Page 7 of A SEAL's Heart
“Don’t let anyone make you feel less than you are,” he said.
He spoke to me like I was someone worth talking to and not invisible or taking up space I shouldn’t.
Then Jake came over with two girls, and they went off to The Landing.
It was only a few moments of kindness, and Ed probably doesn’t remember. But ever since then, whenever a guy has shown an interest in me, they have to pass the Ed test. Do they make me feel important the way he did? So far, the answer has always been no.
That was ten years ago. Now, standing with Ed on the other side of the glass, I remember his words.“Don’t let anyone make you feel less than you are.”
I push my shoulders back, put on my brightest smile, and open the door.
4
AVERY
Ilead Ed down the corridor and into consulting room one, which has become my space. As he follows me down the hall, I feel his eyes on my back. My ponytail sways as I walk like a high school cheerleader, and I suddenly wish I’d pulled it into a bun.
Not that I should care what Ed thinks. He probably doesn’t even remember meeting me all those years ago. I wonder if he even remembers me from the sausage roll incident at the wake. The feel of his hands on me is etched into my skin.
Why did my first patient on my own have to be the man I’ve been crushing on since I was fourteen years old?
I take a deep breath and push the door open to the consulting room.
“We’re going to be in here today.”
He brushes past me, and I catch the scent of masculine body wash and pine. I clutch the door harder to keep from buckling.
This is unprofessional, and I should let Maria know. She said to tell her if there were any concerns about my first solo patient, and the fact that I’m lifting my nose in the air to follow his scent should be a major red flag.
But dammed if I’m giving up my chance to prove myself with a patient of my own. I’ll have to bury these stupid school-girl feelings and be professional. Ed is a veteran who needs help, and I am the speech therapist who’s going to help him.
I haven’t read the file. I was aware Ed was living in the area, but I haven’t seen him since the funeral three months ago.
Now here he is in my consulting room, making me wish I’d put on makeup this morning. Or lip gloss, at the very least.
This is professional, I remind myself.
“I’m Avery Monroe.” I don’t know if he knows who I am at all. “I’ll be your speech therapist while we’re treating you.” He keeps regarding me, and I resist the urge to shift in my seat.
“I’m Jake’s sister.”
His eyes remain on me, no flicker of recognition.
I swallow and open the file Maria gave me.
The last time I saw Ed, he had his jaw wired together. I heard he broke it in the same incident that killed Jake. Not that we’ve been told anything about what happened. The details of Jake’s death remain classified.
I take a moment to glance over Ed’s file, which gives me an opportunity to regain my composure.
The entire time I feel his eyes on me. The skin on the back of my neck prickles, and when l look up, Ed is still watching me.
“I understand there have been some speech issues since…” I don’t even know what to call it. The accident? A mission gone wrong? The Navy calls it an incident, but that seems too light for something that took my brother’s life and left two men wounded. “…the accident.”
Ed grunts, a deep throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
My pulse quickens, and I don’t know if it’s the nerves from having a patient of my own or the presence of this particular patient.
“What I’m going to do is assess where you are, and then we’ll work on some exercises. With regular sessions and practice at home, we can hope for a full recovery of your speech.”
