That’s my biggest reason right there for not calling Jade. She needs to deal with what happened, in her own way. On her own time. I’ll give her a week or so before I find her. The first time is the hardest of them all. It doesn’t matter how much they psychoanalyze your brain; drill a damn hole in your head and fill it with the fact that the enemy will kill you unless you strike first. It’s a vicious circle that spins inside of you until you blow it up your own damn self.
I lean my head forward in the shower, letting the steam and the hot water clear my mind. I learned a long time ago to let that shit go. It’s my job. I do it well, and I’ll do it again if the need arises.
I grab my soap and scrub the hell out of my body, washing away the last traces of this mission. No more. I’m done thinking about it until I help her.
After drying off and finishing my morning routine, I throw on a pair of worn jeans and a navy t-shirt. Slipping into my boots, I make my way down the hall and to the kitchen, leaving my bed unmade. It may be unusual that I don’t want to make it. I don’t give a shit. The idea of knowing she was in my bed at all makes me want to leave it all crumpled to hell.
“Hey, fuckhead!” I shout into the phone where I placed it on the counter before walking to the other side of the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. It’s eleven in the morning, too damn late for coffee.
“Fuck off. Wait, you’ve been fucking off for a week now. Get your ass in here so I can leave and find me some hot piece of ass to take home and fuck.” Some things will never change. I shake my head as I listen to my partner carrying on about how deprived his dick has been since I’ve been gone. He’s so full of fucking shit. That man will fuck any goddamn thing. He’s a hundred times worse than I’ve ever been. My desire to pick up other women vanished the minute I saw Jade. I shake her from my mind and chug down the entire bottle of water, toss the empty plastic into the garbage, snatch the phone off of the counter, and head out the front door. “Whatever, fucker. I’ll be there in a few,” I tell him before I end the call in the middle of him bitching.
I stare down at my phone. The urge to call her is grinding away at my gut. Instead, I toss the phone into the empty passenger seat and grab my shades and my ball cap. I’m giving her the space she asked for, for now anyway.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JADE
I knew the moment I woke up drenched in sweat, my entire body trembling from the nightmare that won’t leave my damn mind, that I had to leave. It didn’t matter that the sun was set to rise. I had to get the hell out of there before I woke him. The man has been through enough shit to have to deal with a wacked-out woman who can’t handle what she has been trained to do. I don’t need coddled, or for anyone to tell me I will be alright. I need to do this my way.
So what did I do? Like a coward, I fumbled through the dark of his bedroom. Found all of my clothes and tiptoed out of his room. Found a half bath in the hallway and quickly got dressed, picked up my bag from the floor where he dropped it, and quietly exited his house. Called a cab to pick me up. My eyes stayed glued to his front door, praying he wouldn’t notice I was gone. It wasn’t until I pulled away that I let out a deep breath he didn’t wake. Not that I wouldn’t have left anyway, but I couldn’t deal with seeing the look on his face. He wants to help, I appreciate him for that. But how can anyone help me if I don’t try to help myself?
By the time the cab driver dropped me off to retrieve my car, my nerves were frantic and my chest was so very tight. Every noise had me jumping. It was like gunfire to my ears, strangling me and making it hard to breathe, not to mention hard to drive. Turning on the radio to some random classical station to drown out the noises from outside, I made my way down the road and away from Commander Kaleb Maverick.
By the time I made the three-hour drive to my apartment, thankful my roommate was already gone to work, I was a mess and coated in sweat. My chest was aching to the point I felt like I was having a heart attack as anxiety swarmed around me.
By the time I was inside my apartment, my hands were shaking so bad I dropped the card my superior officer handed me on the floor twice before falling to my knees in a crying mess. Through tear-stained eyes I managed to dial the psychiatrist’s number. I attempted to gain some sort of control before speaking to her receptionist, but not enough that she didn’t recognize the panic in my voice before she placed me on hold, returning shortly to tell me to be there within the hour.
So here I am. Sitting in the office of Doctor Simone Randall. Her office is cheery and bright. Her coal-black hair is pulled back with those old metal clips on each side like my grandmother used to use. Her eyes are kind and sympathetic. She’s not showing me pity, just warmth and understanding, as if she knows exactly what I’ve been through. This is the first time I feel a sliver of hope.
“We both know what’s brought you here today, Jade. Anything you tell me stays between the two of us. It’s strictly confidential. My report back to your superior officer will only state whether I feel you need more time or whether you’re ready to perform your job duties,” she says honestly.