Off Limits

  It's not long before we are called in and we step into her office. She steps from behind her industrial, military issue desk and comes around to shake my hand.

  "It's good to see you, Nix." She bends over and gives Harley a rub on his head. "And you too, Harley."

  I take a seat opposite her desk. Her office is small and sterile which makes me feel oddly comforted. She takes her seat behind her desk, appraising me with interest and a slight fondness that has developed over our months of therapy. There was a time she would do that and I wanted to throttle her, so great was my anger in those days.

  Dr. Antoniak is an interesting doctor. She's a diminutive woman with steel gray hair cut closed to her scalp. She has piercing blue eyes and when I say piercing, I mean they could cut through some of the thickest metal I work with. Her intelligence is a weapon and she will not let me get away with any misstep in what I say. The woman probably has reams of paper dedicated to our meetings and yet she never has to look back to reference our discussions. She can remember something I told her two years ago as it if happened only yesterday. She's been my neuropsychiatrist from the moment I returned from Afghanistan on a military medical flight.

  "You look well, Nix. Hair's a little long."

  I smirk at her. "That's what my dad says every time he sees me."

  "So, what brings you in today?" Her voice is warm, completely at odds with her iron looks.

  I shrug my shoulders. "Just like my dad has an opinion about my hair, he suggested it might be time for a tune-up with you."

  Dr. Antoniak gives a bark of laughter. "A tune-up? I love it."

  "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have come but he's been riding me about it."

  "And you don't think you need any follow up treatment or counseling?"

  I shrug my shoulders again. "Not really. I think I'm coping well."

  "No headaches?"

  "Nope."

  "Rages?"

  "Nope."

  "Nightmares?"

  I almost say "nope" but she'll know I'm lying. "A few times a month."

  She jots that down on a notepad then pins me with her blue lasers. "Have you talked to Paul lately?"

  Shit. I knew she'd go there but it still threw me. Thank God I just talked to him. I smile confidently when I reply, "Sure. Just last week."

  She returns the smile. "That's wonderful. And you initiated the communication?"

  Fuck.

  She's too damned insightful and it pisses me off. But truth be told, this is the main reason I made the appointment with her.

  "No. I returned his call."

  "And how many times had he attempted to call you before you returned his call?"

  "Several," I grit out.

  "Why are you avoiding him, Nix?"

  My anger flares white-hot. I reach for Harley's head and start rubbing it.

  "Why are you so nosy?" I ask her.

  "Come on, Nix. Quit fucking around. You know we don't have long."

  Dr. Antoniak's bluntness is one of the things I appreciate about her. She never would let me escape from the difficult conversations, and she's not about to let me do so now. It's part of the Exposure Therapy she had been torturing me with over the two years I've known her.

  Might as well get this over with. She'll never let me leave here without answering the question so I take a deep breath. "He makes me feel uncomfortable."

  "Why?" she asks simply and without judgment.

  How do I say these words without sounding like the biggest asshole, prick on the planet? "He acts too happy...too well-adjusted. It just makes me feel...bad."

  "Do you doubt he's happy and well-adjusted?"

  "Yes." The answer pops out before I can analyze it.

  "Why?"

  "Why? Well, because his legs were fucking blown off. How's that for starters?"

  "And why can't someone who lost their legs be happy and well-adjusted?"

  Why indeed? Why, why, why?

  But I know the answer to that too, and I don't need Dr. Antoniak to shrink me to know it either.

  I sigh. "Because...what happened to me wasn't even a tenth of what he's gone through and I'm pretty fucked up."

  "Maybe the problem is you're diminishing what you've been through."

  I kick my legs out in front of me so she sees them. "Nope. My legs are working just fine."

  "But your legs weren't hurt, Nix," she says softly, bringing me back around to the real issue. "Your brain was hurt. Your chest was hurt. Your mental health was hurt."

  I want to scream at her, So fucking-what? But I don't. Because, if it's one thing she has taught me over the past two years was how to control my rage. Instead, I say, "And here we are back to the beginning. I'm pissed he's doing so well."

