“Jesus, Jenn, why do you do that?” Ally climbed down from the pedi chair and pulled up a stool beside her. “We both know you’re not really the slut you claim to be. That’s just a bunch of self-protective bullshit you feed yourself so you don’t have to deal with the fact that the guys you’ve slept with have been complete assholes.”
“Yeah, I sure know how to pick them, don’t I?” She rose, tossed the wet towels into the laundry bin, and brought the pedi supplies back to the cupboard.
“No. Don’t you dare take that on. Guys are good—damn good—at making us believe they’re gonna be our very own version of Prince Charming. It’s in their stupid DNA. Fuck or fail or whatever the hell that biological motivator is that makes them think they need to spread their seed far and wide.” Ally got up and followed Jenny into the back room of the salon, her determination kicking into overdrive. “You like this guy, don’t you?”
Jenny nodded with her head down and hands gripping the edge of the counter. The thing was, she’d liked a lot of guys before. She’d even convinced herself that a few of them had liked her, too. But after the sex, they always left. Always. Reed and Jake were the only two who’d come back more than once and, in the end, they’d left, too. Kinda gave a girl a complex. Made her wonder if the entirety of her destiny consisted of being the town whore turned crazy, reclusive cat lady.
“What makes him different?” Ally asked softly, reaching out and smoothing Jenny’s hair over her shoulder.
“I don’t know that he is different.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but you’re a smokin’ hot chick, and he slept in the same bed as you without making a move. Either he’s different or he’s gay.”
Jenny smiled. “He’s definitely not gay.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
No way was she sharing the details of their mini-makeout session on her porch. “Let’s just say he’s made it pretty clear that he’s attracted to me. Which is why I’m not sure if he’s just trying to get into my pants or if he’s legitimately into me. I mean, I am an awesome lay. He’s probably heard the rumors.”
Ally snorted. “I’ll let that one fly because it was funny, but that’s the last time you get to say shitty stuff about yourself. Got it?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Damn right. Now listen to me...” Ally grabbed Jenny by the shoulders and turned her so they were eye to eye. “You’re off to a great start with Brody, but it’s going to get harder and harder to keep up the Catholic nun routine. As you pointed out, he’s pretty damn fuckable.”
Jenny quirked an eyebrow. “Is this supposed to bolster my resolve? Because it’s not.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Resisting him is going to become more and more difficult the longer you see him. But that’s exactly what you need to do. Not to test him, not to gauge whether you guys could have something more substantial...but to prove that you’re worth more than you’ve ever given yourself credit for.” Tears began to shimmer in her best friend’s eyes and she let go of Jenny’s shoulder to fan a hand in front of her face. “Damn hormones.”
Jenny smiled through watery emotion of her own. “I really want what you and Mark have, Al. I know I shouldn’t be jealous, but I am. Totally.”
Ally folded her arms around her shoulders and gave Jenny a squeeze. “You’ll have it, sweetie. I promise.”
“I hope so.” And for the first time in a long time, she actually believed it might be true.
***
“I know you don’t see it yet, but we’re making progress here, Corporal.” Dr. Sherman slipped off his glasses, set them on the table to his left, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“When are the dreams going to stop? That’s the kind of progress I want to see.” Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Brody tapped his fingertips together anxiously. “They stop for a day or two, and then they come back all over again.”
“The subconscious is a complicated thing. It can hang onto things we don’t even know have impacted us.”
“Then how the hell is therapy going to help? How is anything going to help?”
Dr. Sherman gave a sympathetic smile. “Awareness is half the battle.”
Oh really. “What’s the other half?”
“Faith.”
“That’s bullshit.” Brody shoved to his feet and stalked across the office, his focus set absentmindedly on a tall willow tree, its limbs weighed down with silvery ice.
“Why do you say that, Brody?”
“You think I don’t want this to stop? You think I enjoy losing sleep and walking around like a fucking zombie all the time?”
“I’m not talking about wanting the dreams to stop—I’m talking about believing they will.”
What kind of crap was that? “So you’re telling me all I’ve gotta do is blow smoke up my own ass and Ernie’s lifeless eyes will stop keeping me awake at night?”
Dr. Sherman nodded agreeably. “To a certain degree, yes. It’d be most effective if you actually bought into the change, though.”
“I’m not buying into any of this, Doc. The only fucking thing that’s helped me at all is the company of a woman who lives all the way on the other side of Nebraska. You want me to keep talking? To open up? Well, how about this—she’s the only friggin’ reason I’m here right now.”
The older man’s eyes widened slightly and he waved a hand, inviting more. “Go on.”
Yeah, right. “I’m not talking to you about Jenny.”
“But she’s motivated you to continue seeing me. Maybe there’s some substance to that.”
Sure there was. He didn’t want to freak her out when he screamed like a little bitch in the middle of the night. Ideally, he’d have this shit wrapped up by the time she trusted him enough to share her bed again.
“Does she know what happened in Afghanistan, Corporal?” Dr. Sherman was a persistent son of bitch, Brody would give him that.
“The basics.” He lifted a shoulder and moved away from the window.
“And the dreams?”
A loud bark of laughter erupted from Brody’s chest. “I initiated her with that shit, Doc. A proud fucking moment in my life, let me tell ya.”
“How did she react?”
The memory of Jenny climbing into bed beside him, smoothing on her lotion, like dudes boohooing about dying in their sleep happened to her every damn day. Reed Fletcher might’ve shed a few tears in his pillow, but Brody doubted they were over anything more significant than his faded tan or his tiny, prepubescent balls.
“She rolled with it. Didn’t make a big deal of it or anything.”
“Did she acknowledge it or pretend it didn’t happen?”
Scratching a hand over the back of his neck, he reclaimed his seat and sighed. “She acknowledged it, but she was pretty chill about the whole thing. Just asked a few questions and didn’t push for answers I didn’t want to give.”
“How’d that make you feel?” Dr. Sherman leaned back in his seat, steeling his fingers, like he did every time they edged toward more intense conversation.
“Made me want to tell her more.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s the first person in too long who hasn’t looked at me like I’m crazy. And who makes me feel like the man I was before that last tour. If I tell her...” He shook his head, the potential outcome not something he wanted to verbalize, let alone envision. “If I tell her, I risk her seeing me for the mess I really am.”
“You’re not crazy, Brody.”
“I’m not?” He gave another bitter laugh.
“No. You just need to let go of the unwarranted guilt you carry. Nothing you could have done would have stopped that IED from going off the way it did, because you can’t change what you don’t know about.” The doctor gave another easy smile. Probably intended to be reassuring, but it missed its mark. “What you can change is the person you let that awful day turn you into. Will it come in the way of your relationships? Absolutely. Especially if you’re not upfront about what you’ve been through, and what you fear will happen as a result.”