Rescuing Ryder (Serenity Securities, Team Hawk #1)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Claire picked up the boxes and put them in the trunk of her car. She finally purchased a new home in Serenity. The four-bedroom Victorian contained a large, sunny screened-in patio with a view of the mountain she loved. The office in the front of the house contained built-in bookshelves, perfect to showcase her growing collection of first-edition classics. Her master bedroom contained French doors leading to the patio, adding charm to her cozy space. She practically squealed in excitement when she signed on the dotted line.

Her new friends on Serenity Mountain pitched in and helped paint the inside and clear the yard. The moving truck was scheduled to arrive the next day and Claire wanted to bring things from her office to her home. With the extra doctor on staff, she found time to pick out furnishings and now needed a handyman for her to-do list. Several items required putting together and she fell short. The mini kitchen cart sat sadly in the corner of her new place, missing screws and tilting to the side. Hopefully, whoever she hired would manage to fix it.

She drove up the mountain, unloaded her boxes and other items, and took them to her office. A knock at her office door made her glance up.

“Hi, Chase. Sorry for the mess. I’m trying to pack up what I want to take to the home office.”

“I understand. Are you sure we can’t help you tomorrow when the movers come? I’m sure Leo can send a couple of men and I can make it.”

“No. I scheduled the next three days off to organize. Plus, Jake lives right around the corner if I need him,” she reassured him as she pulled books from her collection and added them to her pile for home. “What can I do for you?”

“Ryder agreed to stay with us. Kassie took him on a tour and showed him where to go. She introduced him to Whiskey and drove him into town for groceries. I wanted to know if you can fit him in this afternoon. I know it’s short notice, but Andrew’s already booked. You’ve read the care plan and he needs therapy.”

She leaned over her desk and flipped the calendar. “I have time at 1430. I read his file. Do you think he’ll stick with it? He refused meds, and the countless notes from his care teams mentioned he didn’t take things seriously. I can only work with him if he’s willing to make an effort,” she expressed her concerns.

Chase leaned against the back of the chair. “Kassie noticed something. It seems he likes a challenge. He showed surprise with your bluntness and when you left without hounding him. When I reviewed the notes, he received standard medical care. In his case, it won’t work. You know as well as I do what works for one doesn’t work for another. By giving him a choice, we gave him control. I’m counting on your expertise and will follow your lead.”

“Yes, he responds to the challenge and choices. I may go off-book with him. Do I have your consent to proceed with some unorthodox methods? Ryder doesn’t call himself by his moniker. He feels unworthy of the title. He sticks with the top layers of his issues. My concern starts when I begin closing in on the harder stuff. In my professional opinion, he’ll run when things get tough. From all the previous notes, he stops therapy once they start delving into him losing the team.”

“I have faith you know what you’re doing. I’ll send him to you this afternoon,” Chase encouraged her. “If you need any help, you’ll call?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Chase left her alone, and she thought about the man she met the day before. The pain seemed etched in his face. Tiny lines and darkened eyes proved he didn’t sleep. He carried a chip on his shoulder and used snide remarks to mask his pain. As if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Alone, he walked without purpose. She witnessed the lost expression in his eyes a thousand times before. Ryder Hawkins presented her with a challenge and she wondered which one would win in the end.

Ryder walked to Dr. Meyers’ office. He knocked and waited before stepping in. A muffled response came through the door, and he turned the knob.

The doctor bent over a box and Ryder caught a nice view of her behind in her form-fitting pencil skirt.

“I’m here for my appointment. If you’re busy, I can come back.” Ryder offered, not caring if he attended the session or not.

She attempted to straighten and pull her silk top down before turning to greet him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you knock. I’m attempting to put my lamp together to decide whether I want it for here or to take it home. Now, I’m returning it. The shade won’t straighten and the light bulb thingy won’t tighten. I think it’s missing pieces,” she scowled, wholly engrossed in the atrocious item in her hand.

“Did it come that way or did you murder it?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Very funny. Believe it or not, I have many talents. Unfortunately, they don’t line up with putting things together.” She picked up the screwdriver in her hand and frowned.

“How about I handle the light, and you lecture me for the hour? I’ll pretend I’m listening.” Shaking his head, he plucked the fixture and tool from her hand.

“It doesn’t work like that.” She sat down at her desk and pulled his folder from the pile.

“Considering how you massacred the poor thing, of course, it doesn’t work; you don’t even have the lightbulb screwed in,” he teased her as he turned the item around and shook his head again.

