by Mia Ford
“Listen, Amelia,” he said, his voice stern, but desperate, “you wouldn't meet with me when all I wanted to do was talk. What choice did you leave me? I needed to talk to you and you need to listen to me.”
“I don't need to do anything, Charlie,” I spat. “I don't owe you shit. You're the one who was fucking somebody else. Not me. So, get your goddamn hand off of me right this minute!”
My voice was rising and people were starting to stare. Good. Because in that moment, I didn't trust that Charlie wouldn't do something stupid. The look in his eyes scared me, it was one I'd only seen from him a handful of times – and each time, it made me fear he could turn that rage on me. He never had, not until today. But as he stared down at me, I could see the hatred in his eyes.
This wasn't about him still loving me. He never had really loved me because Charlie couldn't love anyone but himself. As much as it terrified me to see that look in his eye, it was what finally made me let go – for good. And I knew there was no going back, never. Because if I did, I'd be nothing but a prized possession. I'd never be a treasured girlfriend or a wife or someone he loved. I'd be his – thing. His conquest. His trophy. And he was pissed because I was no longer his and would never be any of those things. That would be it.
I struggled to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter, causing me to yell out in pain. “You're hurting me!” I said.
I watched as people tried not to stare, and I begged and pleaded for someone to step in and help me. But no one did. Because it's human nature to look the other way, and that's what the passers-by were doing. I was pretty certain that Charlie could pull out a knife and start stabbing me on the sidewalk right then and there and a whole lot of people would find more interesting things to look at and would pay us no attention at all.
“Let's just go back to my place and talk,” Charlie said, pulling me toward his car that was parked on the street nearby.
That's when I felt hope surge in my chest when somebody behind me spoke. Somebody was finally going to help me.
“She's not going anywhere with you.”
A familiar voice. A strong voice. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw Drew and my heart flared with gratitude.
“Who the fuck is you?” Charlie asked, casting his baleful glare at Drew.
I watched as Charlie looked the other man up and down, and I watched as the realization hit me that there was no way he could win in a fight against Drew. After all, Charlie was a scrawny excuse for a man compared to the Navy SEAL who was standing there behind us.
“Doesn't matter who I am, asshole,” Drew snapped. “She obviously doesn't want to go anywhere with you and you're hurting her. I'm here to tell you to let her go.”
“Or what?” Charlie asked, a cocky, but stupid grin on his face. “You're going to beat the shit out of me here on a public street?”
Drew shrugged, “If I have to, yeah. Why wouldn't I? And what do I have to lose?”
“Don't, Drew –” I started to say.
“Oh, so she knows you, huh?” Charlie yanked me closer to him and away from Drew, which seemed to be the last straw.
Drew stepped toward Charlie and before I could see what happened, he had pulled back his fist and launched it. Drew's fist connected with Charlie's jaw with a slap of flesh and a sickening crunching sound. Charlie let me go as he grabbed at his face, howling in pain as I fell to the ground at Drew's feet.
Drew reached down with one hand and helped me up, holding me a little too close for comfort – given that he was my patient and all that – but I let it be. This wasn't business as usual and in that moment, I felt safe there with his arm wrapped around my shoulder.
“Now I'd encourage you to get the fuck out of here,” Drew said. “Because she obviously doesn't want to see you.”
The rest of it was a blur, as my eyes filled with tears, relieved that Charlie hadn't gotten me into his car and thankful that Drew had showed up when he did.
After watching Charlie leave, speeding away in his car, Drew turned to me, lifting my chin up to make me look him in the eyes. It was so hard looking at his face because the thoughts I had about him were definitely not clean. And they most definitely were not the types of thoughts I should have been having about a client.
“I tried calling your office on my way over,” he said. “But I guess you'd already stepped out.”
I nodded, unable to speak, mainly because I was afraid of what I might say. I couldn't be trusted, not in that moment, not being so close to him. Not with his hands touching me. The safer course of action was to play the rattled woman and say nothing. Not until my heart had healed over sufficiently.
“You shouldn't have done that –” I said after a few seconds of silence. “With Charlie.”
“Yeah, who the fuck was he anyway?”
“It doesn't matter, you shouldn't have gotten involved,” I said.
I pulled myself together and cleared my throat as I stepped away from him, removing his hands from my shoulders where they rested so comfortably. It took everything in me to pull away from him, but I had to. I had to step away and leave or else things could take an entirely different turn.
“I have to go, Drew,” I said. “Call the office receptionist and make an appointment with Dr. Frank, please. I think it would be better for both of us if you started seeing him instead of me.”
I walked toward the BART stop, hurrying off and not looking back to see if Drew was following me.
It wasn't until later that I realized I hadn't even thanked him for saving me from Charlie.
Chapter Ten
DREW
I sat all alone out on the back patio at Frisco's, enjoying a beer and a basket of fries. The cool breeze coming off the bay was too cold for most folks this time of year, but I loved it. It reminded me I was home, that I was thousands of miles away from that hellhole in the desert.