  "Be honest, Nix. You're not just feeling anger..."

  She trails off, waiting for me to finish her thought. I pick it up. "I'm feeling guilt. I know." My voice is heavy and resigned.

  She picks up my file and flips through it, taking a few minutes to read something. I don't know who she thinks she's kidding, but she doesn't need to review anything in there. She knows me well.

  "The last time we met...four months ago...you had agreed to go visit Paul. I'm assuming you haven't done that?"

  "I've been busy."

  It's a pathetic excuse. She knows it and I know it.

  "We talked about this before, Nix, but let's go over it again. Your guilt is impeding your full recovery. You've made remarkable improvement since your injury. Your brain is fully functioning now and your cognitive therapy has worked wonders to help you deal with your rage issues. But you need to work on this guilt issue over Paul and his injuries. It's holding you back."

  I just stare at the floor. I've heard this all before. Many times. I know she's right. Hell, I'll even walk out of here charged up and ready to go see Paul. But then time and doubt will get in the way, and I'll head back to a life of isolation to ease my burden.

  "Nix," she says softly and I raise my eyes up to hers. "Guilt is a poison. It will slowly choke out everything you have worked so hard to overcome. And when it's destroyed all of that...it will keep on killing everything that's good in your life."

  ***

  Harley and I are heading back to Hoboken. I'm lost in my thoughts and Harley is snoozing, curled up into a tight golden ball on the front seat next to me. I reach over and absently rub his hipbone.

  Just three months from my enlistment with the Marine Corps ending, my squad and I had been injured in a blitz by the Taliban, normally called a "green on blue" attack. Paul lost his legs.

  In some ways, his injuries were easy to treat in that they were palpable...physical...you could see them. The doctors could see the damaged blood vessels and nerves, and knew exactly what they had to do to heal him.

  It wasn't as easy for me. In addition to getting shot in the upper part of my chest, which was the least of my worries, I'd suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury. You couldn't see my injury on films. There was no gaping wound or missing body parts. Just millions of tiny pieces of tissue that were shredded and torn, causing me to turn into a monster.

  My injury was complicated by an additional diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That's what Harley was for. The Veteran's Administration doesn't pay for psychiatric service dogs, but they are still a legitimate and necessary form of treatment under the American's with Disabilities Act. So after shelling out thousands of my own dollars to get Harley, he's allowed to go everywhere I go by virtue of his status as a service dog. I certainly don't take him everywhere with me, because I have made massive improvement, but I love being able to all the same.

  Between the brain injury and the PTSD, the Nix Caldwell that returned to Hoboken, New Jersey was unrecognizable from the fresh faced kid that left when he was eighteen. I was angry, filled with wrath. The smallest thing would set me off and I'd want to smash something. Nightmares plagued my sleep every night. And if I wasn't raging, I was just plain mean, moody and irritable. Loud sounds would cause me to j
ump. People walking up behind me would cause me to panic.

  After recovering from my chest wound, I started intensive cognitive and exposure therapy and I'll grudgingly admit, I've made major progress.

  And while I'm able to control my temper in most every situation, I'm still a moody jackass most of the time. My nightmares have diminished a lot and I no longer feel the compulsion to kill someone for looking at me wrong.

  Lots of progress.

  But not enough apparently.

  I ease back into remembering the last fifteen minutes of our session. I told Dr. Antoniak about Emily. It felt silly at first for me to bring her up, considering she seemed to be the one good thing I had going for me right now. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I wasn't very concerned over how she would play in my recovery.

  Part of my therapy is confronting my trauma. Confronting trauma means talking about it. Emily is the only person I know of that has come even close to getting me to open up about anything. Frankly, I'm scared shitless that she'll continue to expose my demons.

  I have to reiterate to myself that what Emily and I have is nothing more than a sexual relationship. However, I'm not stupid enough to ignore the fact that sex is an emotional activity...particularly for women.

