Ranger - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,1

place is the worried brother. He even uses my real name. He knows I’m in serious shit.

How I want to tell him everything, but even the thought of the man I lost, the mere mention of his name, sends my heart into a wild frenzy, and at the edges of my vision, the darkness is creeping in. I summon up all my training not to break down in front of my brother. I have enough pride left for that.

“I can’t talk,” I say between clenched teeth. “Not about what happened. But I need help. I’ve been diagnosed with…”

Dammit, why can’t I even say those stupid four letters? Why is it so hard for me to admit this? It’s not my fault, I’m far from the only one, and it doesn’t say anything about me not being strong enough or some macho bullshit. I know all that, and still, it’s so goddamn hard. I punch my right thigh, my leg bouncing like a rocking horse.

“…with PTSD,” Lucky finishes for me.

Of course he knew already. He’s not stupid, and besides, he’s a former Marine. Pretty sure my parents have recognized the symptoms as well. My dad was a Marine too, so he must’ve seen this before from his former team members.

I take a deep breath in through my nose, then exhale slowly through my mouth. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry…” Lucky’s voice, full of concern and love, penetrates the dark fog in my head, and some of the tension in my shoulders eases. I uncurl my fist and let it rest on my now still leg. I have the best brother in the world; I really do, and the fact that I recognize that even in the darkness I’m in speaks volumes about how true that statement is.

“I know.”

“What can I do?”

“I’ve tried everything. I need something to help me get through the days, to help me sleep, to keep the darkness at bay… Fuck, I even tried group therapy, but you know I’m not a talker. Besides, being around other people is…not good right now.”

“I have a suggestion.”

I narrow my eyes and swat at a persistent fly buzzing around my head. “Already?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call me for a year.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I…” I pinch between my eyebrows. “What’s your idea?”

“There’s an organization called Pups for Patriots, and they provide therapy dogs to vets. These dogs are specifically trained to help vets, for example, with PTSD. They sense your stress or when you’re in distress, and they can help calm you down.”

A dog. Oh god, yes. The idea of having to talk to people is enough to make me break out in a sweat, but a dog is a different story. I love dogs; I always have. I could never have one myself, what with me being in the Army and all, but my parents have always had dogs—German shepherds, a husky, some mixed labs.

“How do I know if I qualify for one?”

“You do.”

“How can you be so sure?” As soon as I’ve asked the question, I know the answer. “You already contacted them.”

“I have connections. You know Cameron, former Ballsy Boy Campy, who Heart worked with? His boyfriend is Jackson Criswell, the TV star. I met him at a Ballsy Boys get-together, and we got to chat. He works with this animal trainer for the show he’s shooting, and that guy is the volunteer trainer for Pups for Patriots in your area. I already called him, and he’s ready to talk to you. His name is Julian Barnes. I’ll text you his contact info.”

My tired brain needs a few seconds to figure out the connections. Heart, one of my brother’s boyfriends, used to work for the Ballsy Boys studio as a porn star, so that’s how he knows Campy. Of course I know Campy as well, albeit only from his videos. He’s retired now, as is Heart—though I’ve never watched his videos again after learning my brother had a thing for him, a thing that has developed into a beautiful relationship. But that’s how my down-to-earth brother got to hang out with one of Hollywood’s hottest new TV stars.

I chuckle. “Damn, look at you being all connected. And wow, you really did come prepared.”

“I’ve been sitting on this, waiting for you to be ready. And that’s not an accusation or a complaint, you know that. This is your journey, and you’ll walk it at your pace, but I wanted to be there when you asked for help.”

My throat closes