“I’m not discussing the lamp,” she took on a professional tone.

“I’m here, aren’t I? Isn’t this where you’ll try to convince me there’s a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“You’re not dying, Ryder. With hard work, I hope you’ll find peace and acceptance. You have a whole life to look forward to and I hope you’ll find something which makes you happy.” She pulled out a list and placed it to the side. “First, I want to address the medications. If I prescribe them, will you take them?”

He removed the lampshade and almost laughed out loud at the crooked screws. Taking the tool in hand, he began to remove them. “The ones they swore worked made me foggy as hell.”

“I understand the feeling. What about sleeping? How many times do you wake at night?” She scribbled a note next to his file.

“Sleeping seems overrated,” he snarked at her as he unscrewed the lightbulb.

“Ryder.” Dr. Meyers warned.

“I don’t sleep much. Maybe a couple of hours straight before the nightmares start.”

“Is it the same nightmare, or does it change?” She placed her elbows on her desk and watched him, genuinely interested in what he said.

“I don’t know. I don’t stay asleep long enough to find out.” The entire lamp fixture leaned to the side and he sat mystified at how a woman with a PhD hanging on her wall managed to screw up something so simple.

“What if I gave you something to take in the morning that won’t cause the foggy feeling and something to help you sleep? Can you try them for two weeks? It’ll take them time to get into your system.”

“I don’t like the drugged feeling. If you’re positive I won’t walk around like a zombie, I’ll agree to your two weeks,” he groused as he held the screws in his mouth and shook his head at the disaster before him.

“What kind of therapy have you tried in the past for the nightmares?” she asked as she made a note on her pad.

He glanced at her as he removed the screw from his mouth and put it into the fixture. “I’m not big on talking, Doc. In fact, I detest this whole thing the most. I’ve heard everything. You’ll throw more meds at me when you don’t see a change. You want an hour daily? Fine. I’ll give you the time, but don’t expect me to come in here and get all touchy and feely.”

She cocked her head. “Then why bother? If you can’t find a way to heal, you can’t move forward.”

“Let me ask you a question. When they send us over to one of those countries, do you think they give us time to reach inside ourselves and ask if we’re fine with taking lives? We realize some of these people are brainwashed or their family’s held hostage if they don’t comply, but we’re required to eliminate the threats. We know the risks. I knew what I signed up for. I don’t need someone to tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“What do you need?” she asked him quietly.

“I don’t know. And no amount of therapy will help me,” he raised his voice as he slammed down the lamp, now pieced back together the correct way.

“Oh.” She reached across the desk and scooted it closer. “I love it. Thank you. It’s going home with me.” She smiled at him as if he hadn’t made the outburst. She sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re required to give me an hour a day. Do you want to make a deal?”

“What?” he asked irritably.

“I want two hours a day. We won’t sit in my office and diagnose the hell out of you. You’ll help me move and assemble all my things that may or may not be missing parts or have a few extra pieces.”

He stared at her as if she lost her ever-loving mind. “Are you serious? I don’t have to talk. Just assemble shit?”

She held up her hand. “We’ll talk. I promise no pestering and you can refuse to answer.”

He closed his eyes and considered whether she planned to manipulate him. The idea of doing something instead of sitting across from a head shrink appealed to him.

“Fine. Two hours daily. I’m assuming you take the weekends off?”

“Does your mental health take time off? We live in a small town and I own my very first home. I have tons of projects. I’ll ask Doc to let you borrow one of the team’s extra vehicles to commute from the mountain to town. It’ll make it easier if we decide to meet in town. Two hours daily, and I’ll even let you select the time.”

He regarded her shrewdly. Thinking to outsmart her, he threw out a time. “How about 0400?”

“Perfect. I always run in the morning. Bring a pair of running shoes, and if you don’t have sweats, ask Whiskey to take you into town or borrow a pair from the team. Thank you for fixing my lamp. I’ll see you tomorrow. In case you didn’t notice, our time’s up.” She walked to the door and held it open.

Ryder’s jaw clamped shut at her dismissive attitude and then she got him with the damn running comment at freaking 0400. Well, now he knew how she got the tight ass. Shaking his head, he exited her office and the hospital, turning toward the entrance of his cabin.

The mountain air hit him as he stalked down the path; undecided if he felt impressed with her or pissed she forced his hand at running. Before the mission, he ran all the time to let off steam. He stopped when he returned home. Why should Ryder enjoy the pleasures of running when the death of his brothers caused so much pain?