Once Kissed: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family) (19 page)

“Please tell me,” Tess says, again. “By the way you lashed out, and the way you were yelling, it must have been horrible.”

My knuckles brush along the curve of her waist. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It was too much” is all I can say.

“Because it involved me?” She swallows hard when I don’t answer. “It’s okay if it did.”

“No, it’s not.” I stare at the pile of law books stacked on her dresser without really seeing them. “I can’t lose you, Tess,” I admit. We’ve been together for more than two months now, and while it doesn’t seem like a long time, I can’t picture her and me not being together.

Her hands splay along my shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You did in my dream.”

Her hands stop moving. “It was just a dream.”

I shake my head against her skin. “No. It played out like the night Joey was shot. Only this time, you took his place. You took those bullets. I failed you, and because of it you died in my arms.”

My words should freak her out—hell, they freak
me
out. But I couldn’t stop them from shooting out of my mouth.

Shooting? I huff.
Nice.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I am, too.”

Her voice remains calm as she strokes my hair. “Curran…I think you have PTSD.”

“I know what I have, Tess.” I’m not yelling at her, but I am yelling at myself. Mostly because there isn’t shit I can do to stop it. My frustration is, I
should
be able to stop it—turn it off like a switch or something. I’m better than this. Damnit, I know I am.

If she’s mad or hurt about the way I snapped, she doesn’t show it, keeping her motions and her voice gentle. “If you know what you have, then you also know you need professional help to overcome it.”

I adjust my weight against her. “No. I can’t. It’s not in me.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nor is it a sign of weakness. It can happen to anyone despite their strengths and preparation. Look at all the vets coming back from war, the firefighters who lived through 9/11…and your brothers and sisters in law enforcement. All of you deal with events that require physical and emotional strength beyond what most will ever face. But none of you are immune to the trauma your duties subject you to.”

“Tess, I get it. But you’re talking like a civilian from the outside looking in. I’m talking like a cop, and cops don’t talk. We keep it inside. It’s the only way to function given the amount of shit we see.”

“But you’re not functioning, Curran—not as well as you could be.” She releases a small breath. “I think that by trying to bury your pain instead of dealing with it, you’re spiraling into a very dark place.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not trying to insult you,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “Or make you angry. But I am telling you that I’m scared. These dreams are getting worse. I couldn’t wake you. You were screaming my name and begging me not to leave, and there was nothing I could do to bring you out of it.”

“Sorry” is all I can say.

“Curran…”

“Let’s just lie here, okay?”

“
No.
Please don’t pull away from me.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“That may not be your intention, but it’s what you’re doing—”

“I hesitated.”

Her fingers curl against my skin before sliding to rest against my shoulders. “What?”

I steal a glance her way. As much as she’s trying to hide it, I recognize the surprise in her face. She knows where I’m headed, and maybe she doesn’t like it. But for all I said about not talking, my mouth keeps going anyway.

“I hesitated,” I repeat. “That day with Joey, I held back.”

It’s a hard thing to admit for many reasons. Growing up, we were all talented in one way or another. And even though we made Ma proud, she’d remind us that our strengths and smarts wouldn’t always be enough to save us.
You’re going to make mistakes,
she’d tell us.
It’s all part of being human.
Man, was she ever right.

“I can shoot,” I say aloud. “Better than anyone on the force ever has. I see my target, I aim, I pull the trigger, and it’s game over. It wasn’t anything I ever needed to master. Once the basics were explained, it came naturally, like something I was born to do.”

Aim was always my thing. I rarely missed a basket when I played ball, constantly got the crumpled piece of paper in the garbage can, and won a lot of those ugly stuffed bears by tossing the rings or knocking down pins. “Some people called it a gift,” I mutter against her skin. “They said the same of how I followed my instincts. But I didn’t use either when they mattered.”

