Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
She cringes, her body convulsing with an exaggerated shudder. “I loathe misinformed rookies. I prefer Lead Behavioral Specialist. But my education and resume include the title Board Certified Psychologist. That sounds stiff and uppity.”
“Sounds like you’re blanketing the truth.”
“Well, Mr. Powers, if you will sit your ass down so we can get on with this session, you can decide which title you prefer.”
“One more question.”
“This session is already late. Lucky for you, I don’t take a lunch. But if you push into my other appointments and make me late for girls’ night out, I’ll triple my fees.”
“We could have always come later, as we thought was scheduled.”
Her eyes drop back to her wrist and she sighs. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t just a practical joke my uncle didn’t pass along the request. There are no sessions open on my calendar for a month. When I leave tonight, I don’t return to the Metro PD for weeks. I’m booked for my other clients. Because of the severity of your cases and who you are, your files have to go through me for medical release. It would be April before we see each other. Uncle Boyd obviously didn’t know that tidbit.”
“Why you?”
“I specialize in trauma.”
“We’re not traumatized.”
“You stepped in front of your friend to take a bullet in a covert military mission. He almost died. You had a bullet lodged in your chest cavity and couldn’t breathe. Maybe that’s not trauma to a big, bad Marine, but to others, it falls into a trauma zone.”
Ace’s body jolts. It’s slight but noticeable. We exchange a look that speaks for itself.
“Boys, I didn’t graduate yesterday. I’m an expert in body language—among other things. Including the art of avoidance. Did I mention my booked schedule and plans for tonight?”
“What do you want us to say? It fucking sucked. The motherfuckers came out from behind a concealed door, firing. When Major slammed into me, I knew they had hit him.”
“I’ve read the file. Sounds like a chaotic scene.”
“Chaotic? It was a fucking shootout in a tunnel of a Columbian compound.”
“Do you remember the first thought that ran through your head?”
Knowing his thoughts are easy because they are the same as mine. “We were pissed. We knew there was the possibility of undisclosed entrances, but lacked the intel on the manpower close to the scene. They had another crew close that got the jump on us during the rescue. Our guys were outside. They outnumbered us in that tunnel.”
“Yet you took out thirteen members of one of the most wanted drug cartels in Columbia. You are hailed as heroes.”
I shrug. “It was our mission.”
“So, go back to the shootings. Any aftermath of the incidents? Nightmares, cold sweats, flashbacks?”
“No,” we answer in unison.
She reaches behind her, bringing a thick file into her lap and thumbing through the stack of papers. “Tell you what. You two are close to getting reinstated to full duty. Why don’t you sit down and indulge me in this little chat so I can sign-off and we can get on with our day?” Her bored tone is laced with challenge, letting us know that wasn’t a suggestion.
We choose the armchairs, and I catch the quirk of her lips before she coughs, quickly covering it.
A silence settles over the room, her eyes passing patiently between the two of us.
“You wanted to chat?” I recall her words.
“Waiting on you.”
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“You two took it upon yourselves to make this a group session, which leads me to believe you’ve already confessed your feelings to each other. I want in on the boys’ club.”
“I wouldn’t say we confessed our feelings,” Ace utters grumpily.
“What would you call it?”
“Getting shitfaced and recalling the day.” I sit back and link my fingers across my stomach.
“Ahhh, the proverbial Therapy of Soldiers. I’m familiar with this practice.”
“It works and is a hell of a lot more fun than the weekly sessions.”
“Ouch, I will leave that out of my report. Don’t want to hurt Dr. Alif’s feelings.”
“Nah, he’s alright, but our way is more my style.”
“Touché.” She dips her head in approval. “Now, enlighten me on what you worked out.”
Ace blows out a breath, and to my disbelief, doesn’t put up resistance. Together, we relive the night and our conversation. When we’re done, she stays quiet, her expression unreadable.
“I know the answer, but have to ask anyway. Have you shot a gun since that day?”
Ace twists his neck and smirks at me. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Your release will be on Peew—I mean, Boyd’s desk Monday morning. Congratulations.” We both stand, ready to leave, when she clears her throat.
“On the record, stay safe and know that the department resources don’t end when you’re cleared. What you did was beyond heroic. There is always someone available to talk if your situation changes. Thank you for your service.”