Chapter 70

70

JASON

Zach barely slept the night before his therapy appointment. This time, though, it wasn't due to nightmares, mostly because he spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning, never falling asleep long enough to get into a dream state. As a result, we both woke up groggy and irritable, though I knew some of Zach's foul mood was also related to nerves, so I did my best to keep my snark to myself.

Too exhausted for our usual morning run, we took turns in the shower, then dressed and made coffee, hoping that if we drank enough, we might be able to impersonate actual humans.

Forty-five minutes before his appointment, I was sitting on the deck with my third cup of coffee, scrolling through the sports section of the Omaha World Herald on my phone, when Zach threw open the door and shot me a glare. "What are you doing out here? We need to go."

I checked the time. "I figured we'd leave in about fifteen minutes."

"Fine," he snapped, then turned on his heel and went inside. I could see him through the window, aggressively unloading the dishwasher. Knowing this wasn't really about being late, I stood and carried my mug inside.

"Zach."

I set my empty cup in the sink and waited for him to give me his attention. When he grabbed the silverware basket and began tossing forks and spoons into the drawer, I gently took the basket from him and set it on the counter. He glared at me, but I grabbed his hands and pulled him into my arms. He was stiff at first, but after a moment, he melted into me, his arms coming around my waist as he let out a breath.

"It's going to be okay," I said into his hair. "Therapy is hard work, but it's also good work. And I'll be waiting when you're done." I kissed the side of his head. "I'll take you to get ice cream afterward."

He snorted a laugh, exactly as I'd intended. "I have a feeling I'm gonna need something a little stronger."

"I think Arlo's has boozy milkshakes." I kept my tone light. "We could do some day drinking. Maybe see if Drea can pick us up after."

He laughed. "You're ridiculous."

I squeezed him extra tight, then pulled away. "Let me grab my keys, and we'll head out."

I ran back to the bedroom and grabbed my wallet and keys off the dresser, and by the time I returned, he'd finished unloading the dishwasher and seemed calmer.

He pulled the keys out of my hand, examining the keychain. "I can't believe you still have this."

The enamel had worn off a long time ago, but you could still see the outline of the Star of Life emblem stamped into the metal.

"There was a period of time when I debated getting rid of it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt like I'd be giving away the only piece of you I had left."

He brushed his finger over it, then returned it to me. "I'm sorry I was a dick this morning."

"It's okay. I can take it."

"But you don't deserve it. And I just…thank you for being patient with me."

"You never have to thank me for supporting you. We'll work through it together, okay?"

He nodded, though I knew he was still feeling guilty. He'd worry over it because he was an overthinker. But all I could do was show him grace and patience and love him through it.

Zach's therapist shared the same suite of offices as mine and was located just a couple of blocks from the center of town. I dropped him off fifteen minutes early, giving him a quick kiss before he stepped out of the truck, then circled around and found a shady spot to park my truck and wait. I could have sat in the waiting room, but I was actually feeling a little nervous on his behalf and thought sitting in my truck, with the windows open and a cross-breeze flowing, might be a little more comfortable.

When he finally came out a little over an hour later, I held my breath, waiting until he was close enough to the truck for me to see his face clearly. His eyes were red-rimmed, but he was smiling just a bit, clearly happy to see me. The moment he was in the seat next to me, I pulled him into a hug.

"I'm so proud of you!"

"I haven't even told you how it went."

"Doesn't matter. I'm proud of you for taking this step."

He pulled away. "It helped knowing you were here. That you've done this before and I didn't have to do it alone."

"You'll never be alone if I have anything to do with it."

"You're so cheesy," Zach said with a grin.

"It's true. But I'm happy it put a smile on your face." I traced a fingertip across his cheek. "Should we go get that ice cream? Are we heading to Sherry's or Arlo's?"

"Arlo's, but mostly because I'm starving. Can we grab an early lunch?"

"Absolutely."

I kept his hand in mine for the five-minute drive, releasing it when we exited the car and grabbing it again as we walked inside. We chose a booth in the back corner, ordered a couple of burgers and sodas, and then I took Zach's hands in mine once again.

"You gonna ask me how it went?"

"Honey, you are welcome to tell me whatever you're comfortable with, but that's completely up to you."

"Okay, well, I guess the main thing is that she suggested I might want to make an appointment with a psychiatrist to be evaluated for PTSD. She can't give me a diagnosis but said that based on my past trauma and symptoms, it would be fair to think PTSD might be a possibility. She said it's up to me if I choose to go that route, but we could continue our sessions, and she could give me some strategies to manage symptoms either way."

"How do you feel about that?"

"You sound like my therapist."

I laughed. "Maybe. But I genuinely want to know."

"You don't seem surprised."

I shrugged. "I'm not. Though I had thought it might be anxiety. Will has it, and so does Sammy's brother, Jimmy. Your symptoms, I guess you can call them, aren't exactly the same, but there are some similarities to what I've seen them deal with. PTSD would make more sense based on your history, though, and I bet if we do some research, we'll find that the two aren't a whole lot different in the way they look from the outside."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I suspected something deeper was going on back at the end of June, but I only made the anxiety connection in the last week or so, and since you'd already made the therapy appointment, I figured it was best to leave it to the professionals. Plus, I didn't want to stress you out. I'm sorry if that was the wrong thing."

He thought about it a moment, then blew out a breath. "It's okay. You were probably right to leave it for my appointment."

"Do you think you'll make the appointment with the psychiatrist?"

"I'm considering it. I want to do some research first."

I stood and moved to his side of the booth, motioning for him to scoot over. I pulled out my phone, swiping it open and pulling up my browser. "What do you want to know?"

"You want to Google PTSD over lunch?"

"Will it make you feel better?"

"I mean…probably.

"Then let's do it."