The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (72 page)

Mr. and Mrs. Deegan arrive at five o’clock in the morning.  The doctor left orders for the nurses to start stepping down on the Propofol at six.  They arrive, but look like they haven’t slept much, either.  They bring me a fresh bagel, a chocolate chip muffin, and orange juice.  I thank them, but I have no appetite for food.

The nurse explains the process and how it could take quite a while for him to become fully alert.  Mr. and Mrs. Deegan insist I go home and try to get some sleep.  I consider the hour and decide it’s safe to go home.  Evan most likely left for the day.  Besides, I only need to stop home for a few hours.  Home.  Is it still my home?  What will I find when I get there?  Did he change the code to lock me out?  No.  At least I don’t think he would.

The ride home feels like an eternity.  I drive home without any music playing.  I need to be alone with my thoughts.  By the time I pull into the driveway, my head is pounding.  I get out and walk towards the garage to peek in the window.  Shit.  Evan’s car is still here.  I briefly consider getting back into my car, driving to Auggie’s, and crawling into my old bed.  In my current sleep-deprived state, I don’t think I could deal with a confrontation right now.  It wouldn’t make me appear weak, it would give me an opportunity to prepare for battle.  If we have any chance of making it through this, one of us has to keep our head on straight.

But then I look towards the front door.  A young pear tree stands there, barely old enough for its roots to have established themselves.  Until the roots grow deep and strong, a heavy wind could come and rip it from its foundation, forever destroying its fruitful promises.  Our tree, the one we planted together, needs more time to grow.  It needs sunshine and joy.  But it also needs clouds and rain – and plenty of it.  Without the rain, there would be no life.  Without the rain, there would be no rainbows. 

I steel myself for whatever may be awaiting for me inside.  I will not wither.  I will not hide from the rain.  There may be a hurricane brewing, or perhaps a drought.  Either way, I made an oath to Evan that I would never again run away from him.  I fully intend to keep that promise.

Here Today, Gone Tomorrow

I
open the door and before I make it all the way into the house, Maddy comes running up to greet me.  I bend down on one knee and give her a big hug.  She’s so happy to see me.  I need this affection, the unconditional love that everyone deserves.  Her love is more important to me than I realized, mostly because no one else ever has loved me the way she does, and perhaps no one else ever will.

Aside from the car in the garage there’s no sign of Evan.  I’m too tired to play detective.  There’s no note, so for now, this is one mystery that will go unsolved.  My bed is calling my name and I’m too tired, both physically and emotionally, to fight against the exhaustion I feel in every muscle of my body.

When my alarm goes off at noon, I shower, eat, and go to Auggie’s house to pick up a few things he’ll need once he wakes up.  I let myself into the house, find a suitcase, and begin to pack the essentials – everything from clothing and toiletries to electronics and charging devices.  I can just imagine Auggie waking up from his deep sleep and the first thing he asks for is his beloved iPad.  Besides, he’ll need it to Skype with Lucas when he’s ready.

As I walk around the house, I get a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I can feel my pulse quicken and an imminent feeling of sadness envelops me.  I check my phone to see if anyone is trying to get a hold of me, and there’s no missed calls or messages.  If something were happening with Auggie, surely someone would try to contact me immediately.  I sit on the bar stool at the kitchen island and try to calm my nerves.  Why am I feeling this way? 

The house is quiet, too quiet in fact.  As I sit here, trying to regain my composure, I hear an ambulance drive past Auggie’s street with its sirens on.  My body reacts immediately and violently.  My muscles tighten and a sudden feeling of nausea overtakes me.  I run through the house as quickly as my feet will take me, and make it to the bathroom just in time.

As I’m sitting on the floor of the bathroom with my arms around the cool porcelain tank, I begin to understand my physical reaction today.  It’s this house.  This is where Averee DeVeau held Evan at gunpoint just a few months ago.  It was in this very place where she threatened to use the gun on both of them in order to end her suffering.  And it was in the kitchen where she attempted to slice her own throat with one of my butcher knives. 

I leave the bathroom and wander back into the kitchen.  I try to imagine what it must have been like for Evan.  He was trapped here with her for nearly eight hours.  I wonder what she said to him as she held the knife to her neck.  Why did Evan grab the knife from her the way he did, slicing his hand so severely that he jeopardized his own future in the NFL? 

As I’m deep in thought, I hear a car door slam shut next door, and I’m immediately brought back in time to the final minutes of the standoff when the police kicked in the back door.  I can vividly remember the images of the tactical force heading into the house in full combat gear, toting powerful rifles.  But what was it like from Evan’s point of view?  Did he hear them coming?  Did they overwhelm him and take him down for his own safety?  Were they pointing guns at him?

He never really talked about it, not to me, anyway.  I know he didn’t speak with his parents or his sister, either, because we’ve shared our concerns about Evan’s refusal to discuss it.  My worries began to vanish when, upon Evan’s insistence, we stopped asking him about it and went on with our lives.  He put one hundred percent of himself into his recovery, sometimes so deeply that he ignored me and everything else entirely.  I minded a little at the time, but frankly, I had a restaurant to open so I was busy, too.  Was I too busy to notice the signs?  Were there signs?  I don’t really know what I should have been looking for.  Is it too late?

I open up Auggie’s iPad and start to do research on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  There are literally thousands of sites with information on the condition.  I avoid the wikis, and instead, concentrate on the hospital and university sites.  The simplest definition I can find describes the condition as “an anxiety disorder that can develop after an individual has experienced or witnessed a major trauma.”  Well, if that doesn’t describe Evan in a nutshell, I don’t know what does.

