“Gage.”I set down my spoon, missing the edge of the table and sending it clamoring on the wooden slats.
Spirit snorted from her stall below.
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know what everyone thinks I’m supposed to get out of therapy. I don’t need it.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t need it every time the military mandated that I talk to someone after killing a dozen tangos. Just like you didn’t then, either. Because that was our job, we understood that. We were doing what we were supposed to do, and the military was doing what it was supposed to do by giving us a little couch time. We played the game. Damn well, too. But this is different, Feen. What happened to you…” My brother’s voice trailed off.
I focused on a knick on the table that needed smoothing out.
Gage continued. “… This is different, Feen. This isn’t just you and us shoving emotions aside like we’ve done all our life. This is physical. You need?—”
“Gage—”
“No.Feen.”His voice raised, echoing off the walls. “Shut the hell up and listen to what I have to say. What you went through—what your body went through—shit, Feen, you were an inch from death. Dr. Buckley tells us it’s a miracle that you pulled through; that most men wouldn’t have. But you’re not just any man, brother. No man walking this earth would have survived what you did. But there were consequences. Physical ones that need to be addressed… mental ones that need to be addressed.”
I scratched my chin, my skin suddenly feeling like it was covered in ants.
Gage continued. “I know it’s not fun, man, but in order to get you back to one-hundred, you’ve got to do this shit.”
“I am doing this shit.”
“No you’re not. You’re getting kicked out.”
I shifted in my seat, wanting to jump out of the loft door. Not the first time that thought had occurred to me.
“Why won’t you even give therapy a shot?”
I grunted, leaned back. “She’s… Dr. Floris is one of those… really smart, woman-empowered kind of women. And…” I exhaled, not proud of what I was about to say. “I might have bribed her…”
His brows popped.
“… With sex.”
The boisterous laughter that barreled out of him sent the horses shifting in their stalls below.
“Youbribedyour head doctor with sex? And how’d that turn out for you, hot rod?”
“She threatened to choke me with my own balls.” The corner of my lip curved.
Snorting, Gage wiped the tears from his eyes. “I like this chick already.” He picked up his spoon and began eating again. “Well, hate to break it to you, bro, but Rose Florisdoeshave you by the balls. Because if you don’t go apologize to her and continue with your therapy, she’ll ensure you never see your freedom again.”
Sighing, my gaze shifted to the rain falling outside.
Gage was right. My fate now rested in the hands of a five-foot-three brick-wall stunner named Rose Flower.
The thought of apologizing to her—toanyone—made my stomach twist. So I did what I always did when things got too real.
I deflected.
“What’s the score?” I asked, digging into my chili.
“Six to zip.” Gage wiped a string of melted cheese from the scruff on his chin.
Just like that, we shifted the conversation to sports—ourunspoken agreement when things got too heavy. And while the old me would’ve been all in, stats and strategy and trash talk, this version of me was stuck.
Stuck on the image of Rose Floris with her fingers metaphorically wrapped around my pride.
It wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself in front of a woman. But back then, it never mattered. We’d hash it out in bed, I’d make her forget whatever I said—twice, usually—and by morning, she was a memory.
