Bourbon Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,83
says, releasing a heavy sigh. “What happened?”
“I guess I had a flashback and thought he was pulling a weapon out. I don’t really know. It all happened so fast. I was sitting at the table with Melody and Parker one minute and nearly strangling the guy in the next.”
Brody is quiet, which is unusual for him. He scratches his eyebrow. “Brett, that’s not okay, man.”
“I know.”
“Did Parker see this?”
“Yeah.”
Brody’s head falls back with frustration. “Is she okay?”
“I think so. Maybe not. I don’t know.”
“And Mel?”
“She’s fine.” Besides the fact that I ruined a dinner where she was going to tell me we’re having a baby that I can’t tell you about yet.
“Has this happened before?”
Another sip of coffee is the pause I need. “Not like that, but I’ve played the situation out in my head too many times. I hadn’t acted on it until last night.”
“Why haven’t you said anything about this? You obviously have PTSD from the war. It’s common, you know this, right?”
Sure, it’s common, except I don’t have anyone that has been through the same thing that I have. That’s who I could talk to. Somebody who would understand. I can pour my heart out to a therapist who will nod their head a million times and tell me they understand, but do they really? “Thankfully, the guy didn’t press charges, so they let me go.”
“Maybe it was just a one-time thing,” Brody suggests, “But, you need to talk to someone, like, as soon as possible. You can’t let that happen again.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about any of this with anyone,” I say honestly.
“It doesn’t matter, bro. And I’m sure you already know that when you start therapy, it will get worse before it gets better.”
I didn’t know that. “Why is that?”
“Well, as I know too well, when you start therapy, you have to talk. They go at your pace, but it digs up a lot of old scars because it’s like reopening a wound that didn’t heal correctly in the first place. They teach you coping mechanisms to get through difficult moments. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t a cure, but it guides you through pain and discomfort, and desensitizes you with the hope that the wound will heal enough so that your quality of life will be good.” I’m not sure when Brody became so philosophical with his metaphors, but it makes sense, and he’s definitely been in more therapy than the rest of us so I can take some truth from what he’s saying.
“I’ll call my therapist today and get the name of someone who specializes in working with veterans. Is that okay with you?” he asks.
“Yeah, that would be helpful. Thanks.”
“From now on, if you get one of those thoughts or feelings, text or call me. I can talk to you. You don’t have to go through this alone, and if you aren’t ready to talk about any of it, I can just make fun of you until you get pissed off about something else.”
Well, that’s what brothers are for, I guess. “I thought Melody was going to hate me last night after we got home, but she was way more understanding than I deserve.”
“Don’t forget, she’s put up with Journey her whole life. She knows how to deal with a pain in the ass,” Brody says with a wink. A wink he’d get slapped for by his fiancée, Journey if she was here with him.
One big happy family here, which means if one person says something about last night, our parents, Journey, and Mrs. Quinn will all know. I knew there would be pros and cons of Brody and I marrying a pair of sisters, but for the most part, it’s worked out great. But, for a private issue like this, I’m not sure I can handle the masses right now. “Please don’t tell Journey about this,” I request.
“You know what will happen to me if Melody tells her, and I don’t say anything?”
I lower my head to my closed fists. “This isn’t going to get better or go away.”
“No, you need help, Brett. It’s not going to go away on its own. And you’re damn lucky to have a family who cares about you as much as we do. This doesn’t need to be a secret because we’ll support you and do what we can to help you through this shit. Let us in.”
I feel like my fingers just gave out from the cliff I have been