She waits for me to say more. But I’ve already said enough. I hope she’ll let it go. Instead she continues, pushing me more than I’m ready for. “You told me how you were often pulled from your duties to train the recruits. I don’t know much about your line of work, Curran. But to pull someone with only a few years on the job, your superiors must have believed in you, and considered you someone special.”

She’s listening, but she doesn’t understand. “Maybe they did. I doubt they think that anymore.”

Her arms return to my neck, her hold loving—shielding even—like she feels my pain, and maybe hurts for me, too. I don’t want her pity, but her compassion is maybe something I need. So when she asks the next question, it throws me for a loop. “Why did you hesitate?”

Right to the point. She’s not messing around. My mind wraps around the moment me and Joey found the perp—when I shone the light in his face and saw how scared and young he was. “He was just a kid,” I say, exactly like I did that night. “Another little punk on his way to prison for a stupid decision he can never take back.”

Tess’s voice softens in a way that tells me she’s ready to cry. “You felt sorry for him. That’s not a bad thing.”

“It is in my line of work. Kid or not, I should’ve had him on the ground the moment we cornered him.”

“So why didn’t you?” The kindness in her voice doesn’t match her point-blank question. When I don’t answer, she says, “Curran, I don’t know you as well as I want to. But I know your heart. If you didn’t throw that boy to the ground, you must have had a reason.”

I clutch her tight, reacting to the way her words punch me hard. It’s not just what she says about us—about not knowing me like she wants to—it’s about how she does seem to know me, despite how much I’ve held back.

“I didn’t want to be that cop,” I admit. “The one who uses excessive force, the one the media bashes for taking a step too far. I wanted to do right by him, no matter what crime he committed. Mostly, though, I didn’t want a dead kid on my conscience.”

I take a moment to feel the way I fit against her, and how her kindness seems to seep through her with each of her tender strokes. But then I continue, sensing the heaviness that’s followed me since that night. “The thing is, there’s a reason cops sometimes go too far. Kids or not, these perps don’t want to get caught. They get desperate, and do shit they probably think they never would….” My voice trails. “Like shoot a cop.”

The hollowness in my tone swallows us whole, leaving only the sounds of our breaths and the gentle thud of Tess’s heartbeat until I speak again. “His age, how scared he was—it shouldn’t have mattered, Tess. I should have had him down and cuffed. Instead I approached him slowly, trying to give him the chance he never gave us.”

She lets me lie there for a beat, allowing me to lose myself in my thoughts. “He was just a kid,” I repeat. “But then Joey is, too. And now he’ll never walk.”

“You’re afraid you’re going to hesitate again, aren’t you?”

I’m ready to deny it. Instead I say, “Can you fucking blame me?”

“No.”

“Well, you might be the only one.” I practically snarl the next few words. “The captain flat out told me he thinks I lost my nerve. This assignment—guarding you—is supposed to give me time to get it back.”

“I don’t think time is what you need.”

“You’re right. I need to get my shit together and get back on the job.”

Her fingers spread along my shoulder blades. “I think you need more than that.”

“Don’t tell me I need a shrink, Tess. That’s the last thing I want to hear.”

“Curran, you just told me a great deal. For someone as guarded as you, it speaks volumes. But as much as I’m here to listen, I’m incapable of helping you. You need to see a therapist.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking if you want to,” she says. “I’m telling you, this is what you need.”

I mutter a curse. She’s getting that lawyer voice of hers—the one that tells me I’m in for a fight, and that I’d better give in ’cause she’s not backing down. I don’t want to fight with her. But where she’s determined, I’m stubborn as all hell. “I’m not doing that shit. Look…I was mandated to meet with someone after it happened and the guy was a total douche.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a good fit.”

“And maybe I’m just not cut out for it. I met with the shrink, told him what he wanted to hear, and he cleared me. I did my part.”

“No you didn’t, Curran. No therapist in the world, no matter how gifted, can help you if you don’t open up.”

“I’ll just deal with it,” I mumble.

“Given the frequency of your nightmares and their escalating intensity, your strategy of burying your head in the sand—with the hope your trauma simply vanishes—is neither helpful, plausible, nor productive. You need professional intervention, cop. And you need it soon.”

