Page 10 of Welcome Home, Cowboy
Dr. Pierce folded her hands in front of her. “You don’t need to put on a tough guy act with me, Captain.”
“I’m fine,” he ground out, not liking this Dr. Pierce even a little.
“Is that why you’re sitting in front of me? Because you’re fine?”
“Fine as someone can be who’s been shot down from the sky.” He ran a hand over his head, missing the weight of his hat. The way it seemed to serve as a shield of sorts. “I don’t know how…” He paused, looking for the right words. Words that wouldn’t ruin his career. “I don’t know how to act as if nothing happened out there, okay?”
“You don’t. You act as if something did happen.” She leaned forward. “Something terrible. Something that no Marine should ever have to face. You tackle it head-on, instead of pretending.”
“No offense, doc, but how would you know?”
She met his gaze, holding it where a lot of brave men backed down. “I know.”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “So tell me what to do.”
“I can’t tell you that.” She sat back now and folded her arms at her chest. “I can only tell you what I did.”
He swallowed. “All right.”
“I did everything wrong, and nearly ruined my career. What you need right now is to find your new normal. Do the things you used to do. Act like your old self even if you don’t feel that way. And whatever you do, don’t make any rash decisions.”
“Like buying a new car?” he scoffed. No worries there. He liked his truck.
Dr. Pierce nodded. “Or jumping into a new relationship.”
He lifted a brow. “Why is that?” he asked. Not that he cared. He needed a woman in his life right now like he needed a hole in his head.
“Because you’re not ready. You’ll hurt yourself and everyone around you if you’re not careful,” she said knowingly. “And ease up to the helicopters. If you’re not ready to be in the sky, don’t push yourself.”
Lawson shook his head. “The problem with that is that my commander has given me a ticking clock. I’ve been given one more month of light duty.” And that in itself pissed him off. He didn’t want another month at a desk. “If I’m not flying by then, there’s a warming bench waiting for me at Camp Neally. Any other words of wisdom?” Lawson asked.
Dr. Pierce smiled back at him. “Yes. I’m ordering you to take an exercise class.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re joking.”
“No, Captain. I’m not. Your commander told me that what I say goes. There’s a new class being offered at the Veterans’ Center in Seaside. My daughter is the director there. You live there, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s a stress-reduction class for Marines.”
“I don’t have PTSD,” he said, stiffening.
Dr. Pierce shook her head. “No one said you did. I’d have to do a formal assessment to diagnose you with that. And we may do that in one of our next sessions. Either way, you do have stress, Captain Phillips, just like anyone else who returns home. Combat stress is normal. What you experienced in front of that helicopter the other day is normal, too. Your body is trained to flee from danger. That’s what keeps you alive during life-and-death situations.”
Lawson looked up. So she didn’t think he was crazy. That was good.
“I think this class is exactly what you need. Plus, it’ll look good in your file. It’ll show that you’re working on your issues under our guidance.”
“You mean it’ll look good for you in case I go nuts? I don’t need an exercise class,” he said again, shaking his head. What he needed was to get back to flying, as soon as possible.
“Perfect.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Then it’s settled. And I’d like to see you back in my office next week. Maybe by that time you’ll be ready to talk more about your issues.”
There was that T-word. Everyone wanted to do it. Except talking to Dr. Pierce could have repercussions just like it had for his friend.
She stood, signaling that their session had ended. Then she jotted down a date and time for this exercise class on a sticky note. “Be there, or I’ll find out. And my next recommended action for you might not be as much fun.”
Lawson looked down at the paper in his hand. “This class starts Monday night.” Talk about short notice.
