“I went once with my uncle. I was eight? Nine, maybe? I wanna go again.”
“Okay,” I agreed with a nod. “When we get back, we’ll do it. Maybe my buddies from back home will come, too. And my brother.”
“I’m game. I gotta meet these guys. They sound right up my alley.”
I shook off the memory and stood, heading inside and shutting the door a bit harder than intended. Noah and I never went deep-sea fishing, and he never met Gabe, Lucas, or Wes.
Because he never made it home.
No, thinking of Noah was nothing new, but in this house,surrounded by silence, the memories didn’t fade—they crowded in constantly. Each quiet moment brought him back, turning the peacefulness I had hoped for into something I dreaded. That was precisely why I hated the fucking quiet.
A few days later, I was sitting across from Nate during my therapy session, talking about work and how I was doing.
“It’s been a couple of weeks now. Do you feel like you’re adjusting well to being back to work?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I haven’t had any episodes at work like I did before I came home, if that’s what you mean.”
“No. I mean, that’s good you haven’t had any episodes. I just meant stress-wise. That’s a high-stress environment, so I meant it more as in how you’re handling that part of it.”
“Is it strange to say that I welcome it?”
“No,” he replied with a chuckle.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess with keeping myself busy for twelve hours when I’m there, I’m not so in my head.”
Nate nodded. “And what about when you’re not there?”
I dropped his gaze, debating what to say, how much to say. But my hesitation was answer enough.
“Are you feeling overwhelmed at home?”
I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I’d call it overwhelmed,” I said, searching for the right word while the silence stretched between us. “It’s just…so damn quiet because it’s just me. Not that it wasn’t quiet at my parents’ place, but there the quiet feels heavy. Like my thoughts are crowding me. It’s suffocating at times.”
Nate nodded in what looked like understanding. “Well…you moved into a new home. It’s a change in environment, new surroundings, a disruption in what became your routine. The stress of such a big change can exacerbate what you were already going through.”
“Great,” I huffed. “So, I did this to myself.”
By trying to prove that I was better than I was.
He smiled ruefully. “You just have to figure out some ways to work through the quiet and reduce the noise in your head.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that? It’s quiet because I’m there alone. And don’t suggest I get a roommate or anything like that because that’s not happening.”
“No roommate,” Nate said with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He was quiet for a moment. “Actually…how do you feel about pets?”
My brow furrowed. “Pets?”
“More specifically, a dog?”
“I don’t mind dogs.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard that dogs are known to be helpful with people with PTSD. Studies even show they can reduce the severity of symptoms. They’re great for companionship, obviously, if you’re willing to give it back to them in return. Not saying youshouldget one, but it’s certainly something to consider if you want.”
I hadn’t had a dog since I was fifteen—we had a cocker spaniel named Buddy when I was growing up, but after he passed, my parents never got another one.
I wasn’t entirely against the idea of having one, especially if it might help.
I spent the next week going back and forth with myself about a dog, weighing the potential pros and cons. The more I thought about it and the more time I spent in that quiet house, the more appealing the idea became.
