Released: MC Secret Baby Romance (New Adult Contemporary Biker Romance) (28 page)

"Yeah, I'll be alright."

Linking arms around each other, they walked with a tight grip together. David turned around to wave goodbye to his buddies, and one of them gave him the thumbs up and a knowing wink.

Reaching the cold air of the night, David looked up to the stars and let his mind wander away to thoughts of Damian and his lost friends. It was nights like this when the sky was clear that he'd look up to the universe and hope that somewhere, they'd be waiting for him.

"You look so sad all of a sudden." Marie observed, as she grabbed him and rubbed his arms up and down to warm him.

"No, I'm fine." He shook off the sadness like he always did. "Just tired is all."

"Well, as long as you're sure," Marie smiled. "But anyway, this is my ride," and she leaned back on her motorcycle.

David noticed right away it was a Harley, one that was almost as nice as his.

"No way!" he burst out laughing. "Of all the girls I gotta meet tonight, I end up with a biker." He couldn’t contain his amusement. "That's mine right there," he said, pointing to a few rows over where his was proudly parked.

"Very nice," Marie nodded in approval, as she pulled on her helmet. "But, I gotta go now. It's been nice. You're a pretty fun drinking partner."

"Do I get to see you again?" David found himself saying, rather out of character.

"Hmm... Perhaps." But she made no attempt to give him her phone number.

She paused for a moment. She didn't want the night to end just yet, and she leaned up to give him passionate kiss. Then, as though nothing had happened, she revved her engine and sped away, waving a peace sign with her fingers as she left.

"That is some woman," David exhaled slowly, and watched his breath gather in the air.

He climbed on his own bike and sat for a long while just appreciating the quiet of the night. Every now and again, another drunken reveler would walk past him and he'd nod and say hello. Then he'd look back to the stars and feel a deep sense of sorrow swarming inside of him. What he wouldn't do to turn back time.

As the sun came up, he looked across the landscape and saw the morning glow spread across the horizon. He was starting to sober up, and with it came the inevitable pounding in his head. He rubbed at his bleary eyes and suddenly had a craving for the strongest coffee he could get his hands on. Then, he remembered the therapy session he had booked for that day and he grimaced.

“Ugh…. better be on my way,” he muttered under his breath, before making his way home.

Chapter 2

When David woke up, his head was thumping with a hangover, and he felt as though he’d never be unable to lift it from the pillow. He opened one eye tentatively and looked for the clock. It was a quarter past eight, and he'd only had two hours of sleep.

"Ugh.... My God," he grunted, as he tried to sit up.

He had to be at the therapist's office in forty-five minutes, and there wasn't anywhere he wanted to be less. What could some damn shrink help him with anyway? They weren't with him when his friends got shot. They had no idea what it was like to survive a tour of Afghanistan. He became increasingly angry as he showered and got dressed. He imagined the meek and old-fashioned psychiatrist sitting in his leather chair wearing a gray cardigan and maroon loafers. Despite the fact that David had never met him, he hated him already, and he wasn't going to make any special effort to turn up on time.

After a quick breakfast and an extra strong coffee, he climbed onto his bike and headed back to base. He felt strange at first, entering the premises without a uniform. It made him feel less than worthy of being there, as if he was just a civilian or worse – a lunatic who was being psychoanalyzed in a mad house. But orders were orders and whatever Officer Brady said, went.

Yet, that couldn't stop the grumbling in his mind as he stepped into the mental health facility and took a seat in the waiting room.

"God damn shrinks. What do they know about anything?" He picked up a magazine off the coffee table and flicked through it without reading a single page.

He was lost in thought and sunk into his own anger as he remembered his meeting with the officer yesterday. He couldn't believe he'd been signed off. It was an embarrassment – a pure and utter humiliation to watch his peers return to training while he had to sit in this pristine, white facility.

As he mindlessly flicked through the magazine yet again, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice when his name was called.

"I said, ‘David Axel?’" the receptionist was leaning over the counter with an expectant look on her face.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry. That's me." He jumped up and approached her.

"If you'll just head down that corridor there," she said, pointing with her pen, "and go in the third door on the left."

"Thanks," David mumbled. "Third door on the left, got it."

His stomach was churning as he approached. Now that he was here and this was really happening, he wanted out. Of course, it didn't help that the hangover was making him sick to his stomach. As always, he regretted drinking so much and he winced at the thought of chugging down that bottle of bourbon. His hangovers were getting worse, too, and he knew that, at some point, he'd have to cut down or even quit. However, right now he was fine with drinking himself into oblivion – anything to stop the pain for a little while.

The door to the psychiatrist’s office seemed to appear in front of him sooner than he liked. He hesitated for a long while and looked at his watch. He was only ten minutes late, but maybe they thought he was a no-show already and they had given up on him. Or maybe he could just leave right now, go back to bed, and nurse his chronic migraine.

While he was busy contemplating what to do, he realized it was too late. The door knob began to rattle in front of him and he had nowhere to turn. Then the door opened, and he got the shock of his life. He took a step back, frowned as if he was seeing things, and let his jaw fall slack.

"Marie?" he gasped.

"David?"

"Holy shit," he said, as he burst out laughing. "Well, I did ask if I could see you again."

"You better come in," she blushed. "It's such a small world we live in."

Entering her office, he took a seat in front of her desk and felt conflicted. On one hand, he was pleased to see the woman from the night before. He was ecstatic, even, to see her strong, perfect figure and beautiful face. But he was also humiliated, because now she knew he was crazy.