Based on her SAT vocabulary, now I know she’s pissed. I groan. This is what I get for dating a smart chick.

I breathe against her skin. God
,
I’m tired. “Am I wrong for trying to choose another way?”

“Curran…”

“Tess, if one thing I know, I’ll fall, but I’ll grow.”

“I know you’re—” She tenses beneath me. “Wait a minute. Did you just quote song lyrics?”

Damn
.
She caught me. “I told you, I’m not good with words.”

Her body trembles beneath mine when she laughs. I lift my chin and plant a kiss between her breasts. “This is all the therapy I need,” I tell her. “You, here with me.”

“I wish I were enough,” she adds, quietly.

“You are.”

She shakes her head. “If I were, your guilt and anger wouldn’t manifest in your dreams like this. Curran, your trauma is worsening.”

She’s scared. I can sense it in her voice. And while I don’t like hearing what she has to say, I know she’s right. “Look, I mean it when I say I can’t see a shrink.” I let out a long breath, not sure why I’m yapping as much as I am. “But there’s something Lu’s been bitchin’ at me to try. I’ve been thinking about doing it, if only to shut her up.”

Her finger trails over my temple. “What is it?”

“There’s a peer counseling group that meets twice a week. It’s not therapy—at least not the sitting-on-the-couch, pouring-my-heart-out kind of shit—just a bunch of retired vets from the force who listen to you, and tell you what they’ve seen.”

“Like an emotional sharing network?”

I frown. “Don’t pussy it up for me.”

She laughs, but I keep going. “It’s cops talking to other cops. I don’t know—given my choices, maybe it’s not so bad.”

Her smile softens. “I think this could be exactly what you need,” she says. “But if it’s not enough, I need you to be honest with me, and yourself.”

“But it’s a start, right?”

“It is,” she agrees.

“Then what’s up? You look like I stole your favorite pair of argyles.”

Her finger stops along my jaw, and an odd expression plays across her face like I hurt her. Really hurt her. Damn, what did I say?

She averts her gaze and takes a breath, obviously needing a moment. When she faces me again she seems on the brink of tears. “Curran, I don’t know how you feel about me, and I’m not asking. But I’m to the point where I can’t picture my life without you.”

What she says then—about the future—is exactly what I’ve been thinking. Hell, I think about it all the time, seeing how we’ve all but moved in together. But the hurt in her features warns me that something’s wrong. “That’s supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it?”

A tear dribbles down her cheek. “Not if I have to walk away. But I will if you don’t get the help you need.”

My voice grows an edge as I lift off her. “Are you threatening to break up with me if I don’t do what you ask?”

She shakes her head. “It’s not meant as a threat, Curran. I’m only trying to be honest. I’ve spent the first part of my life being miserable. I don’t want to spend the remainder the same way.” Her voice trembles. “But I can’t be happy if you’re not. So go to counseling, and get the help you need, so we can be happy together.”

As much as I told Tess I was willing to give peer counseling a shot, I never expected it to be what it is. The first group session, following a brief introduction, I just sat there, steeling myself to be tested and judged. I was the new guy, right? I had to prove myself—just like I did in the academy, and just like I’d done on the force. But it wasn’t like that. All focus quickly left me. Those who weren’t directly looking at the group leaders were drilling holes into the floor with their stares.

David, a retired cop who served thirty-two years on the force, started us off. “Me and Thomas are leading tonight. Shit gets too rough, you stop. All’s there is to it. You don’t have anything good to say, get the fuck out. No one needs to hear it.”

Some people nodded like they understood or simply agreed. Others like me barely moved as David’s gaze swept around the circle. I didn’t expect anyone to understand me. Yeah, I mean I know they’ve seen and done shit they regret. But they’re good men, good cops. They don’t know the fucked-up emotions striking me like a pickax through my skull. They don’t feel what I feel when I crawl into bed with Tess and hold her against me—the fear that comes that millisecond before I give in to sleep, wondering what my subconscious is going to do to me this time. Or when I wake, what will trigger my guilt or shame. No way. As much as they hurt, they aren’t me.

