“That’s all for now. Em has a schedule of appointments to start those evaluations with Dr. Alverez. Get with her and get your name on the list. Dismissed.”
Everyone stands and starts to make their way out of the conference room.
“Slick, a minute?” Kincaid’s voice stops me in my tracks, and I can barely keep my hands from trembling as I approach the head of the table.
He waits until the room is clear of everyone other than the upper Cerberus management—the OGs as they call themselves.
“I’m going to need you to make an appointment with Dr. Alverez as well.”
“Of course,” I respond. I didn’t think I wasn’t included in his direction because I’m also a psychologist.
“Em is holding the first spot for you. I know it couldn’t have been easy being one-on-one with Aro these last couple of months. How is he?”
“Honestly,” Shadow adds before I can speak.
“He’s getting stronger every day, but he doesn’t see the progress someone from the outside sees. Compared to other injured vets I’ve worked with, he’s stronger every day. Anthony is fitting him for a temporary prosthetic this week. That will take some getting used to, but he’ll face it with eager determination like he has with everything else.”
“And the nightmares?” Dominic asks.
I frown. “He didn’t have one last night, but they’re still pretty regular.”
I haven’t mentioned Aro’s nightmares to him. I didn’t want him losing any more sleep than he already was because he was worried I’d hear him yell in the middle of the night. I imagine he slept like a baby last night after he shut what we were doing down.
“He’s making progress though,” I add.
“That’s great,” Kincaid says, but his smile doesn’t make it past his lips. As I walk away, I don’t know if I helped the situation or hurt it even more.
Chapter 26
Aro
I’m a reasonable man.
There isn’t one person in my life that could argue differently.
Before we raided that house in Costa Rica, the unspeakable rage I felt wasn’t what was uncommon for me.
The inability to keep my head on straight is what caused all of my problems that day.
I’ve felt guilty over it. I could’ve gotten someone on my team killed trying to protect me.
I’ve justified it. They were killing women for sexual sport after all.
A flash of uncontrollable rage is what landed me here today.
The doctor shakes my hand when I enter.
The office is non-descript. There’s nothing in the room that will draw my attention away from why I’m here. I know it’s purposeful. I know it’s probably helpful to anyone else who enters, but I’m pissed to be here in the first place. Pissed I put myself in the position to get hurt. Pissed this is a condition of returning to Cerberus. Pissed that Slick got up and left the fucking house this morning without saying a word to me. Pissed that I even care about any of it.
I’m a good man, and I don’t make that declaration from a place filled with conceit or ego.
Cerberus hired me, and that should say all it needs to. The men who founded the organization only pick the most elite Marines. They only allow men they trust with their loved ones’ lives to wear that fucking patch on their back. I earned my spot there. It’s where I’ve always belonged.
So sitting here in front of this psychologist with the expectation to talk about my feelings, to explain why I lost my shit that day, putting myself and everyone with me in danger, is leaving me feeling like a complete fraud. Maybe I’m the one that slipped through the cracks despite how stringent Cerberus is about who they hire.
I failed them. I failed myself. I failed her.
“You seem agitated,” Dr. Ackerman says as he takes a seat in the chair opposite of me.
“Getting right to the fucking point, huh?”
He gives me a small smile, and I don’t know if it’s because of my language or the growing irritation flowing off of me as I wring my hands together, refusing to look at him a second time. His reaction to me isn’t my problem.
I know I’m acting immature, but I’m well past my tolerance for common courtesy. Fake placations aren’t an option for me right now.
I can accept that I need to be here. The nightmares and panic attacks are out of fucking control. I don’t think I’m too good for counseling, but this could’ve been put off for one more fucking day. I could’ve gone back to Farmington with Slick for that damn meeting. Kincaid said he wants me back, but his actions say otherwise. I’m being excluded, punished for what I did.
I’ll fight to win his trust back. I’ll scratch and claw my way through fucking therapy to take my rightful spot back with Cerberus, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.