"I'll be honest. I didn't want to come here," he said, looking down at his shoes.

She leaned forward and patted his hand. "That's ok. Most people are apprehensive about reaching out for help, especially in the military. It makes them feel emasculated almost, or they think it makes them weak. But, that's not the case. You know that, don't you, David?"

He said nothing and just continued to keep his head down.

“I didn’t want to come here for therapy, but…. maybe you’re changing my mind.”

Chapter 3

Dr. Marie McAvoy loved her job, but as she sat at her desk with a hangover, she wished she was in bed. Or rather, she wished she was in bed with the young man across from her. When she opened the door and saw the handsome Navy SEAL from the night before, she could barely hide the look of excitement on her face. However, she tried her best to stay professional, despite the fact that her stomach was doing somersaults.

"I'm glad I've changed your mind, David. I think it's vital that sufferers of PTSD get the help they need, as early on as possible."

"PTSD? Who says I have that?"

"David," she said softly as reached out to touch his hand again.

He gripped it hard, tangling his fingers in hers and looking into her icy-blue eyes.

"Listen," she continued. "I've read your case files. I know what you witnessed. It would be most unusual if you weren't affected in a terrible way."

"Well, what can I say?" He pulled his hand away and relaxed back in his chair in his usual aloof manner. "I'm an unusual guy."

Marie didn't know what to say. She wanted to help this man – in more ways than one – but he was obviously in denial.

"So..." She tried to resume the session. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions to get us started. Think of this as an assessment of your needs."

"Oh yeah, you can assess my needs all you want." He winked and relaxed even further back in his chair, spreading his legs to reveal the bulge inside his pants.

Marie went breathless, and she gulped down some water from a nearby bottle in an attempt to regain her composure.

"Erm… So let's get to it, shall we?" She blushed, unable to take her eyes off his crotch. "So, can you tell me what your sleeping pattern is like?"

"Oh you know... I sleep with one, maybe two girls a week," He looked her up and down with his eyes lingering on her breasts. "But, I'm always happy to sleep more regularly," he said as he grinned a wide and cheeky smile.

She tried to feign authority, although she was growing hot between her legs. "Can you answer the question seriously, please?"

"Ah! Where's the fun in that?" He flung his arms up in the air.

"Just, please, answer the question."

"Fine, I sleep fine," he answered grumpily, annoyed that she wasn't indulging his flirtations.

"Fine? What does that mean exactly?"

"It means... I dunno. Why do you even care?" His tone changed dramatically as he got angry at the question.

He didn't want to admit that he never slept unless he'd drank a half bottle of whisky, but it was none of anyone's business anyway.

"Ok, let's move onto the next question, shall we?"

"Sure."

"Are you self-medicating in any way?"

"Self-medicating? Is that like self-loving?" He reverted back to his dirty way of thinking.

"Look, please. This is my job and I take it seriously, can you just do the same?"

"Hey! I thought we were having some fun there?"

"You're not here for fun. If I remember correctly, you're here to get well and recover from your last tour."

"Look, lady. I'm not into all this head shrinking stuff and you have no idea what happened on my last tour. Not to mention I don't need to recover from shit."

"David." She tried to reach out to pat him on the arm, but he shrugged her off and pulled away. "Please. I can see you're harboring some difficult thoughts, but they're not going to go away if you don't let me in."

"Oh. How about you let me in, eh?"

"I give up." Marie flung her hands in the air and slumped back in her seat.

She wanted to help him and all the signs of trauma were there, but he needed to see it, too. And there was something else. She'd treated hundreds of male patients and so many of them had come onto her, but this guy – there was something about the twinkle in his eyes that made her melt. That's why she said something she knew she'd shouldn't.

"Look, if it's easier I can meet you someplace else. Like maybe you could come over to mine?" She wasn't sure what she was thinking.

Sure, she genuinely wanted to help him, but if things developed then...

"Really?" He leaned forward, suddenly interested once again.

"Yes, but it's strictly professional," she declared, trying to convince herself more so than David.

"Strictly professional." He winked. "Well, ok then. That suits me."

"Here, take this and meet me at eight tomorrow night." She scribbled down her address and pushed it across the desk.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, standing up to leave.

Marie couldn't keep her eyes off him as he walked away from her; couldn't stop staring at the way his broad, muscular shoulders burst out of his tight, white t-shirt.

"See you soon." She smiled with her head bowed to hide her crimson cheeks.

"I'll be looking forward to it," he said, and he left happy.

Marie clapped her hands to her face and felt the hot redness that was emanating from her skin.

"Jesus." She grabbed the water bottle and gulped it down thirstily. "What am I doing?"

She wriggled in her seat to shake the feeling of arousal and pulled David's case file from the desk. Taking one last flick through it, she bundled it into her bag to take home, and then readied herself for her next patient.

Chapter 4

David was grinning like an excited puppy as he left the clinic. He was used to garnering women's attention, but there was something about the doctor that had him more excited than usual. She was so beautiful and caring, yet tough and intelligent. Not to mention she rode a Harley, too! She was the perfect storm, and he couldn't get her out of his head.

"Oh God." he groaned, searching for his motorcycle in the parking lot. "Don't get too attached," he told himself. "Always play the field." He straddled his Harley thinking it was the closest thing to love he'd ever known.

As he left the base, he needed to let off some steam, and he raced to the nearby shooting range, a place he'd frequented more and more since he returned home. Firing each bullet felt like he was exorcising a demon, and he felt the relief come over him in waves as he fired perfectly into each target.