They shook hands, and Rob made an appointment for tomorrow, and appointments for the next several weeks. The receptionist informed him he’d be seeing a counselor named Michael Haggarty.

  As he drove back toward Ridgeview, he noticed the rock-hard tension that usually lived in his shoulders wasn’t there. Maybe this would be a good thing. Well, good or not, he had to do this—for himself and for MJ.

  ***

  MJ watched the minute hand of the big clock that hung over the library’s double entry doors. Whoever said “time flies” had never been waiting for news. She checked her phone again for a text. What if things hadn’t gone well for Rob? What if uncovering memories of Afghanistan made him worse? She shuddered at the thought. She had to take her mind off what was happening in Knoxville. She pushed a cart of books toward the stacks. She’d shelve these. Maybe that would help. She needed to trust in Rob. He was strong enough to do this.

  She turned at the sound of the doors opening and sighed in disappointment. Not Rob. She forced a smile and gave a small wave at Rosalind Barnard and her daughter, Angela. They moved toward the children’s section. MJ went back to her task, and when the cart was empty, she rolled it to the side of the circulation desk.