Page 39 of Last Man Standing
“Well?”she prompted impatiently.
“I shouldn’t have told you to keep an eye on your daughter, or implied that you weren’t taking care of her.You came to me because I needed help, and then I… distracted you.”
She tapped her fingertips on her upper arms.“Is that it?”
Paul hesitated, unsure of his next step.He’d said his piece, and considered it sufficient.“What more do you want?”
“An actual explanation?”she replied, as if it were obvious.“A reason for your behavior?Like, are you always an insufferable jerk, or is it a new development?”
Paul’s neck heated with irritation.His reason was her.She was an aggravating woman who’d barged in on his vacation hideout and demanded to share his space.She’d taken over the lakeside retreat, inserted herself in his personal business, and witnessed him in a series of vulnerable moments.
Vanessa held up a slender hand to count off a list of his mistakes.“You’ve accused me of suggestive hot dog eating, daddy issues, vagrancy, and poor parenting.”
Paul swallowed a defensive retort.No matter how much she irritated him—or aroused him—he had no excuse for the way he’d acted.He attempted to be diplomatic.“I know you weren’t trying to be suggestive.”
Her brows rose at this small concession.She wasn’t impressed.
“I’m still recovering from my injury,” he said.“Not just physically, but psychologically.”
She waited for him to continue.
He fumbled for a better explanation.“You told me about your father and the guy he shot.It turned out okay.Everyone survived.”
“Right.”
“My situation was different.”
“Were you shot on the job?”
“I was shot on the job,” he said.“And I wasn’t the only one hit.Another guy took a bullet… to the head.”
Her eyes searched his.“He died?”
“Yes, he did.Right in front of me.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
“But it haunts you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
Paul wasn’t sure how to describe his emotional state.“I haven’t been thinking about it.Not consciously.I guess it’s still there, lurking below the surface.I feel unsettled at times, as if I’m in danger.My reactions to stress are amplified.”
Her features softened with sympathy.She went quiet, studying him.He hadn’t told her that he was responsible for the man’s death, or that he’d been trying to save a woman and child.He felt no remorse about doing his job, or taking a life.He didn’t even feel attached to the memory.It was as if someone else had acted in his place.Someone else had killed a man in self-defense.
The staff psychologist had called himdistantduring their last session.Or maybe she’d used the termdisassociated.She’d claimed that talking about his experience was an important part of the recovery process.Every time she’d inquired about the shooting, Paul gave a rote description.He couldn’t manufacture feelings that weren’t there.
“That’s awful,” she said.“I’m sorry.”
He nodded an acknowledgment.“I didn’t realize how much it had affected me until you and Emily came along.”
“You should talk to someone.”
“I have.”