  When I see her again, I really, really need to set some boundaries with her and make sure she understands there are certain lines that cannot be crossed.

  CHAPTER 19

  Emily

  Danny exits her apartment building and sees me. She heads my way with a smile on her face and I stare in marvel at this woman...my sister-in-law. She's always so happy and self-assured. And I'm sure that extra soft look on her face now has something to do with the fact that she's knocked up with my little niece or nephew.

  Reaching me, she pulls me into a surprisingly strong hug and says, "I'm so glad you could come tonight. It's going to be so much fun."

  "Me, too."

  Ryan got us invitations to the owner's box tonight. Usually they gave out several each game to player's family members but I have yet to sit in such luxury during a hockey game. I'm looking forward to not having to stand in a long line to pee or get a pretzel.

  Oh, the little luxuries in life now are surprisingly simple for me.

  Danny loops her arm in mine and we take off down W. 33rd. We're both wearing matching Burnham jerseys and the people walking in our direction are all decked out in their Rangers gear. I love looking for my brother's jersey on other people. It makes me so proud.

  "So how are you feeling?" I ask her as we walk with the flow of the crowd.

  "Surprisingly good. I've had a little nausea but nothing that a few crackers doesn't settle right down. Oh, and my boobs hurt like hell already. I had to tell Ryan to go easy on them last night."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa. T-M-I. Now that image is burned into my brain."

  Danny giggles at me and I grin back at her. I love her.

  "Heard any more from your mom or dad?"

  "A few emails from Dad to check in," I comment.

  I'm really liking his shortened title. Dad. It sounds much better than Father.

  I had told both Danny and Ryan about the botched dinner a few nights ago. Ryan wasn't surprised by our father's reaction as they've been communicating more and more. It started out with emails and now they've progressed to a few phone calls. Ryan hopes that he can get dad to come for a visit soon. Maybe our mother will thaw out a bit too. They shouldn't miss the birth of their first grandchild.

  We make it into the arena and find the owner's box. The large wood-paneled room has artfully framed photographs of various players and Rangers executives. There is a full service bar with bartender and a buffet layout of the most delicious looking foods. I'm starved, I realize.

  After Danny makes some small talk with a few of the top dogs, we make up some plates and choose two plush leather chairs in the front row. We got here early so we are enjoying watching the players warm up. I smile to myself the way Danny's eyes never leave Ryan while he's out on the ice.

  I want to pee before the game starts so I make a dash to the uber-luxurious bathroom. They even have sumptuous hand towels and expensive soaps lying out. Nice touch!

  When I finish, I head back to the bar to get me and Danny some bottled waters. As I'm standing there, I feel a sudden prickling on the back of my neck and I turn around. My heart comes to a standstill for a painful second then starts beating rapidly.

  Nix is standing there, five feet away. He gives me a devilish grin and I smile back. He's standing with an older man, who I'll go out on a limb and guess is his father. Grabbing my waters, I walk over to him and he introduces me.

  "Emily...this is my dad, Hank Caldwell. Dad...this is Emily Burnham. She's Ryan Burnham's sister."

  Nix's dad pumps my hand in an exuberant shake and says, "It's a pleasure, Emily. Your brother is a fine man and a damned good hockey player."

  "It's good to meet you too, Mr. Caldwell."

  "None of that. You call me Hank. All my friends do."

  I'm amazed at how outgoing Nix's dad is. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Linc is, after all, a people person. Just because Nix is a snarly son-of-a-bitch half the time doesn't mean his family is that way.

  I turn to look at Nix. "What are you doing here? I thought you were out of town."

  Hank looks at Nix questioningly and all Nix says is, "I went to Bethesda, Dad."

  His dad just nods in understanding and makes no comment.

  "I had to go to Maryland for a few days for a business trip."

  "Oh...well, welcome back."

  He smiles at me and it's so nice. He actually looks happy to see me, which is something to say for Nix Caldwell. I know I'm certainly glad to see him. He has practically dominated my thoughts since Saturday night.

