by Grace Risata
“What happened, Alyce? Don’t leave me hanging here. Clearly he was smart enough not to hit you back because I don’t see a shiner.”
I laughed at this comment.
“If the bastard had the nerve to hit me back, he’d be in the hospital right now!”
“That’s my girl. I taught you well, grasshopper.”
Yeah, he taught me all right. Taught me everything he knew. Fighting, card playing, racing, and every awesome dude talent somehow made their way into my life. I wonder why his social skills never rubbed off on me.
“After the idiot mouthed off, I popped him in the jaw and sent him flying backwards into his friend. The security guards weren’t far away when the shouting began, so they came running to break up the melee. All of them heard his racial remark and didn’t want any lawsuits when I started yelling about suing for discrimination.”
“I see,” he nodded while contemplating the situation. “Did you go to the racetrack alone?”
Shit. Busted.
“No.”
“Really? Did you go with that new gal from work? How is she working out? Are you two getting along?”
Relishing the subject change to Nina and away from Dixon, I broke into a large smile.
“Nina is super perky and friendly. I thought I’d hate her, but she turned out to be pretty decent. We went shopping last weekend and actually got along very well.”
“Look at my little girl, making friends. I’m proud of you, Alyce. Was this Nina lady any good at the race track?”
Fuck.
“She’s not the person who went with me.” Could I be anymore vague?
“Who is the person who went with you? I know we haven’t had a chance to talk in a few weeks, but I can’t believe you made two friends in such a short time. You hate everyone. Is old age making you a softie or what?”
“I’m only twenty-eight! How is that old?”
“I never thought I’d see the day when you tolerated anyone else but me and your grandma. Who’s your other friend?”
“Dixon,” I admitted with a giant sigh.
“Well…I’d guess you don’t like him very much by the way you dramatically said his name.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me. I’ve been around the block a few times, baby girl. I have good advice.”
Yeah, he can teach me how to throw a curve ball and strike out a hitter, but I think this is a different matter entirely.
“You know how I have to spend so many hours a month volunteering for work or Mrs. Conway goes apeshit?”
“Yes.”
“You know how I keep getting booted from every single charity on Earth after about ten minutes?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, I finally found a place that seemed to be a decent fit.”
“Good for you. Tell me all about it.”
“Kassie works there,” I explained, doing my best to give other details that didn’t involve Dixon.
“I never liked that gal. She was too selfish and inconsiderate,” he bluntly offered, sharing an opinion I already knew.
“Anyway, the charity involves befriending and assisting military veterans with any support they need. Volunteers help with paperwork and spend time with their veteran. It’s very rewarding.”
“I see. So you met this Dixon fellow at the charity and decided to take him to the racetrack to get out into the world. That’s so nice, Alyce. Although I assume he’s too old to race around the track. Did he just watch you? I hope he wasn’t appalled when he saw you get in a fist fight. Men of my generation aren’t used to ladies acting in such a manner.”
Damn it.
“Actually, Dixon recently left the service. He was stationed overseas. I don’t know much about his time in the military because he doesn’t like to talk about it.” I have enough common sense not to ask for details. If he wants to share, then he will.
“When you serve in the armed forces, things happen that can shape you for the rest of your life,” my grandpa explained, no doubt remembering his time in Vietnam. “The bonds you form with your platoon are unbreakable, but you also witness unspeakable acts of war that can never be forgotten.”
I remained silent, unable to imagine what it was like for grandpa.
“Tell me more about this charity and how you help out,” he urged.
“They were actually full of volunteers on the day I went, so I kind of got Dixon by default. He’s very angry and somewhat bottled up inside. I think he has PTSD, but he refuses to get treatment. I googled it to try and find a way to help him. So far I suggested starting a journal, I gave him some calming music, and we took a field trip to the track in order to get his mind off things.”
“You kids and your damn computers. ‘Google’ this and ‘Ask Siri’ that and figure everything out in the blink of an eye. Sometimes it just takes time to heal from wounds that can’t be seen.”
My grandpa hated technology with a passion. He refused to get a cell phone no matter how many times I begged him.
“Do you have any advice for me?” I asked. From one soldier to another…maybe he’d come up with a useful idea.
“Tell me more about him.”
“He’s really stubborn and fights me on everything, which makes it that much more rewarding when he eventually gives in and realizes I’m trying to help. Dixon looked so peaceful when he let himself relax and listen to the music I downloaded for him. The guy rarely shows any emotion besides anger, but he has a whole different personality when his defenses come down. I can’t explain it. For some reason, being around him just feels effortless. I don’t have to try to be something I’m not. He’s perfectly okay with my anti-social weirdness and doesn’t try to change me or get me to conform to society’s standards on how a woman should behave.”
I sighed and stared off into the distance, daydreaming about Dixon’s muscular arms wrapped around me and the way his reassuring voice let me know that I could come in any position I wanted, even if it was missionary every single time.
My grandfather coughed loudly to get my attention and snap me back to reality.
