Page 7

7

Hugo

H ugo gave his boots a final scrub, making sure there was no trace of mud anywhere on them, and looked at his uniform, laid out neatly on the chair behind him—a ritual that felt both familiar and foreign after so much time away.

He slid the navy polo shirt over his head and pulled it down. It still fit, though not quite as it used to. He flexed his arms experimentally, watching the fabric wrinkle slightly against his biceps. He shook his head. It was no surprise that he’d lost muscle mass in these past three months.

He sighed, running a hand through his short hair, and faced the mirror. The difference wasn’t huge, but it was enough for him to notice—and to feel it. Months off work, months away from the gym, away from sparring and from the routines that had once defined him. The strength he’d always taken for granted had softened, dulled. Not gone, exactly, but less than it used to be.

He’d started working out again, but it was going to take time to build the muscle back. He was cautious, too, of every twinge in his lower back. He didn’t want to overdo it and end up tied to a desk or, even worse, on medical leave again.

The mirror reflected more than just his body. It showed the tightness in his jaw, the slight shadow in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t the same man who’d gotten shot on that mountain hut months earlier. But then, today wasn’t about who he had been—it was about who he was now.

He grabbed his boots, the weight of them grounding him as he laced them up, double-knotting each with practiced efficiency. When he stood again, he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back. The uniform fit, even if he didn’t quite match the former version of himself. And maybe that was okay.

He’d managed a few hours’ uninterrupted sleep the night before. It might not have seemed like much to a regular person, but it was more than he’d managed since coming back from the hospital. It felt like success, though not the kind of success he’d be able to share with his therapist. The nightmare had come, as usual. He’d woken up, drenched in sweat, at around two a.m. He’d followed all the rules. No smoking. No TV. No book. He’d done his breathing exercises, as Jo had taught him, and had then gone back to bed. The big surprise was, he’d actually fallen asleep again, and this time, when he’d started dreaming, it was of Dr. Jo Marsh. It was a dream full of joy and anticipation, a dream that felt so real, like this was something they could have together. Hugo had woken up, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

In a rush now to get to the gendarmerie , he turned, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door. He walked at a good clip all the way into town, enjoying the way the sunlight brushed his back. It was still early when he arrived at the gendarmerie, so he made his way straight to the top floor, hoping Isolde was there already.

On his way, he bumped into Colonel Pelegrin. As usual, the colonel’s uniform looked like it’d been pressed onto his skin. Hugo knew it would look the same at seven p.m.. Hugo squared himself, expecting his boss’s boss to nod and walk right on, but the colonel stopped to shake his hand. “Lieutenant Morant, welcome back. You’ve been missed.” Hugo thanked him, shocked. He hadn’t been expecting the colonel to even know he was coming back today.

Isolde’s door was open. She was already inside, reading something on her laptop. She looked up and took off her glasses. Hugo’s face must have shown his surprise.

“They’re new,” she explained. “I was having headaches, and it turns out I needed reading glasses.”

“They suit you,” he said, folding himself on the single chair across from her desk. “I’m back at work today.”

“I know. Congratulations. How are you feeling?” Hugo knew what she was really asking, and Isolde didn’t deserve to be fobbed off with a fine, thanks . She’d gone out of her way to help him. Hell, she’d introduced him to Dr. Jo Marsh.

“I thought Jo was a man’s name,” he said.

“Oh.” Isolde’s red lips pursed in surprise. “Is that a problem, that Dr. Marsh is a woman?”

Hugo shook his head quickly. “Not a problem. Just saying I was surprised.”

“Right. I guess I didn’t think of mentioning it.” Isolde squinted at him, as if trying to understand where he was going with this. He wasn’t sure himself. He just knew what he had to do. So he was going to do it, before Isolde lost her patience with him.

“I would like a different therapist recommendation if possible.”

Her face fell. “You’re not happy with Jo—with Dr. Marsh?” She looked down at the pad in front of her. “I mean, you don’t have to answer that question. Sometimes these things are very personal. I’ll?—”

Hugo laughed. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Jo—Dr. Marsh—is great.”

Isolde smiled, a small, tentative smile. “She is. And she’s great at her job. I really thought?—”

Hugo frowned. Just tell her. Stop tiptoeing around the fucking problem. “I like her.”

“Okay. Good. But in that case I don’t understand why you’d like a different—“I like her, Isolde. As in, I like her , okay?” His face was growing warmer by the second.

Isolde’s mouth opened in surprise. “Oh.”

“And I know she won’t consider seeing me if I’m her patient.”

“No. Of course not.”

“I also don’t know that she’ll see me if I’m not her patient. But that’s a chance I’m willing to take. So, I need a new therapist.”

“Okay. Well. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Let me see what I can do. I’ll try to get some new names for you, okay?”

Hugo nodded. “Thanks, Isolde. I’d better get down to see the team, make sure they don’t leave without me.”

“Fat chance of that. They’ve been counting the days until you were back.”

He took a deep breath. “You know I’m not great with words. But… thanks for everything.”