Page 68 of Saving Summer
She pulled her hand free. “I get it, Jamie. When it comes to yourdaughter’ssafety, you’re in charge.”
He shook his head. “You’re not hearing me, Summer. You and Halia are one and the same to me, which makes you both mine. So, tuck your stubbornness away and agree.”
“Fine.” Her heart slammed against her ribs. Each accelerated beat, punching against the wall of her chest. He’d claimed her. Called her his. And she liked it. A lot. Freaking over-protective heroes were supposed to stay between the pages of her romance novels. Not show up in her room, in her life, looking all rumpled, and broken, and sexy.
Nope. She should not, could not, would not be attracted to her baby’s daddy.
Great. Now she sounded like a Dr. Seuss book.
“Not good enough, little squirrel. I need to hear you say it.”
Her mood darkened. “Don’t call me little squirrel.”
“Say it.” His cocky grin was the first ray of sunshine after the storm that had thoroughly whipped her ass, and she scowled at the sight of it. “Agree with me, safety trumps discussion, and I’ll be on my merry way.”
“Fine.” At this point, she was so hot and bothered, she would have consented to anything he wanted to make him leave. “I agree. Safety trumps discussion.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You have no idea. Can you go bye-bye now?”
“Sure.” He checked his watch. “I have to get on a call anyway.” He crutched his way over to the door but paused before leaving. “By the way, you look tired. You should go have a nap in my room. I promise not to crawl in behind you to cuddle.”
“Good luck getting past the deadbolt,” she grumbled, and he laughed.
“You’re forgetting I have the key, little girl.”
“Don’t call me little girl.” She crossed her arms over her breasts to hide her rock-hard nipples. Jeez, with Jamie around, she’d need to start wearing multiple layers of clothes again, but for entirely different reasons. “I’m not little.”
“Then be agoodgirl instead and go lie down in my bed. You’re tired, cranky, and you need to sleep.”
“You can’t waltz in here, boss me around, and call me cranky. I’m not cranky.” She pointed a trembling finger at his chest. “You’re cranky.”
His grin went supernova, the blinding light consuming everything in the room, including her. “Go have a nap, buttercup”—he hitched his chin at the exit opposite his—“we can argue about who’s cranky later.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Butt parkedin his office chair, Jamie flicked his eyes from the rumpled cot to the laptop screen on his desk. “I’m angry,” he replied, his chest tightening at the admission. “At everyone and everything.”
In her colorful Miami office, Dr. Nalini Christina smiled. Dressed in a canary yellow blouse, she radiated a glass-half-full vibe, and he found himself willing and able to talk to her about some of the things he’d been bottling up.
“Anger is a normal response to the trauma you’ve experienced. It’s one of the many symptoms of PTSD and a natural part of the grieving process. How you feel and how you respond to those feelings is unique to you. There’s no military protocol here. No process or procedure to follow. No right or universally accepted way to manage your grief. You just have to let yourself go through the process with the understanding that what you’re experiencing at any given moment is valid. Be angry. Be frustrated. Be sad. But also allow yourself to feel joy, contentment, and hope too.”
“Not sure I can, Doc.” He frowned and shifted in his seat. “Other than wanting justice for Kosamina, I don’t know what to feel or even how to grieve for her. She was my wife by marriage only. She carried my last name but not my child. Her safety was my responsibility, but I let her die.”
She nodded. “That’s a lot to unpack.”
“Fucked up. Right?”
“No. Not at all. Grief, under the best of circumstances, is complicated. So is love. The thing about both is they’re fluid. We fall in and out of love. Sometimes with the same person. Sometimes with someone new. But loving means taking risks, and sometimes taking risks means losing. Mourning the end of the marital relationship and loss of romantic love between you and Kosamina would have required time, space, healing, and forgiveness on both of your parts. Unfortunately, neither of you was given the opportunity to move on before tragedy struck. Now you find yourself having to grieve for her in addition to the love and life you imagined with her. It’s a lot. Add on survivor’s guilt and the personal responsibility you feel for her death, and it’s no wonder you’re angry and confused. Honestly, I’d be worried if you weren’t. But here’s the thing, I could sit here all day and tell you Kosamina dying wasn’t your fault, and I wouldn’t make a dent in your conviction.Youhave to do the work to forgive yourself and release your guilt, and trust me, it won’t be simple, painless, or quick.”
“That’s not reassuring. Can’t you just give me a magic pill? Something to speed this shit up and fix my knee in the process?”
Nalini grinned. “You’re a doctor, Jamie. You know the path to healing isn’t easy. Not for the body. Not for the mind. But you have a strong team of people around you. Lean on them for comfort and support. Be open and honest about what you need, and they’ll help you get where you want to go.”
“But what if I don’t know where I want to go? Hell, I’m not even sure who I am anymore or what I believe in.” After a full day back with the JTT, his headspace was beyond fucked, his knee hurt more than it had in a month, and his loyalties were divided.
Did he still want to strike out on his own, find Johnson and end the bastard? Yes. Did he feel compelled to stay and help his teammates dismantle the terrorist organization they’d been fighting for more than two years? Also yes.
