Dr. Bradley.
He’d been her training Doctor for her first residency outside of Brown, and it was easily he who had cemented her love for what she did. The man was a pioneer in the world of PTSD treatment, and he’d never met a patient he couldn’t rehabilitate. It was he who had gotten her the position at Riperton, and now, to hear from him when she hadn’t in ages…well, to say the least, it was a welcome surprise.
Hello Genevieve,
I hope this letter finds you well. I know we haven’t spoken lately for our busy schedules, but I heard you’ve been having a good year, and I congratulate you on your work. You’ve always made me proud, and I feel privileged to have been able to work with you for the time we had together.
I hope you won’t think me forward in directing this particular patient to you. I have friends in the government and his case was referred to me for review when a suitable doctor couldn’t be found. Upon looking over his information, I immediately thought of you. If you chose to accept Lieutenant Sinclair’s case, there’s certain paperwork you will have to complete. Confidentiality agreements, government records, things of that ilk; however, I think there would be no one better to care for him. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting several of your patients, and from what they tell me, you have the exact manner needed to help guide Lieutenant Sinclair in the right direction.
Please review his documents and let me know if you would at all be willing to work with him. I’d be grateful for your assistance, and so, I’m sure, would the Lieutenant.
Best,
Ethan Bradley
It both thrilled and humbled her that her mentor thought highly enough of her to trust her with a case like the Lieutenant’s, and she felt her heart swell as she read the letter a second time. Carefully, she set it aside and began to sift through paperwork in the file.
Lieutenant Sinclair was thirty-eight years old – quite young for retirement – but then, the lives of Navy SEALs were notoriously dangerous. Large parts of his file were blacked out, but in reading over the visible portions, she managed to glean some idea of why she was needed.
The Seal had been on over fifty highly covert and extremely successful missions in the middle east. He’d been awarded a purple heart, a medal of honor, and a commendation for bravery by his commanding officer, and had been hospitalized for severe injuries no less than ten times over the course of his thirteen year service. He was an upstanding soldier, and a very skilled one by the looks of things. Trained in hand-to-hand combat with a myriad of weapons, and as a sniper, with an accuracy rate of close to ninety six percent. There was hardly a weapon that wouldn’t be at home in his hands, and in addition to completing a laundry list of missions, he’d also personally been responsible for the capture of some of the governments most wanted people of interest.
He sounded like a hell of a man.
But it was in Genevieve’s experience that the strongest people often needed to most help to reclaim what they had lost. They had problems admitting their own shortcomings, and never wanted to speak of the emotional difficulties they faced when it came to re-acclimating to a life that didn’t involve war.
There must have been something that had caused the Lieutenant’s early retirement…and it wasn’t long before she found it.
There were long sections of the last page of information that had been censored, but the last few lines revealed that the man had been caught in some sort of ambush on his last command and had lost a few of the men under his command. Genevieve was sure their deaths would be weighing on him and the guilt alone would be more than enough to cause the symptoms he appeared to be exhibiting.
Paranoia, nightmares, sleep paralysis, depression…the list was quite long, and her mouth turned down as she read that the man had declined to see any psychiatrist since his return to the United States almost a year ago. What information provided about him had been gleaned through cursory interviews and debriefings, and would only serve as a point of reference for a possible diagnosis.
Beneath the twenty page report was the actual intake form itself, along with a pile of forms two inches thick that she would be required to fill out if she was willing to take the Lieutenant as her patient. Genny’s hand ached just looking at all of the fine print.
She was flattered that Doctor Bradley had referred this case to her, but was she really ready to take on such responsibility? She already had eight other patients who took up a large chunk of her time, and she wanted to make sure they got the care they deserved. Accepting Owen Sinclair would undoubtedly be twice the work of any patient she’d had to date, and the man would require a level of secrecy that she’d never dealt with before.
Atop that…one glance at his picture did ungodly things to her libido – things that she’d forgotten were even possible. The man appeared to be chiseled from stone- gorgeous, powerful, and undoubtedly damaged. She would have to decide if she wanted to hand him off, or if she was willing to work past the effect his physical appearance had on her to help him through his issues.
Exhaling slowly, she contemplated.
Did she think she could help the Lieutenant? Certainly. Did she think she would be the best person for the job? That was negotiable. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had roused such excitement in her – even knowing the hell he must be suffering through. She could do some research and see if she could re-refer him…but she had no idea how Dr. Bradley might take such an action. He stated that he’d thought of her specifically – which meant that, for whatever reason, he believed she had something to offer Sinclair that no other doctor could.
Reaching towards the head of her desk, Genevieve withdrew a ballpoint ben from the cup next to the computer. She lowered it towards the confidentiality agreements, hesitating only slightly before beginning the long process of filling them out.
If Dr. Bradley believed in her, there was no reason why she shouldn’t believe in herself. She’d always been able to put work before pleasure, and she was sure that if she concentrated on finding the right treatment for Lieutenant Sinclair, she’d hardly have time to drool over him.
