Authors: Cassandra Cole
CHAPTER THREE
One month later
The coming of nightfall found Jaxson once again in bed; and although this particular resting place seemed far more familiar, it supplied little comfort in the jarring context of a life turned upside down.
Staring up at the ceiling of his combination modern-contemporary four room apartment in downtown Miami, Jaxson considered the brutal shift of fate that—in the course of just a few weeks--had ripped his life apart.
Just a month and a half ago, he mused, he rode the high seas as a top and well respected Navy Seal; fulfilling a long held childhood dream that had developed into a lifetime career.
He’d never felt stronger, happier or more fulfilled; or more certain of his goal and destiny in what seemed a perfect life, for him.
Now he struggled every day, undergoing incessant rounds of intense physical therapy before dropping from exhaustion in the evenings. Yet even as the pain and fatigue eventually overtook him, still he found he couldn’t sleep; his nocturnal hours cursed by frequent fits of insomnia as well as ceaseless nightmares, the explosion and near death experience weighing more heavily on him than he expected it would. He was tougher than this, he thought.
“No more,” he decided now, pulling himself up from his bed as he faced the full length mirror that formed a far corner of his bedroom.
Thanks to his vigorous rounds of intense physical therapy, and extra albeit unobserved self-directed physical training, Jax managed to remain exceedingly fit despite circumstances; and due to some minor reconstructive surgery, his chiseled blue eyed face remained what the ladies might call strikingly handsome.
“I’m a Navy SEAL—and this is temporary, he decreed to himself and the Universe.” he released with conviction. “I may be down now, but I am still a man.”
Suddenly this man decided enough was enough. He was getting out of his luxury jail, given it wasn’t on his terms, and decided instead on some action, women and beer. “Why not” he thought.
There’s a new bar around the corner, Jax remembered. “No nightmares tonight, if I’m stuck here, I may as well remove sleep from the agenda, at least for tonight, anyway. After a good shower and a sound shave, I should be ready to make my own action”, he thought, missing his buds from SEAL team 7. “This is out character for me”, he decided to let that thought slide, forging a way through the frustration of downtime and a future of uncertainty.
CHAPTER FOUR
Once again Jaxson found himself wallowing in the sheets of his own bed; seeking a brief respite from the unmitigated hell his life had become.
Only this time, he wasn’t alone.
Sharing his crisp, soft cotton sheets this morning was a slender bleached blonde with abnormally sizable breasts; one whose name he struggled to remember as he tried to gently shake her awake.
“Um, Miss?” he summoned her in a soft voice, uncomfortable with her presence in his bed.
Letting out a soft grunt, the woman opened her sleep-glazed eyes to focus on the man who disturbed her slumber.
“Hiii” she purred, she grasped his head with two rough hands and dragged it toward her; seizing his lips in a passionate kiss as he grumbled his protests.
“Ma’am!” he exclaimed, breaking their kiss as he sat away from her in bed. “I had a great time last night, but my mom is due here anytime this morning and I really think it might be awkward…..”
Jumping from his bed the disgruntled stranger pulled on her clothes—a simple shirt and jeans ensemble found at the edge of Jaxson’s bed—as she seared him with a hardened gaze.
“You lied to me last night. You told me you were a Navy Seal,” she spat out these last words with unmistakable venom before adding, “No Seal would kick a woman out of bed like this.” He realized she was one of those ‘Seal hoppers’, and he was a notch in
her
belt. How things had changed.
Within moments she cleared the room and grabbed the black purse that was hanging from Jaxson’s door knob; slinging it over her shoulder as she opened his front door to reveal a most unwelcome sight.
Dorothy Palmer, a slender dark-haired woman wearing a proper blue dress with a conservative white sweater, stood in the doorway with mouth agape; staring wordless at the coarse young woman who swept past her into the hallway.
“He’s all yours Mamma,” the girl declared, heading with brisk steps out of his apartment and away from Jax, minus her unfulfilled morning desires, it seemed.
Moments later Jax lay quiet and still in his sheets; wishing fervent that his bed would open up and swallow him as his mother seared him with a condemning gaze.
“Mom,” he finally spoke, his voice cracking as he attempted a casual shrug. “This isn’t what it looks like. I swear.”
His mother shook her head.
“This is indeed exactly what it looks like, and you have no need to explain,” she assured him, adding as she folded her arms before her, “I don’t know where my son is, but I really don’t care for the irresponsible jerk who has taken his place. You stay out partying all night, bring home strange women, and you’ve skipped numerous physical therapy sessions. You won’t go out and do something productive with your days—ah, but you seem well enough to trek out to the neighborhood bar, to get drunk and make the acquaintance of a sundry one night stand. Worst of all Jaxson Wayne, you refuse find the character you once had. Who the hell are you anyway?” she demanded to know, “and what have you done with my upstanding son!?”
