Tell it to the Marine by Heather Long

 
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    James Westwood leaned back in the chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. Matt McCall paced the far wall of his office, shaking with restless energy. Most of their sessions began with Matt sitting, but he always bounced to his feet and started pacing within thirty minutes. By the fifty-minute mark, he looked for escape.
    “Have you been practicing the breathing exercises?” James wanted to draw him back to the session. Laid out with heavy furniture, comfortable chairs, and a tinted picture window, his office overlooked a sunken garden populated by flowers, shrubbery, tall trees, and an artificial spring. The soothing symmetry seemed to be having little effect on Matt.
    At the end of the sofa, Matt paused and braced his hands against the frame, fingers digging into it. His lips were white with tension.
    “Yes, I’ve been trying. They work, sometimes. Other times, I just can’t sit still. I can’t not pace. I went for a run last night. Couldn’t seem to stop.”
    “How far did you make it?”
    “Twelve miles.”
    James wrote that down on his white pad and offered the man a small smile. “That’s better than last week. You went fifteen.”
    “My mom called.” Just twenty-four, Matt had served overseas for five years following his basic training. He’d still be with his unit if not for the death of his father coming hot on the heels of the crash he and several of his men suffered in a helicopter accident. The damage to his inner ear had left him with partial deafness and equilibrium issues.
    “How is Margaret?” The catalyst for Matt’s tension seemed directly related to his inability to reconnect with his family, his friends, and his life beyond the Marines. I should give Logan a call. He should be back from Las Vegas. He might get more out of Matt in a pick-up game.
    “She’s mom.” Matt shrugged. “She wants me to make plans to come home for the holidays. They’re months away, but with Dad gone, she wants me to swear that I’ll be there, and I don’t….”
    His fists clenched and he pounded them on the sofa, before bowing his head and sucking in a noisy breath. A vein in his forehead throbbed, the skin flushing around his high and tight haircut.
    “Why the hell is this so hard?” He lifted blazing blue eyes and glared across the room. “We’ve been talking for weeks and it’s not better. I still can’t sleep. I still can’t focus. Captain Dexter said you could help me, so why the hell do I want to curl into a ball and cry like a child after I talk to my mother? She needs me.”
    James let the anger roll off him like water off a duck’s back. “It takes time, Matt. Time to acclimate. Time to identify your triggers. Time to develop new habits. Did you write down the moment the call went badly?”
    “Yeah.” The Marine flung himself down on the sofa, knuckles white from clenching his fists. “She said the kids need me there. Dad’s gone and the pool needs fixing, the fence is worn, and one of the toilets broke upstairs.”
    James flicked a look at the clock. They had five minutes left on the session. Not enough time. Anything past fifty minutes could leave his patient too emotionally drained. “Did she say she wanted you to fix them or was she just filling you in on what was going on?” His kept his tone neutral, easy.
    Matt paused and shook his head. “I don’t know. We were talking about me, then we talked about some party Lizzie is going to. Lizzie’s sixteen and Mom wanted to know if I remembered some of her friends. She worried that a couple are messing around with shit they shouldn’t be into. Then she started talking about problems with a repairman….” He trailed off, scrubbing a hand around the back of his neck. “I asked her what repairman?”
    “And she told you what needed fixing.”
    Matt slumped back, his expression pensive. “Yeah.”
    “When did the holiday talk come up?”
    “At the beginning…she’s trying to plan ahead for