At least, that was her hope.
Chapter Two: Stubborn Soldier
He hated doctors.
Owen had never met a physician he liked, with the exception of a few of the medics that he had been deployed with. Of course, he’d rarely been under their hands, and when he had, he’d usually been unconscious; so he had never had the displeasure of having them cause him pain. As fucking awful as pain could be, however, it wasn’t discomfort that had turned him against the medical profession.
It was the fact that they seemed to want to know everything about you. Where you’d been, where you were going. How many people you’d slept with, how many bones you had broken, your family history…the list went on and on. He’d reached a point in his life where he had assumed that they knew half the answers to the questions they asked anyway. With all the places he’d been and all the things he’d done, he had no doubt there was a file on him half an inch thick somewhere with every injury from his fractured spine to the ankle he’d pulled in middle school.
No, doctors were far too invasive for his liking – which was precisely why he’d spent the past year fighting his commanding officer on seeing a shrink. The last thing he needed was another doctor in his life – especially one who thought they could mess with his mind. God knew he already had too many complications up there.
Exhaling hotly, Owen tightened his grip on the steering wheel, staring through the front windshield of his car at the large, brown brick building that was Riperton Veteran Memorial Hospital. He’d been assured that the facility was one of the best in the country at dealing with Vets and their re-acclimation into society once their tours were over, and Sean, his commanding officer, had made him promise that he would make it to the appointment he’d made for him.
The appointment that had been a year in the making.
With every fiber of his being, Owen wanted to turn his car around and go home to
his dog and a cold beer. But he knew that if he did, his nightmares would never stop. He’d continue to wake up every other night, unable to move – to do anything but stare at the ceilings as his demons consumed him. He was the only man he knew who slept with a thirty caliber pistol under his pillow, waiting for an attack that would never come.
While his peers were busy with wives, kids and barbecues, he was trying to work up the will to get out of the house and go about his day. The only thing that was concrete for Owen was his strong sense of duty - the knowledge that what he had done had been done in the name of his country, so any loss sustained had to be worth something.
Even if that loss weighed on his chest so heavily that sometimes it felt as if he could hardly breathe.
Scowling, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding from the car before slamming it behind him with enough force to rock the entire vehicle. When one was six seven, and two hundred seventy pounds of solid muscles, it was easy to break things. He’d found that out the hard way – the last time he’d slammed a door in frustration, he’d been showered with broken glass…which, of course, had meant another visit to the doctor.
Even as he strode towards the entryway of the psychiatric department, he tried to give himself an excuse to back out. How on earth was this supposed to help him? Lying on a couch to divulge all of his woes to a complete stranger? Was he supposed to accept their judgement as final? What if they told him he was a lunatic – crazy beyond any and all hope of repair?
Well, then at least he’d know that there was no escape. That he was fucked for life, and would have to deal with his problems himself for as long as he could endure.
Owen paused just feet away from the door, frowning deeply despite the brilliant blue sky and greenery around him. This was his last chance to walk away – like he had from so many appointments before this one. He could turn around, go home, and bury his sorrow in the traditional way – with booze and football.
This time was no different than any time before. Except…Owen thought that if he walked away today, he might not have the courage to come back again. He’d tried so many times to swallow his fear and derision – to believe that things could get better…but he’d never followed through.
Sean would be pissed at him if he messed this up; and Sean was one of the only people alive who could beat him to within an inch of his life.
Groaning low in his throat, Owen yanked the door open, striding into the office as he tried to keep a low profile. At his height, it was difficult, and several people stared as he hunkered down in his leather jacket, shuffling over to reception. When the young girl there turned to see him, she craned her neck upwards until her gaze met his and immediately flushed darkly.
“Hi.” The word left her breathlessly and Owen repressed his second groan of the afternoon. The tiny, skinny little blonde couldn’t be a day over eighteen, which made her decidedly young to be pursuing him.
“Hi.” His low baritone thrummed through the room, drawing several more people’s attention. “I’m here to see Dr. Thomas.”
“Mmhm.” The blonde stared up at him, starry eyed, for a moment more before she caught herself. Her blush only darkened as she looked hurriedly down into her appointment book. “Oh! Dr. Thomas. Right. Name?”
“Sinclair.”
She thumbed through several cards before chancing another glance at him. “Did you have an appointment?”
Owen’s eyes darted to the clock. “Yeah. One o’clock.” The minute hand on the device was approaching the twenty minute mark. “I’m a little late.”
“Aright, well, have a seat ….Lieutenant Sinclair. She’ll call you back in a moment.” The blonde placed emphasis on the title, even though it made him wince. The last time someone had depended on that title…the last time someone had looked to him for leadership - he had failed them.
In his mind, he hardly deserved to be called Lieutenant anymore.
