Pope wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The thought of standing around a crowded yard full of couples and laughing people sounded as appealing as a bullet wound this morning.
He entered the lodge, enveloped by the warmth and familiar scent of coffee and cedar. The place had changed for him since he arrived at the Black Heart. It felt less like somewhere he was passing through and more like a place he stayed long enough to heal.
He passed what the vets all called “the wall,” a bulletin board filled with photos of the men who’d graduated from the program. It showed them all what they were working toward: a new chance. A new view on life.
Turning his face away from it, he continued on to another kind of therapy session. Rhae’s office door was cracked open, as always, and he knocked once before stepping inside.
She looked up from her desk with a smile, a little brighter eyed than the last few weeks since her second child was born. A small bassinet stood in the corner, and the baby inside it was asleep beneath a yellow blanket, one tiny fist curled near her face.
He crossed the room before he thought too hard about it and looked down. The little girl issued a sleepy coo but didn’t wake.
“Baby girl’s got Navy’s nose,” he remarked, referring to her big sister.
Rhae laughed softly from behind him. “She does.”
He gazed at the baby another second. “What’d you name her again?”
“Maren.”
He nodded once. “Navy and Maren. Fits for the daughters of a Navy SEAL.”
He finally moved toward the chair across from Rhae’s desk and sat down, dragging a hand across the back of his neck as exhaustion settled over him again.
“How are you doing this morning?” Rhae always had her little notebook at the ready, and the pen stood poised over the page, prepared to take notes on their session.
He exhaled. “Didn’t sleep.”
That was putting it lightly when the last words Summer spoke to him never stopped replaying in his mind.
You have nothing to give either.
The words stayed with him. He could try to outrun them all day, but they were right there waiting for him the second he got a quiet moment.
It was the worst in the hours before dawn. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her sitting in bed, wrapped in that blanket looking like she hated hurting him even as she did it.
The worst thing was she believed he was too damaged for a future.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong.
Over the past year of their fling—stolen nights when her young son was spending the night elsewhere—she’d threatened to break things off. They’d taken a few breaks but always circled back. Another late night. Another escort home. Another excuse.
This time felt different. It sounded like she meant it, and that alone kept him from poker nights in the back of the Stockyard.
He stared toward the window behind Rhae’s desk, jaw tight. Maybe once therapy was done, and he got his head on straight enough to leave the program for good, Summer would see things differently.
“You look tired.” Rhae’s gentle observation brought him back to the moment.
“Feel tired.”
“You out too late playing poker?”
He shifted his gaze back to her. No accusation echoed in her tone, and somehow that made him feel worse.
She rested her hand on top of the open notebook. “We’ve never talked about poker, have we, Pope?”
He pulled in a breath through his nostrils, deep enough to make his chest burn. “It’s just a way to pass the time.”
She offered a soft smile. “I’m bringing it up now because when people are dealing with something painful, they often distract themselves with things like games or drinking. Anything that helps numb out instead of facing their emotions.”