I scroll down the page and it says that in order to be diagnosed with PTSD, an individual must demonstrate 3 or more symptoms that were not present before the traumatic event.  I read through the checklist, and at first, many of them do not really describe what I’ve been seeing.  But as I get further down the list, I start finding more than just three indicators.  The first one to catch my eye is
Nightmares
.  I know Evan’s been having nightmares; he’s woken me up numerous times.  But every time I ask, he says he cannot remember his dreams.

Next, they describe
Feeling Estranged or Detached From Others
.  Evan’s come right out and told me he thinks I’m spending more time with Derek than with him.  The fact that we eat dinner together every night and sleep together in the same bed is not sufficient.  He feels like I’ve cast him aside.

The next entry talks about
Angry Outbursts and Irritability
.  That’s the one that’s really piqued my interest.  It says that you might find some people snapping at others or getting extremely angry in situations that don’t rise to that level of concern.  The explosions are often unexpected and unsubstantiated.  Like when Evan freaked out just because Derek called me.  Overreaction.

There are others, too.  Adam keeps telling me how great Evan’s doing at practice, but that’s not the story I get from Evan.  He seems to think that the coaches and players are all waiting for him to screw up so they can get rid of him.  But according to Adam, the coaches are thrilled with him and are all very impressed with his improved skill, dedication, and focus.  Evan seems to be waiting for the hammer to fall, but there are no signs that it will.  The articles call that an
Impending Sense of Doom
.

The final nail in the coffin for me is the one that describes
Avoiding Thoughts, Feelings, or Memories of the Trauma.
  There are other symptoms that I can identify with, but a few of them might be coincidental.  All in all, I’ve definitely identified five from the list.  That’s enough for me.  Evan “Big Mac” McGuire is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Now what?

Normally, I would rush over and talk it through with Auggie.  But that’s not an option right now.  I could talk to Emmy, but she’ll probably tell me to take him home and screw him until he can’t see straight.  Actually, she’s already told me to do that, several times, in fact.

Things are going really well with Reese again; perhaps I could talk it through with her.  She’s always been there for me, even though I haven’t always been there for her.  I make a quick call, and find out she’s at Rush.  With my mind made up, I gather up all of Auggie’s things, toss them in the back of my car, and head out to Asbury.

The moment I step into Rush, I’m bombarded with questions about Auggie.  Everyone wants to know how he’s doing.  I update them as best I can, but there’s really not much to explain.  He’s been sedated all night, and his vitals are strong and steady.  Hopefully by this time tomorrow, I’ll be able to talk with him, but until then, there’s not much more to say.

I ask Reese to talk with me privately in my office.  I shut the door and we sit on the small couch in my tiny office.  She knows me well enough to know that I’m more than just a little upset.  Without much prodding, I tell her everything – my concerns about Evan’s anxieties and the current condition of our relationship.  I show her the article I was reading and wait for her reaction.  Before long, she closes the cover on the iPad and pronounces, “You’re right, Jette.  There’s no doubt.  He ran as fast as he could, but it’s finally caught up with him.  He needs help.”

“I know he does, Reese, but how do I get him to admit it?”

“You have to find a way, Jette,” she insists.  “The article clearly says that if symptoms are left untreated, they will get worse, not better over time.  The longer he waits, the worse things will get.  Hey Jette, I have an idea,” Reese offers.  “Maybe we should talk to Ryker.  If anyone knows about PTSD, it’s him.  He might be able to give you some good ideas on how to get through to Evan.”

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.  Evan won’t listen to me or to any of his friends or family.  Maybe he’d listen to someone like Ryker.  Although I don’t know much about Ryker’s personal experiences, I know enough to be certain he’s experienced trauma.  His tattoos hint at tragedy and his own unwillingness to discuss it cements it for me.

Reese steps out for a moment, and then comes back with Ryker trailing behind.  I offer them the couch, and I take a seat in the small leather chair facing them.

“So, Jette, what’s up?  Is anything wrong?” Ryker asks.

“There is, and I’m hoping you could help me.”

“Just say it.  Whatever you need.  If I can help, I will,” he assures me.

“That’s great to hear.  Listen, do you know anything about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

He chuckles, nods his head and adds a sarcastic, “A little.”

Reese tells him that we think Evan may be experiencing some symptoms of the disorder.  He listens intently as we describe in detail the symptoms that we believe point to an anxiety disorder brought about by the tragic events from April. 

“I don’t know, girls.  I barely know the guy.  I’ve only met him twice.  The first time, he hardly gave me the time of day.  The second time, he was yelling at you, Jette.”  He pauses for a moment, gets up, and paces around the room.  “What makes you think this is all related to Averee?”

I explain, “Evan was never like this before, Ryker.  I wish you knew him then. He was sweet, kind, and considerate.  That’s why everyone loves him.  That’s why I love him.”

Ryker’s not as sure.  “That man you used to know may be gone, Jette.  Things like I’ve seen, things live Evan’s experienced, they change a person.  I left for Afghanistan a boy.  I came back a man.  I’ll never again be that trusting, hopeful young man I once was.  I know how cruel life can be.  Happiness is short-lived and rare.  You’re lucky you got to have any of it at all.  That’s more than lots of us ever get.”  He sits back on the couch and continues, “How do you know he even wants help?”

Tears well up in my eyes, so it’s Reese that answers for me, “We don’t.”

Before I was scared, nervous, and unsure.  Now I’m terrified.  Suppose the man I love is gone forever?  People do change, sometimes for the better, sometimes not.  But what kind of person would I be if I didn’t at least try?  “Ryker, please.  I know he’s in there.  I know if he accepts help, we can get the old Evan back.  Please.”

Just then, there’s a knock on my office door.  It’s Marcus.  “Hey guys, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Reese, there’s a call for you from one of the suppliers.  He has a question about one of your orders.”  Reese excuses herself from the room, leaving me alone to plea my case to Ryker and somehow convince him to help.