Prologue
He saw his shrink on Tuesdays. Not because hewantedto, but because when he hadn’t been allowed to drive, his sister had taken him, and Tuesday was the day she sent her pre-schooler to daycare. Now that he’d gotten his licence renewed, he drove himself, thank God, but he’d stuck with Tuesdays because—well—it seemed fitting. Tuesdays weren’t Mondays. They weren’t depressing from the get-go. Or, if you were an optimist and considered Mondays to be a fresh start—because some people were fucking insane—then Tuesdays didn’t qualify as that either. They weren’t the middle of the week. They weren’t uplifting Thursdays. They weren’t party Fridays. They were Tuesdays. Boring and endless, and just far enough away from the next weekend that you sort of felt like it might never come.
Shrink appointments felt just like that.
They didn’t refresh him. Didn’t push the reset button on his life. They also didn’t depress him outright so much as they left him feeling—bogged down, lost, and a little bit angry, but also somewhat healed, since Dr. Leslie Jones really seemed to know her shit. Even when he really didn’t feel up to hearing what she had to say, he listened anyway. Whenever he settled himself on her leather couch, he felt like the heaviest man on earth, and like maybe, he’d never get back on his feet—which technically, after an hour of sitting, was entirely possible, given his fucked-up left leg. But by the end of each session, he was usually lighter. Like she’d managed to knock a little weight off his shoulders. It wasn’t much—but it was enough to keep him coming back to see her, week after week.
So, yeah, shrink appointments felt like Tuesdays, just like the number seven and knives had the same energy, and no, he wouldn’t elaborate on that.
“Tanner?Tanner?” His shrink called his name, pulling him back to the present and his current predicament. Although she spoke firmly, her expression was sympathetic.
“I think I lost you there for a minute.”
“Right, yeah. Sorry,” he apologized, trying to pull himself together. He’d been doing this so often lately that it had become a well-practiced ritual. Sit up, square his shoulders, smooth down the front of his shirt, move his leg so the stabbing pains would be reduced to a dull throb, adjust the sling holding his left arm hostage, and finally paste on his sunniest smile.
“Where did you go?” she asked. Tanner wracked his brain for any clues as to what they were discussing before he’d zoned out, but he came up empty.
“Nowhere, really. Just—comparing knives and the number seven,” he answered, partly to placate her and partly because he was afraid of hearing her take on his Shrink-and-Tuesday analogy.
“Is that something you did often? When you were over there?”
He liked Dr. Jones. Really, he did. But he also wanted to drive an ice pick through his skull out of sheer frustration when she managed to ignore his diversions and get right back to business.
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t outwit her.
“I did a lot of things to keep myself busy. I don’t remember everything,” he replied with a shrug.
He knew he should not be so avoidant. He’d agreed to come here. Hewantedto be here—well, not wanted in the same way he wanted a beer on a hot day after work but wanted to be here in an otherwise-I-will-blow-my-brains-out type of way. Yet, every time he sat on that damned couch, he consistently shied away from sharing his innermost thoughts with her. He usedassholish, sarcastic remarks to avoid those questions like Neo avoided bullets inThe Matrix.
“And since you’ve been back? What have you been doing?” Although she knew the questions and the answers by rote, she used this technique to warm him up to talk about his past. To get him to reveal details about what had happened while he’d been “away.” It was their usual song-and-dance routine, so, with a tired sigh, he played his part.
“Physiotherapy, mostly. And I started working for the family business again,” he replied with a shrug.
“And what does that involve?”
“I sell lawn care service contracts.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
He huffed out a laugh and leaned forward, wincing as something in his leg pulled. He stared at the floor for a minute before sitting back again.
“I was a helicopter pilot. I flew people in and out of war zones. Now, I sell lawn care services—how do you think it is?” he replied, wincing inwardly at how ungrateful he sounded.
“Unfulfilling,” she stated, and yeah, Tanner supposed that summed it up pretty damned well. He just shrugged.
“Well, since my pole dancing days are over,” he joked, patting his injured leg, “I’m just glad it pays the bills!” He summoned a smile that he hoped didn’t make him look like the Joker.
Dr. Jones nodded and scribbled something down, then she looked up and adjusted her glasses. Tanner knew exactly what was about to happen. She would have been a terrible poker player. She had tells. Lots of them really, but this one—adjusting her glasses right before speaking—always meant she was about to chew another hole in his ass. Oh, goody.
“As you know, I’ve spoken with your family about who you are—who youwere—before everything happened. I do thisbecause it gives me a feel for the person we’re supposed to be working our way back to. The descriptions varied—most people aren’t very good judges of character—but they all had some things in common. Do you know what those things were?”
Tanner shook his head. He couldn’t cross his arms because of his goddamned sling, which pissed him off every time he tried. He settled for wrapping his free arm around his midsection protectively.
“Everyone told me you were a passionate man. An emotional man, even. Someone who jumped in with both feet without thinking it all the way through.”
Tanner did his best not to react. He’d gotten pretty good at it. He’d had to.
“So, Tanner, when you talk to me about your unfulfilling job that merely pays the bills, I don’t see any signs of passion. Instead, I see a hard shell meant to protect you from something,” she explained, gentle and patient as ever. “I can’t help you if you hide behind a shell. Neither one of us likes empty platitudes; it’s a waste of time for us to pretend we do.”
