Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
My brother jutted his chin out. “Perfectly reasonable, brotherly behavior.”
“That’s enough.” Dad leveled us with a look that brooked no arguments. “You two will just have to agree to disagree.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said swiftly, sending up a mental apology to whichever man I eventually ended up with because he was probably going to have to deal with their obnoxiousness for the rest of our lives.
2
Kade
“Simon,” I greeted my friend as I approached him. When I reached the table, he stood and shook my hand.
“Sir.”
“Cut the sir shit, sailor,” I grunted with a grin as I slid into the booth.
We met at a diner for lunch, like we did every Wednesday.
Simon remained in a hospital for a week before returning to the States. I’d sat in on his debriefing, and his experience had been truly fucked up. He and his teammates had been tortured, then killed one by one. Simon was young, but he was a big guy and a tough motherfucker.
But being a big, bad SEAL didn’t make us infallible. What this sailor had endured was the stuff of nightmares, and it was no surprise to me when he called and told me he’d been admitted to a psych hospital. Simon wasn’t crazy, but he had demons that would need to be sorted out if he was going to have any kind of life.
We’d been friends since he transferred to Coronado, and we lived about ten minutes from each other. So I stopped by on Wednesdays to check on him, and when the doctor felt he was ready to go home, I picked him up and drove him there.
I wouldn’t hover like an old woman, but I made him promise to check in with me weekly. After two weeks, I could tell he was fraying around the edges, and I knew he’d been holed up in his apartment. So I threatened him and forced him to meet me for lunch.
For the last four months, he’d been in therapy, and I could sense that he was beginning to heal. But PTSD can be a lifelong weight, and he would most likely deal with the effects of it for the rest of his life. However, with the right treatment, he’d learn how to cope and not let it overrun his life.
“How’s the job?” I asked as I picked up a menu, even though I ordered the same thing every time.
Simon inhaled slowly, then exhaled at the same pace. “Good as can be expected, I guess.”
He’d been medically discharged due to his physical injuries, which had left him with a permanent limp from a shattered hipbone and some vision loss. But his technical skills were highly valued, so I’d encouraged him to apply for a civilian position on the base.
“Still having episodes?”
Simon nodded but remained quiet on the subject as our server approached. We ordered, and when we were alone again, Simon replied, “The night terrors are bad, so I don’t sleep well, then I’m tired at work and more prone to anxiety attacks in certain situations.”
I frowned, concerned and frustrated that I couldn’t be of more help to him. After eight weeks in a cast, I’d just recently graduated to a mobile brace, but it still hampered my movement. If he were to have an episode that caused him to violently lash out, I wouldn’t be able to duck and cover fast enough. And his therapist didn’t want anyone becoming a crutch, which made sense, even if it was hard to swallow.
“Dr. Kemp thinks a PTSD service dog will help.”
Our food arrived, and I waited until the server left before commenting. “I’ve read about them. The research on their ability to help veterans and first responders shows a high degree of success in reducing symptoms.” I’d always loved animals and had several dogs growing up. So when I heard about these dogs specifically trained for mental health assistance, I watched a documentary about them. Unfortunately, I’d had a lot of time on my hands lately.
“Can’t hurt to try, right?” Simon shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.
“I think it might be just what you need.”
We talked through our meal, mostly about random shit, anything that took our minds off our current predicaments. But after we paid the bill and stood to leave, Simon cleared his throat, making me stop and give him my attention.
“I was wondering if you had time to take me to the facility. I have an appointment to start the pairing process.”
Simon hadn’t been cleared to drive yet, so he walked wherever he could and used a transport van to get him places like work that were too far to hoof it. Though he clearly hated it, his only other option was to ask a friend.
“Of course I will, jackass,” I grunted. “Stop acting like a pussy and get over it.”