Holy shit, didn’t I get an earful and a real eye-opening.

“You okay?” Tess asked afterward.

I didn’t tell her how I wasn’t sure how I made it to her place. Didn’t admit how I don’t remember the drive. I slipped into my truck and then there I was, knocking on her door. For as much as I tried to set my “cop face” in place, I couldn’t manage. “Baby,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around my neck. My hands clutched her hips, then slid to her back as my head fell against her shoulder. Jesus help me, I thought I’d never let her go.

Did group get easier? Hell, no. But one thing it showed me was that I didn’t stand alone in my mistakes, my guilt, and yeah, my pain, too.

Tonight was a rough one. I pat Levon’s shoulder as I step past him. He nods once, his way of giving me the pass to leave. I think I should stay, but everything in his sunken eyes tells me he’s done talking and needs room to breathe.

This shit’s fucked up. All of it. And I’m not sure how long he’s going to keep it together, or if more of us won’t follow him down the same path.

I stomp down the stone steps of the church. A few of the boys loiter behind—including Arnie and Malik, the two retirees who had led tonight’s group. They stand close to Levon, but not too close, giving him the kind of space I think he needs and I’m not so sure I’m capable of.

Levon had finally shared, and that shit tore him in half. But how do you get over shooting a baby when the bullet was meant for his piece-of-shit dad gunning for you? You don’t. And you never will.

This is the ugly side of law enforcement the media never mentions, and one critics turn a blind eye to, the one no politician runs to point out. They don’t have to, I guess. They have that luxury. Levon, and others like us, never will. We relive our sins with each passing day.

I rub my eyes as my head continues to pound from everything I heard and felt. A part of Levon died that day, with that baby, with the realization he couldn’t bring her back. It’s obvious from the way he carries himself, and how his eyes beg for a quick death. It’s the one way he’s certain he’ll find his peace—he said it himself, which is why he’s being monitored so closely.

I want to shake him—to do something. Those cops Lu talked about blowing their heads off in the basement. Levon has that potential. If he doesn’t get it together, this may be the last time I see him. I told him as much during group—so did the other boys. But words don’t mean much to him. Not the way his mind is messing with him, and not with those crying babies he says he hears at night.

I glance over my shoulder. Arnie and Malik flank him, speaking quietly, trying to hold his focus. They’re good that way. But they’re not good enough to stop Levon if he wants to die bad enough. For the sake of his wife and kids, I hope Levon has the guts to hang on.

I cut through a small garden, the one dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Like I told Tess, I’m not a good Catholic, but I cling to the rituals I was taught. I kneel down in front of the statue and pray for Levon and his family.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit,” I mumble, crossing myself. I bound down the steps in time to see Joey, his long arms forcing the wheels of his chair along the walkway.

My stomach bottoms out, and I freeze. For all I think I need my cop face now, it doesn’t come. Every muscle on me tightens, the same way they do when I see a fist swing my way and know it’s a blow I can’t avoid.

I know he sees me, but his focus is so fixed ahead, I think for sure he’ll roll right past me, like he did during the trial. Instead he stops directly in front of me. “Hey, Joey,” I say.

He blinks up at me, his jaw set tight. “Hey, O’Brien.”

Neither of us says anything for what has to be the longest damn minute of my life. “You here for the group?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Been coming long?”

I try to shrug, but can’t manage. “A couple of weeks.”

“This here’s my first time.” His voice is hollow. Kind of like mine. “The sarge told me it might help. I don’t know, but what the hell. Got nothing else to do tonight but piss through a straw, right?”

It’s a kick to the nuts I don’t need. “Sorry” is all I say, but I feel it down to my gut.

Joey stares straight ahead, then angles his chair and keeps going, up the ramp as fast as his chair can take him.