  The game is getting ready to start so we take our seats. Nix and Hank sit next to me and I make introductions with Danny. Then we settle in to watch the game.

  ***

  The first two periods are not going well for the Rangers and they are down by two goals at the end of the second period. We all get up to stretch and get more drinks. I'm waiting for Danny to come out of the bathroom, when I can feel Nix step up behind me. He's standing close and my body tingles just from the prospect that he may brush up against me. He leans down and whispers near my ear, "Have you missed me?"

  I turn slowly to look at him and our faces are inches apart. I glance around to make sure his dad isn't standing nearby but we are thankfully alone.

  "Maybe," I reply.

  "Miss me bad enough you'll let me come home with you tonight?"

  I suck in my breath and a rush of warmth courses through me. I don't need to think about this. Here I've been worrying the last few days that Nix was backing off. Here I've been fantasizing the last few days about having sex with Nix. There's no way I'm going to pass this up.

  "Okay," I whisper.

  The blinding smile that Nix gives me is like nothing I've seen before. I've seen him smile, of course, and it's been beautiful. But the smile he is giving me right now is full of light and joy. It's amazing and I'm momentarily struck stupid.

  Did my agreement to take him home tonight do that?

  ***

  The game is over and it was a stunner. The Rangers came back with only four minutes left and tied the game up. After a futile overtime period, we ultimately won in a shootout thanks to Linc's overly impressive goalie skills. We were all so crazed with excitement that when Linc stopped the last shot, I threw my arms around Danny and squeezed the daylights out of her. Then I spun the other way, seeing Nix there with his hand raised in the air for a high-five. I ignored it, choosing instead to throw my arms around his neck in a fierce hug. He was momentarily stunned then his arms wrapped around me tight, his nose burying briefly in my hair. When he released me, I gave his father a hug as well, although I certainly didn't plaster my body to his the way I had with Nix.

  Danny merely raised her eyebrows at me when I told her that Nix was going to gi
ve us a ride but she didn't question me. She and Nix talked about the Marine Corps and Sarge on the way to Danny's while I sat in the back seat and listened to them. After we arrived, Danny gave me one fleeting look in her eyes that said "be careful" then she hopped out of Nix's truck.

  Now, as Nix and I are walking up to my apartment, I have a sudden case of nervousness. I know we are getting ready to cross a bridge that will not be open to further traffic once we make it over. It feels so weird...walking side by side, not talking, not holding hands. We are both entering this building with the sole purpose of screwing each other's brain out.

  I don't know whether to be mortified or titillated.

  As I pull my key out, Nix brushes the hair from the back of my neck and leans down to place a warm, kiss there. I shiver, almost uncontrollably and can't get the damn key in the door. He covers my hands with his own and deftly helps me insert it into the lock. He pushes the door open and waits for me to go in.

  When I walk inside, I'm grateful that the living room is dark. Fil is most likely in her room studying for when I look down the hall, I see the soft glow of light coming out from underneath her door.

  I drop my purse and keys on the kitchen counter and turn to Nix, suddenly nervous and at a loss as to what to do.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  He walks toward me, shaking his head. "No."

  "Do you want anything?"

  My question was said innocently enough but his eyes darken with meaning.

  "I want you," he replies as he comes to stand directly in front of me.

  And oh, hell...my knees practically give out over the sexy rumble in his voice. I just stare up at him, not sure what to do. He moves even closer, so our bodies are just barely touching--nothing more than a whisper between us--and I can feel my skin tightening all over.

  "Take me to your bedroom now, Emily, or we'll have to put on a show for your roommate."

  I swallow hard. Taking a step to the side, I walk by him and head down the hall to my room. I can feel him right on my heels...stalking me. I can feel the pulse at the base of my throat starting to thump with anticipation, giving credence to the rush of blood flowing through my veins.

  As soon as I step into my bedroom, Nix has his arms banding around me from behind. I can hear him kick the door shut but I can't turn to see it. The front of his body is pressed tight against my back, his arms circled around me...one forearm tightened across my chest, the other around my waist.