For better or worse, I was home.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me as I stared through the windows and into the bar. There were single, gorgeous women inside – which wasn't unusual for a Saturday night. What was unusual though, was that none of them appealed to me. The low cut, tit revealing tops and short skirts just weren't firing me up as much as they normally did.
At one time, a one-night stand with one of those chicks would have done the trick. It would have snapped me out of my shit and for at least a night, it would have helped me forget my problems and made me feel a bit better about things.
But now, for whatever reason, looking at all of those scantily clad women only reminded me of my pitiful existence and how I had no one who wanted to get close to me for more than a few hours.
It made me think back to my earlier dream – the one about Mason telling me he was going to marry his girl. I didn't want to admit it – not eve to myself – but I longed for that sort of connection with a woman. There was a part of me that really wished I had somebody to call my own – and to have somebody call me the same.
I longed to be with somebody, to know that they were the one – or as Mason would have put it – to call them my soul mate and not feel like a little bitch for saying it. But I wanted that suburban kind of life my friends had. I gave them shit for it, but only because deep down, I yearned for it. The idea of coming home to somebody every day, to know that they loved me unconditionally – it was something I wanted. I wanted it more than I cared to admit – even to myself, most of the time. It was just easier to talk shit because I didn't believe I could ever have something like that.
I'd decided that Dr. Emerson was no longer going to be my doctor. I'd see some other specialist, someone she trusted and would refer me to. I'd probably never see her again though, because like many others in my life, I'd scared her away too. I was too damaged, too broken, and let things go too far.
Not even my therapist could put up with me. How pathetic was that? Talk about a sad commentary on the state of one's life and being. It was like getting turned down by a hooker – equally as humiliating.
I took a long pull from my beer and turned toward the street, watching all of the people strolling by, blissful in their own existence. Happy people and happier couples walking by hand in hand, content in their lives. As I watched them, my mood turned dark and I wondered how many of them had to watch as their best friend was killed right in front of them? How many of them were responsible for the death of a loved one? How many of them had ever experienced the horrors of being in a combat zone? How many had to dodge bullets and walked away feeling like they'd cheated death many times over?
Yeah, not many, I was more than sure.
I was caught up in making up stories for the yuppies and hipsters out on the street – the man with the handlebar moustache worked a boring job in accounting and was secretly in love with his girlfriend's brother, but too stubborn to admit it. His girlfriend – a pretty blonde – was too busy thinking about how ugly his moustache was to even notice he wasn't looking at her, but was instead, looking past her at the handsome man walking alone on the street, wishing he could go home with him.
Yeah, I was making their lives sound as shitty as mine. That had to be healthy, right?
“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked from behind me.
There was a time when nobody could sneak up on me. When letting, somebody get behind you like that meant certain death. As a result, I was hyper-vigilant and completely aware of my surroundings – including who was in it. Or at least, I was. Now that I was home, a lot of things had changed.
But I was so caught up making up all those stories in my head and making people seem as miserable as I was, I hadn't heard her come out to the patio – much less walk up behind me. I turned and stared into the large, green eyes of Dr. Emerson – dressed very much like she had been the last time we'd met at this bar. Her auburn hair fell in waves over her shoulders, there were no glasses to hide those beautiful eyes. She wasn't in a short skirt this time though. No, this time she was in black skinny jeans and a pink lacy top that flowed around her tiny waist, drawing attention to the curvature of her hips.
She was as gorgeous as ever, but I had to tear my eyes away from her. Nothing good could come from me ogling all of those delicious curves to her body.
“Uhh no,” I said, sitting up straight and trying not to stare too much. “Not at all.”
“Good,” she said, sitting down beside me. “You looked lonely out here, so I thought I'd come out, say hi, and introduce myself – so hi, I'm Amelia.”
Amelia. Amelia Emerson.
“What a beautiful name,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I'm Drew, obviously.”
“It's nice to meet you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “I figured we could start fresh and try this again, you know? Start out on the right foot this time maybe.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. “But I actually thought I'd never see you again, honestly.”
She shrugged. “Because I transferred you, you mean? I did that for your own good, Drew. I hope you understand that. I want you to get the help you need and I didn't think I was up to the job. I was letting my feelings interfere with your treatment. And you deserve better than that.”
“Is that really the only reason?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink as she looked down at her hands in her lap. She smiled, a shy smile, and then looked up at me again.
“No, of course not,” she said. “I mean, I'm here, aren't I?”
“I'm thankful that you are, to be honest with you. It gives me a chance to properly apologize,” I said. “I know I screwed up, yelling at you like that. You didn't deserve that. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It's just hard dealing with all this crap in my head and having no one – and I mean no one – who wants to get close to me. I feel like I'm completely broken. Toxic. And that maybe people can see that and avoid me like the plague because of it.”
“I want to get close to you, Drew,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “That's why I requested the transfer. I knew I couldn't keep seeing you as only a client. Because my interest in you is far from professional.”