“You sure there’s nothing more going on between you two, Alyce? From the way you talk about the man, it would appear things are a bit more involved than a simple friendship between a volunteer and a veteran.”
I sure as hell wasn’t going to get into all the X-rated details with my grandpa.
“Maybe I like him a little bit more than I should,” I confessed. “It’s not one-sided. He likes me too. He just has a problem expressing it.”
“What kind of a problem?”
“He said something vague yesterday about never wanting to speak to me again, but I don’t think he really meant it. You know how guys can be when they like a girl but don’t want to say it.”
Shit. That sounded really bad. I hung my head in my hands and wished I could take that last part back, lest my grandpa think I’m a crazy stalker.
“Um…honey…it sounds like maybe you should keep your distance from this person. Grown men don’t usually tell women to stay away from them. Boys do that in grade school, but mature adults get restraining orders. Just some food for thought. I’m sure you’ll get it all sorted out.”
“It’s not like that,” I promised. “He only told me to leave him alone because he thinks he’s all damaged goods and I could do better and find someone normal. I don’t want anyone normal. I want him.”
Wow. Where had all that come from? Did I really feel that strongly about Dixon?
Yeah. Yeah, I did. The thought of never talking to him again, never feeling his mouth caressing mine, never hearing his sexy voice, never smelling the musky scent that lingers in the crook of his neck, never verbally sparring with witty banter like two people who have insane chemistry but refuse to admit they have more in common than they ever thought possible…it scares the shit out of me.
I did feel that strongly for him.
“Okay. So you want him. What are you going to do about it?” my g
randpa asked with a gleam in his eye.
“What got you so worked up?” I asked, not knowing where this look of mischievousness suddenly came from.
“You’ve shown more spunk in the past five minutes than you have in months, Alyce. If this gentleman has you so riled, then he must be quite the catch. Reel him in, baby girl.”
“How?”
“If he needs space, then give it to him. Absence makes the heart grow painful. Why do you think they call it heartburn? Let him realize that you’re a wonderful young lady and you’ll turn into a butterfly and leave if he doesn’t snap you up in time. Life is like a box of candy---”
“Grandpa!” I groaned. “You’re messing up every single quote that you’re trying to pass along. What the heck?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled, waving his hand in a gesture to signify that the words weren’t important. “Just pay attention to the quiet moments, Alyce. At the end of the day when it’s just the two of you, can you sit in silence and feel content? If the answer is ‘yes,’ then he’s the right one. If you need to fill the void with useless chatter, or you get ants in your pants wondering what else is out there that might be better…well…then he’s not the right one.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning over to give the man a hug in payment for his wise advice. “I love you, grandpa. More than anything.”
“Right back at you, baby girl. Always.”
Chapter Sixteen
Meanwhile…across town….
Dixon
I shouldn’t be here.
Why the hell had I come anyway? I’ve cancelled the last three appointments with not one single ounce of regret. This isn’t going to do a damn bit of good.
So why am I here?
The walls in the doctor’s office were starting to close in on me as a random case of claustrophobia flared up. What did Alyce tell me to do? Go to the happy place in my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to picture her naked, silky dark hair spread out across my pillow, perky tits begging me to suck them, mouth open to swallow my cock…but that was a horrible idea. All it ended up doing was giving me a raging boner, which would make a great first impression on this new guy I was supposed to see.
Instead, I tried to focus on the many diplomas that littered the walls and took in every detail of my surroundings. It was your typical office, complete with tall file cabinet, massive oak desk, fake green plant in the corner, and two uncomfortable leather chairs for visitors. One of which I was currently sitting in. But not for long. It’s time to go.
I got up with the intention of sneaking out before anyone noticed I was here in the first place. Unfortunately, Dr. Goldberg chose that exact moment to walk into the room carrying a stack of paperwork. Probably all my court records, military discharge information, and miscellaneous other documents that didn’t mean shit. You can’t tell anything about a person by looking at a sheet of paper. This was a giant fucking mistake to waste this guy’s time.
Alyce was right. Psychologists don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Maybe I can sit here, not say a word, and he’ll get pissed and kick me out early. It’s worth a try.
Without glancing at a single thing in my file, the man made direct eye contact with me and let out a low whistle.
“Did the elusive Dixon Wade finally decide to grace me with his presence?”
I raised an eyebrow at the bold move on his part. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, talking to me like that?
Dr. Goldberg leaned back in his chair to give me a once over and I took the opportunity to study him, too. The guy had to be pushing seventy by the looks of his salt and pepper mane of thinning hair. He wasn’t a very imposing man at all. In fact, he seemed slightly frail and could stand to gain a few pounds. Nerdy know-it-all glasses rounded out his appearance. I could tell he was trying to fit me into some category of insanity and I didn’t appreciate it in the slightest.
“The judge on your court case just so happens to be a personal friend of mine, Mr. Wade. He saw something in you that reminded him of himself at your age, which is why I’m doing him a favor and agreed to fit you in to my schedule. It’s nice that you finally decided to show up after cancelling the first three appointments. What gives?”