Jaxson shrugged.
His mother shook her head.
“Well this isn’t good enough Son,” she informed him, adding as she took his hand and pulled him from his bed, “And that’s why I have elected to hire you a little outside help, in the form of a therapist. If you’re going to wallow, you’re going to pay the price in the form of solution.”
Jaxson shook his head, he was more afraid of counseling than that of jumping out of a perfectly good plane and into combat.
“No way,” he insisted, as he folded his arms before her. “I’ll go to every physical therapy session—you know, the kind of therapy that actually works—but I’m not going to sit and listen to some know it all shrink who claims she can analyze my subconscious mind.”
His mother sighed.
“Well somebody needs to read you the riot act, or at least set you back on the right track,” she insisted. “And Dr. Pierce just may be the person to do it.” His mother was stronger than hell itself, and he respected her for her deep wisdom. Although he definitely didn’t agree with a lot of things she did and said, she always produced a solution to a pressing problem. He wasn’t raised to say ‘no’ to his mom, and he wasn’t going to test her and try now. After all, he admitted, he really had nothing to lose, but the panic attacks that continued to plague him, nightly.
An hour later Jaxson stood outside a solid mahogany door marked “Dr. B. Pierce”; a door situated centrally in the clean lined offices of Pierce Psychological Services.
“So I wonder what Benjamin, Bartholomew or Barton will have to say about the many and various ways I’m screwing up my life,” he wondered, envisioning the balding, bearded, bespectacled gent in a three piece suit who was about to open the door before him. “Hey, I’m still in Seal shape. If he says something I really don’t like, I can just punch his lights out and be done with it” he humored himself, nervously.
He amended this opinion moments later, as his solid knock on the office door was answered by an individual who—while bespectacled, to be sure—could not precisely be described as balding or bearded. And in lieu of a three piece suit, the person who answered his summons wore a smart azure business dress and high heels.
“Well hello there Barney,” he greeted with a smile. “Or would you be Barney’s nurse?”
The woman rolled her eyes heavenward in a way that told him that he was not remotely correct—in either assumption.
“I am Dr. Bethany Pierce,” she identified herself, adding as she extended her hand to him with a confident flourish; “I take it you are Lt. Jaxson Palmer?”
Taking her hand in his, Jaxson raised it to his soft moist lips for a long lingering kiss; his eyes taking stock of her sleek mane of silky black hair, wide brown eyes, flawless olive complexion, and full glossy lips.
“Well I see this meaningless little arrangement of ours is going to be far more pleasant than I initially imagined,” he purred, adding as his admiring gaze next took in the whole of her tall, voluptuous form, “I never imagined that you’d be a woman, let alone such a beautiful one.”
Pulling him by the hand into her office, Dr. Pierce closed the door behind her and turned to face him with a cold hard stare.
“Look Jaxson, I’ve been warned in advance of you and your B.S. And rest assured that I will not be charmed by you,” she assured him, adding as she folded her arms before her, “I’m not one of those Seal bunnies that you can sweet talk into submission with your military title.” She paused here, leaving out the outrageously fit hard body, and strikingly handsome part. “I’m here to help you reconcile what you’ve been dealing with, so you can get back to whatever you do. Whether you like it or not.”
A stunned Jax looked at her for a long moment then started laughing. Loudly.
“Whether I like it or not,” he repeated in a light tone, adding as he graced her with a playful nudge, “Is this a new and cutting edge method of advanced psychotherapy?”
Without awaiting an answer, he plopped down on the leather couch that formed the center of Dr. Pierce’s office; watching with casual, insolent interest as she took a seat at the polished cherry wood desk that formed the office’s far corner.
“Listen hon, I really like your moxy,” he admitted. “That’s why I really hate to tell you that you’re wasting your time here—along with, I might add, my mother’s money. I have no intention of sitting here while you fill my head with meaningless psychobabble. Sure, I realize that I don’t remember a lot about who I was and what happened to me—but it’s not like you have a magnifying glass into my mind.”
Dr. Pierce shrugged.
“Well it’s your choice of course,” she agreed, adding as she looked her reluctant new patient straight in the eyes, “Just know though, that your mother only called me at the insistence of your commanding officer.” She paused here, adding as she pointed an authoritative finger straight in his direction, “Unless you agree to attend these weekly sessions, in addition to your physical therapy sessions, your chances of making it back into the Seals are roughly less than zero.”
