but Lucky wasn’t stopping now. Cooper had asked for it.
When he was naked, he turned to show Cooper the scars. He heard the sharp intake of breath and he said, “Real thing’s different than pictures, right, Doc?”
He stood there, letting Cooper see the torture he’d endured, a beating he didn’t know the hows or whys about, a beating he deserved to know about. And he told Cooper that. Told him that he had no fucking clue what happened to him, but he wanted to.
“I need to,” he told Cooper now. “And I’ll work with you, but you need to give me some goddamned answers, not more questions.”
“I’m sorry, Lucky.”
Lucky pulled his clothes on and prepared to leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat across from a shaken Cooper, who said, “You have to let me help you. For your sake, not the Navy’s. Yours.”
For the first time since this started, Lucky said, “Okay,” and meant it.
“I’m betting that most people, the Navy included, think it’s easier that you don’t remember?”
“Makes it worse, actually. But I can see their point—if you don’t remember how bad things were, you won’t have the trauma. But I know there was trauma. I don’t know anything else. I didn’t even know I was in the goddamned Navy.”
“First thing you remember—quick, just let it all spill out.”
More questions, but at least Lucky could see the purpose to these. Cooper wasn’t going to find his feelings written in the pages of his medical test results.
“I remember the pain. The fear. It was freezing and I was underwater and I knew what to do. I didn’t panic. How the hell does that happen? I was dumped in the middle of the ocean, tied, and I didn’t panic. I got free and I started to rise to the surface. How would I even know which way that was? My head was killing me—my whole body hurt, but all that mattered was rising to the surface. And then, I kept feeling that panic of never being able to rise to the surface, never being able to grab at the memories. So I just tried to get on with my life and I was scared and in pain, but after that initial panic, it didn’t happen again. Not even when the Navy came to get me.”
“Were you angry about that?”
He shrugged. “Not at the Navy.”
“At who, then?”
Dash, mainly. But he shook his head. “I don’t want to do this.”
He was up out of his seat, until Cooper said, “If you run, you don’t have to deal with any of it, right?”
“Right. I know that. I have amnesia, not idiocy.”
Cooper stared at him.
“What do you want me to say? I’m happy?”
“I want you to tell me the truth, whatever it is. I can deal with it, no matter how ugly you think it is or how stupid you think it might sound.”
“I’m gay.”
Cooper nodded.
“I mean, Josh was gay. And I’m gay.”
“So you’re giving me the born-this-way argument.”
“I guess so. I mean, if I was trying to lie, wouldn’t I pretend to be straight?”
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Cooper smiled. “Force of habit. Does being gay bother you?”
“No. Not remembering the man I had a long relationship with does. Not remembering how old I am, when my birthday was, where my family is bothers the hell out of me. And I’m betting you’ve been told to keep that shit from me until you can assess me further.”
“You’re right.”
“Then what do we talk about?”
“Why don’t you tell me about South Africa?”
That was, for the most part, a good memory, and he smiled involuntarily.
“Anything that makes you smile like that is definitely worth talking about, so yes, let’s talk about that,” Cooper murmured.
For the next several hours, Lucky did.
Chapter Twelve
Cooper went to his desk, flipped through the papers for a few minutes. He was muttering to himself—Dash caught something about all the goddamned paperwork and the goddamned caseload and then he grabbed a coffee cup and drank it down. Grimaced.
Dash had been there.
When he was naked, he turned to show Cooper the scars. He heard the sharp intake of breath and he said, “Real thing’s different than pictures, right, Doc?”
He stood there, letting Cooper see the torture he’d endured, a beating he didn’t know the hows or whys about, a beating he deserved to know about. And he told Cooper that. Told him that he had no fucking clue what happened to him, but he wanted to.
“I need to,” he told Cooper now. “And I’ll work with you, but you need to give me some goddamned answers, not more questions.”
“I’m sorry, Lucky.”
Lucky pulled his clothes on and prepared to leave. But he didn’t. Instead, he sat across from a shaken Cooper, who said, “You have to let me help you. For your sake, not the Navy’s. Yours.”
For the first time since this started, Lucky said, “Okay,” and meant it.
“I’m betting that most people, the Navy included, think it’s easier that you don’t remember?”
“Makes it worse, actually. But I can see their point—if you don’t remember how bad things were, you won’t have the trauma. But I know there was trauma. I don’t know anything else. I didn’t even know I was in the goddamned Navy.”
“First thing you remember—quick, just let it all spill out.”
More questions, but at least Lucky could see the purpose to these. Cooper wasn’t going to find his feelings written in the pages of his medical test results.
“I remember the pain. The fear. It was freezing and I was underwater and I knew what to do. I didn’t panic. How the hell does that happen? I was dumped in the middle of the ocean, tied, and I didn’t panic. I got free and I started to rise to the surface. How would I even know which way that was? My head was killing me—my whole body hurt, but all that mattered was rising to the surface. And then, I kept feeling that panic of never being able to rise to the surface, never being able to grab at the memories. So I just tried to get on with my life and I was scared and in pain, but after that initial panic, it didn’t happen again. Not even when the Navy came to get me.”
“Were you angry about that?”
He shrugged. “Not at the Navy.”
“At who, then?”
Dash, mainly. But he shook his head. “I don’t want to do this.”
He was up out of his seat, until Cooper said, “If you run, you don’t have to deal with any of it, right?”
“Right. I know that. I have amnesia, not idiocy.”
Cooper stared at him.
“What do you want me to say? I’m happy?”
“I want you to tell me the truth, whatever it is. I can deal with it, no matter how ugly you think it is or how stupid you think it might sound.”
“I’m gay.”
Cooper nodded.
“I mean, Josh was gay. And I’m gay.”
“So you’re giving me the born-this-way argument.”
“I guess so. I mean, if I was trying to lie, wouldn’t I pretend to be straight?”
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Cooper smiled. “Force of habit. Does being gay bother you?”
“No. Not remembering the man I had a long relationship with does. Not remembering how old I am, when my birthday was, where my family is bothers the hell out of me. And I’m betting you’ve been told to keep that shit from me until you can assess me further.”
“You’re right.”
“Then what do we talk about?”
“Why don’t you tell me about South Africa?”
That was, for the most part, a good memory, and he smiled involuntarily.
“Anything that makes you smile like that is definitely worth talking about, so yes, let’s talk about that,” Cooper murmured.
For the next several hours, Lucky did.
Chapter Twelve
Cooper went to his desk, flipped through the papers for a few minutes. He was muttering to himself—Dash caught something about all the goddamned paperwork and the goddamned caseload and then he grabbed a coffee cup and drank it down. Grimaced.
Dash had been there.
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