“I wasn’t in the mood to talk.” And I’m still not, you asshole. Have fun with that.
“But something must have changed to put you in the mood to talk today, then? Can I safely assume that?”
“Assume whatever you want, Doc.”
“First of all, you can call me ‘Pete.’ I’m not into formalities. Let’s get everything out into the open, Dixon. I’m not your typical boring suit that sits behind a desk all day and asks, ‘how does that make you feel?’ every ten seconds while doodling notes that you never get to see , which is probably what you assume that a psychologist does. I’m a bit unorthodox in my approach. If you’re open to giving me a chance, I feel like I can help you. Actually, I’m the first, last, and only chance you have, so I suggest you get your head out of your rear end and quit being so stubborn.”
What did he just say? Aren’t doctors supposed to act professional?
“I can see by the look on your face that you weren’t expecting that. I’m not here to coddle you, ask personal questions about your childhood, your time in the service, or what you ate for breakfast. I don’t need to hear anything that you aren’t willing to share. However, I do expect absolute honesty every time you open your mouth. If you’re going to feed me a load of horse manure instead of being truthful, then this isn’t going to work. If you don’t agree to my terms, you may get up and leave right now and save us all a lot of hassle. The choice is yours. You know as well as I do that this is entirely voluntary and not a requirement as part of your probation. You have to pass the urine tests, spend a certain number of hours at the veteran’s center, and meet with your court-ordered case worker. Your time with me is not obligatory in any way, shape, or form.”
Interesting. He talked a big game, but could he deliver in the end? Was there some magical treatment that could make me feel normal again? I highly doubt it. Nothing was going to bring Jack back from the dead or make this constant anxiety go away. It was there when I woke up and when I tried in vain to sleep at night. Hell, I don’t even remember what it felt like to be the old me. The guy who used to have friends, cared about his appearance, and enjoyed living life. He's long gone.
“What are your terms?” I asked with skepticism. If he said anything to piss me off, I was leaving without a second thought. Especially if he started spouting new age psycho mumbo jumbo.
“I want you to be honest, I want you to be willing to do your homework, and I want you to realize that there is no short term solution or a quick fix. If you put in the work, you’ll reap the rewards.”
I shrugged. It all sounded pretty vague to me.
“What are your physical symptoms, Dixon?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m on edge all the fucking time.” Was it okay to curse? Should I watch my language? This guy seemed like someone’s grandfather and I didn’t want him chastising me like I’m a kid in school that talked out of turn. “Sorry for the language, Doc.”
“Call me Pete…” he urged. “My father was ‘Dr. Goldberg’ and it makes me feel ancient when anyone addresses me like that.”
“So you’re a chip off the old block, eh?”
“No. He was a cardiologist and extremely disappointed that I was only a ‘feelings fixer’ and not a real doctor who saved lives. But we’re not here to analyze my family issues. We’re here to get you back on track. And, yes, you are allowed to use whatever language feels the most comfortable. Be real and don’t edit yourself on my account.”
“Thanks. It just feels like there’s a weight on my chest all the time and I can’t breathe. It comes and goes, but it’s there more often than not. My heart races and I can’t focus on anything. I get headaches sometimes, but not too bad. Some random memory will come into my head and I can’t make it go away no matter how hard I try. Loud
noises freak me out. Things that never used to matter suddenly bother me now. I was pretty relaxed before, but I find myself getting irritated for no reason and I just want things to go back to normal. But I don’t think they ever will and I don’t know how I can live the rest of my life like this.”
“Okay. We’ll come up with a plan to try and help you out, Dixon. You need to realize that you will always have triggers for the rest of your life, and you’ll probably never return to the person you used to be. But it’s not the end of the world. Just because you’re different, doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. People change and evolve every single day. It’s part of being human.”
Blah, blah. Life is an adventure, embrace it. Go fuck yourself, buddy.
“I can see that you don’t believe me. I don’t expect you to trust me yet. But you will. What have you done to try and make things better? Anything?”
“I self medicated with alcohol and recreational drugs.” If this dipshit wants honesty, then I’ll overshare with him.
“How did that work?” he asked sarcastically.
“Fantastic. How do you think I ended up here?”
“I read your file so I already know the answer to that. Did you try anything productive?”
I hesitated before admitting, “My friend gave me a bunch of music to listen to. It seems to calm me down. She also tried teaching me how to go to a happy place and deal with a panic attack. It doesn’t usually work unless I can hear the sound of her voice. There was also a journal to record my thoughts, but that suggestion didn’t work. I’m not doing that.”
“It sounds like this friend of yours is very helpful, Dixon. All her ideas are also things I’d recommend. How long have you known her?”
“A couple weeks.” Had it really been such a short time? It feels like she’s been around a lot longer than that.
“How did you two meet?”
“She’s a volunteer at the veteran’s center,” I explained, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “What’s with all the questions about her? Aren’t we supposed to be psycho-analyzing me?”
