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“My niece. My sister’s daughter…” I don’t want to go into all of Noel’s personal business, so I keep it brief. “Basically, I helped raise her as a baby.”

“Good to know.” She nods, making a note on her pad. “Or it could be a new relationship triggered it…”

Anger rises in my chest. “So you’re saying good things, happy events led to this? To me being a threat to my family?”

“Of course.” Dr. Curtis is undeterred by my tone. “If you think about it, when something happy occurs, you relax internally, the tight control you’ve held over your emotions is disabled. You can’t select which emotions will slip through. They all come to the surface when you cease to suppress them.”

My jaw tightens as I think about this. It makes sense, but I don’t like it. “How long?”

“How long… will it last?” I nod, and she exhales.

Her resigned expression is not encouraging.

I meet her eyes, ready for my sentence. “Forever?”

“Not necessarily.” She rises, walking to the wall of windows behind her. “You don’t want medication, which is fine. How soon can you start the meditation practice?”

“I’ll start today.”

She turns and picks up the slip of paper. “It won’t be as easy as you think.”

“You have no idea how hard I work.”

“This isn’t just work. This is the fight of your life.”

“I’m ready.” If it means I have a chance at a normal life, a chance at being the man Mindy deserves, it’s worth it.

I might not have said it, but Taron was right. Mindy is my reason to fight.

“What did you think of her?” Patton is across a small table from me in a rooftop bar. I think the name of this place is AJ’s.

He’s wearing a charcoal suit—probably Armani, and his dark hair is longer than when we were in the service, still neat, but falling over his forehead. His presence is commanding, which is why they always made him the leader of our band of Marines. We’re pretty equally matched, but Patton has those dark eyes that nail you in place.

“Dr. Curtis?” I tilt my tumbler of whiskey side to side, thinking of my afternoon session. “She’s a ball buster.”

He leans back and laughs. “I love that old broad.”

“She didn’t look that old to me.” I lift the glass taking a sip.

“She’s probably sixty.” He’s drinking vodka, and I cut my eyes at him. “Did you see her?”

“Of course.” He leans back. “It was a condition of our release. We all suffered trauma.”

“Did they tell you anything specific?” If only one of us was told the same thing as I was, I could believe I’m not alone.

Something like, if Patton can beat this, so can I, which I know is childish, but I need that sliver of hope.

“Not really. Psychological trauma takes different forms, depending on your background.” He lifts the tumbler and takes a sip, watching me over the rim. “What did they tell you?”

My grip tightens on the crystal, and I think about how much information I want to share. As always, not much. “The usual PTSD shit.”

“It must be pretty bad to haul your ass to the city.”

“The usual PTSD shit can be pretty damn disruptive.” Looking into my glass, I almost ordered tequila… until I remembered her. “It ruined everything.”

He’s quiet a minute, studying me. When I glance up, I see he’s grinning. “What’s her name?” I’m irritated he read me like a book, but he smooths my ruffled feathers. “Go on and confess. We’ve all found the one by now. Who’s your reason to fight?”

“Melinda… Mindy.” Pain blooms in my chest just saying her name, remembering her beautiful green eyes full of tears.