It took about five minutes of sitting in the waiting room before Owen began to grow distinctly uncomfortable. He was surrounded by people that seemed to have no problem being here – absolutely no issue with getting their head picked through by an absolute stranger. There was an older man dressed in fatigues with a variety of medals pinned to his lapels – and missing a leg. The empty section of his pants was pinned shut, and he lounged on a plum colored sofa reading an issue of Wired, his expression utterly serene. Two women dressed in civilian garb chatted softly over the head of a child that couldn’t be more than two. The coloring book she held had less crayon in it than her dress, and when one of her crayons dropped to the floor, a woman picked it up to return to her carelessly.
There were a few others, all of whom seemed perfectly at ease. The utter calm that pervaded the room made him uneasy. It was hard for him to be still these days. He felt more comfortable with something in his hands, or outdoors in his fenced backyard throwing a ball with Eddie.
It was unfortunate that he usually busied his hands taking guns apart and putting them back together – methodically – over and over. That was hardly appropriate behavior for a doctor’s office. So, now, he merely drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair he sat in, trying to psyche himself into a state of calm.
“Lieutenant Owen Sinclair?”
A low, concise female voice drew his attention to a door beyond the reception desk. When his gaze fell on the woman standing there, Owen’s heart stuttered in his chest and his mouth dried.
That was his shrink?
It was her eyes that first caught his attention – large and almond-shaped, the honey hued orbs caught him and pulled him in, twisting his gut in raw, searing desire. Her pert, small nose was situated atop a mouth that could put Angelina’s to shame –full and painted deep red to contrast against her dark, toffee-hued skin. As Owen’s eyes roamed the ample curves that filled out the modest black sheath she wore, he imagined how her skin would look pressed flush against his – darkness and light woven together as he clutched her to him, plunging deep inside to wring his name from her lips on a scream that would shake the rafters of his bedroom ceiling…God. What would it feel like to slide his hands through her rampant, springy dark curls? Would they be as soft as the ones between her legs? If he lowered his head to hers in a kiss, fitted his long form against hers and took what he wanted, would she come easily? Or would she writhe and arch against him, all wildfire and want?
Owen blinked, swallowing thickly as he forced himself back to reality.
Hell.
It had been an eternity since he’d had such an instantaneous, visceral reaction to a woman. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been laid recently. Now that he had hours of free time filling his schedule, it was nothing to head to the nearest bar and find a willing woman.
But none of them had sparked his interest as much as this one did.
Owen had always had an appreciation for women of color. He loved the rich hue of their skin, the soft texture of their hair, their full lips and their limitless curves. For some reason, he’d always been more drawn to them than he had the blondes and the brunettes. Mind you, he hadn’t encountered very many black women willing to give him the time of day, but he’d certainly tried. Before he’d left the navy, every session of leave he’d gotten had been spent fawning over some new chocolate beauty that was driving him wild.
This woman wasn’t chocolate, per say. A bit lighter, with more unique coloring, but she was more than enough to make him hard as nails instantaneously. It was the strangest sensation he’d ever encountered, trying to wrap his head around the idea that she was going to be in his head as he tried to calm his enthusiastic nether regions.
He didn’t know if he’d be able to concentrate on what she wanted to know for long enough for her to be able to help him. As it was, all he could do was stare at her, trying to unscramble the mess of his mind.
“Lieutenant Owen Sinclair?” She repeated his name, in that same low, crisp tone, and he snapped free, adjusting himself discreetly as he stood.
“T
hat’s me.”
The woman’s eyes travelled up his form until they finally locked with his, and her lips curved into a slow, friendly smile. “Hello Lieutenant. I’m Doctor Genevieve Thomas. If you’ll please step this way?” She gestured to the open door behind her while Owen struggled not to slobber all over himself.
Christ, you’d think at his age he’d be used to dealing with women he was attracted to. Doctor Genevieve Thomas, however, had caught him completely off guard. He hasn’t been expecting his doctor to be a woman and he certainly hadn’t expected her to look like something the devil sent to tempt him out of his mind.
He strode towards her- perhaps a little too fast - passing through the door and out of reception into the narrow hallway beyond. All at once, his body was inches from hers, and the soft, floral scent of her assaulted his senses. Owen bit back a groan, promising himself to be civil. This wasn’t a watering hole after a mission, and it wasn’t a bar. If he hit on his shrink, he was very certain that Sean would hand his ass to him the next time they met.
“It’s nice to meet you, Lieutenant.” She extended her hand for him to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
When he took her fingers in his, heat jolted through him and he let go as quickly as was polite, resisting the urge to yank her into his arms and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. He forced himself to remember that, very shortly, this woman would be rummaging around his brain; and before he’d caught sight of his psychiatrist, the last thing in the world he’d wanted was to let a stranger – a doctor- do anything to him. He could think of no decent reply to her greeting that didn’t involve tearing her clothes off, and so he remained silent, merely following her down the a hall that seemed never-ending.
When he managed to tear his eyes from the delectable line of her beyond, he noticed that there were power plugs outside each and every room, their cords disappearing under the doors. From within, he could hear a low, steady hum that was almost like the sound of an AC.
Saving the Seal: A BWWM Navy Seal Interracial Romance Page 2