I gave her a small smile I hoped didn't look as sad as it felt. “I'd like that – Amelia,” I said. “I really would. I mean, obviously, my interest in you is intensely personal. And maybe I was only fooling myself that we could have both.”
“Well, I can't promise anything,” she said, reaching out to touch my hand. “but I'd like to start from square one with you. I'd like to get to know you better. The real you and not the facade you put up for people. I want to see what's behind that mask, Drew.”
“You don't have to promise me anything,” I said softly, staring at where her hand touched mine. “I just appreciate the company. And as far as seeing behind the mask – I think you've already seen behind it. And it's a pretty fucked up space.”
She gave me a gentle smile. “It's not all that bad, Drew. I see the good man you are. I can see your good heart. You take great pains to hide it – to hide the real you – but I can see it. And it's what draws me to you.”
I took a drink of my beer and set the glass back down on the table, staring into the deep amber liquid. I wasn't sure what to say. I feared that Amelia felt this way now, but once she started to really get to know me, to really see behind that mask, as she put it, she would end up like everybody else – running for the high ground as fast as she could. That's just what people did with me – they eventually put as much distance between me and them as possible. It was something I'd had to get used to.
“To be honest with you,” she said. “I've been pretty lonely myself lately. Since breaking up with Charlie.”
“So that douche was your ex,” I said, shaking my head. “I kinda figured, but was hoping I was wrong about that. He was just so – douchey.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that he is. But he managed to hide it from me for a long time He's apparently a good actor, what can I say?”
Our eyes met, and in that moment, I couldn't breathe. All I could do was stare into those emerald green eyes and revel in her beauty. She was stunning and yet, didn't seem to understand or even believe that she was. Amelia seemed completely unaware that she was absolutely gorgeous.
“Well, I guess at least with me, you know what you're getting into,” I said softly.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you already know going in the door that I'm fucked up in the head.”
She cringed and pulled her hand back, and for a moment, I thought maybe it was because I'd scared her away. But she surprised me by looking into my eyes and giving me a gentle smile.
“You're not fucked up in the head, Drew. If anyone knows that, it's me,” she said. “You've been through a lot. More than most people can even imagine. And some really heavy, traumatic stuff. What happened over there has affected you, but it doesn't have to define you.”
“So it doesn't scare you away?”
“Not at all. I'm here, aren't I?”
Chapter Eleven
AMELIA
“You know, you don't have to come home with me if you don't want to,” he said, looking down at me with a serious look in his eyes. “I don't want you to feel pressured into doing something you're not comfortable with or just don't want to do. It's okay to say so, you know.”
“Hush,” I said, leaning forward and kissing those soft lips of his for the first time since our night together – and they were every bit as delicious now as they had been then. “I wouldn't be coming home with you if I didn't want to. I'm not the type of girl who lets herself get talked into doing things I don't want to do. I make my own decisions, thank you very much.”
The Uber drive pulled to a stop outside of Drew's house, and that's when it clicked. The large house wasn't because he was married or had a family. It was the exact opposite, in fact. He'd lost his family and the only thing he had left was his home. Large and beautiful, but heart-breaking at the same time. Especially since it was just him and his d
emons.
That was probably why there was a lack of anything sentimental or personal in there. That's why it seemed so sterile and barren. The memories were just too overwhelming for him in that moment. It was sad and really highlighted just how alone in the world he was. It made my heart go out to him.
“You know,” I said with a laugh, “I was so worried you were married or had kids that first night. I thought you were a cheater and I was just your side piece for the night.”
“Nah,” he said, smiling as we walked in together hand-in-hand. “No wife. Never had the time for a relationship before. Not while I was overseas. I never understood how the other guys could manage it, it just seemed too painful to be apart from somebody you cared about for so long.”
“I can imagine,” I said softly. “Being so far away, hardly getting to talk, let alone –”
“And dying,” he added. There was a distant look in his eyes for a moment, then he turned to me and gave me a soft smile before he elaborated. “Mason was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him when he got home. She made him so happy – he practically glowed whenever he mentioned her name. But that obviously, never happened.”
I had no words that could express how terribly sad that was, so instead, I just said, “I'm sorry, Drew.”
He sighed as he opened his front door. “It is what it is,” he said. “Carrie eventually moved on. Last I heard, she was engaged to a banker or a lawyer or something. Somebody who wasn't getting deployed to shithole countries where they get shot at day in and day out – guys who probably had a really minimal risk of dying in an IED explosion.”
We stepped inside and Drew took my coat, placing it on the rack beside the door. We walked down the hallway – the same hallway I'd used to sneak out of his house a week or so before – and sat in the living room, on the very couch we'd had sex on. I couldn't help but blush at the memories as they came rushing to the surface. And I could tell Drew was feeling somewhat awkward about it all too. Neither of us said much. We sat there staring at each other for a long moment. And eventually, the awkwardness faded and the silence became – companionable.