“Give or take, zilcho” she finished, issuing him a challenging look.
“
Give or take, zilcho
” Jaxson mimicked in a snide mocking tone, adding with an insolent look, “Look, if you want to waste an hour of your time each week here in this office with me, then by all means—feel free to do so. We can play checkers, each chocolate chip cookies washed back with some milk, preferably chocolate milk, or take naps here in the depths of your comfy office furnishings here.” He paused here, adding as he flattened his body down the surface of the couch and let loose with a languorous sigh, “But I refuse to discuss, reveal, remember or share anything of substance in your presence.
Nothing. Nada.
Zilcho.
Got it?” He decided he won that round.
CHAPTER FIVE
Three weeks later, Dr., Bethany Pierce had only one good thing to say about her newest patient, Jaxson Palmer. He was indeed a man of his word.
True to his promise on the day of their meeting, Jax refused to communicate, share or divulge a single detail of his life or concerns to her. Instead he challenged her to everything from board games to staring contests, told lots of tasteless jokes, and demonstrated his military borne proficiency for vivid and highly illustrative profanity.
She sensed furthermore that he had yet to surrender his wild party going ways; for while he never divulged a single detail of his personal life, his bloodshot eyes, frequent yawns and lingering aura of feminine perfume told the tale for him.
Finally one day she decided to try a last ditch effort; one that while on the surface appeared to be a ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ response to his situation, actually held a far deeper significance.
After sauntering in ten minutes late to his scheduled session, Jaxson’s bleary eyes flew wide as he saw that his therapist’s office boasted a most unusual piece of furniture: a small round table that came topped with what appeared to be a checkerboard.
“Well why on earth do you have a game board set up right next to the couch?” he blurted out, shaking his head in a show of sheer wonder as he added, “Did your first patient of the morning have a bizarre addiction to terminally boring weekend past times?”
Bethany shook her head.
“Not at all,” she replied, adding as she pulled up her office chair to the far side of the board, “You told me during our first appointment that you liked to play checkers—and that you would in fact prefer to engage in a hearty round of checkers, as opposed to talking to me about your problems and feelings.” She paused here, adding with a smooth flourish across the surface of the checkerboard, “So fine then. Let’s play.”
Jaxson froze.
“You’re not going to psychoanalyze my every move are you?” he asked her, adding as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, “If I pick up the red checker first, you’ll assume that my mommy never loved me….”
Bethany had heard enough.
“Shut up and play,” she commanded.
Heaving a sigh of reluctant resignation, Jaxson rolled his eyes heavenward again as he took a seat on the couch and retrieved a black checker from the surface of the board; frowning in contemplation as he seemed to concentrate on the opening move of the game.
This frown dissolved into an open mouthed gape seconds later, as his now trembling fingers dropped the checker piece to the surface of the board and let loose with an anguished gasp.
“Jaxson, are you all right?” Bethany asked, tone laced concern.
Jaxson was frozen.
“I just remembered something,” he softly blurted out, his body trembling, “My doctor told me that, on the day of the bomb blast, my friend Tommy and I had been playing cards on the deck of our ship. Well we weren’t.”
Bethany nodded.
“You were playing checkers?” she asked, tone soft and gentle.
Jaxson nodded.
“I
remember
now,” he told her, voice thick and stricken with frustrated emotion. “I remember my friend—his smile, his laugh. The way we used to laugh and joke around as we played every game in sight. Now who knows if he’ll never smile, laugh or play again, he’s
still
in a coma and it’s
my fault
!” he paused here, bellowing out as he pitched his head back, “It should have been me. I should have been the one to be lying half dead in a coma, instead of my brother. I wish I could trade places with him. I should have suspected there may be a bomb and been more careful.”
Surging to her feet, Bethany cleared the corner of the board in one smooth gesture and touched his trembling shoulders with a solid, reassuring hand; gifting him with a quick squeeze as she whispered, “But you lived, Jaxson. And as Tommy is indeed a valued and trusted friend, he would want you to lead a happy and worthwhile life. It’s not over, he still may recover.”
Jaxson nodded.
“I know Doc,” he acknowledged. “How do I do that, though? How do I make my way back, nothing makes sense, it’s like
I
don’t even know who I am.”
Bethany leaned over closer to him, staring with warm tenderness into his eyes as she told him, “Before you can even begin to move on Jaxson, you have to remember,
everything.
You’ve been through worse, given what you do, but this sealed the deal and you’ve gone into emotional hiding. I would suggest that we try a round of hypnosis.”