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James Miller had been attending the veteran group for five years when Tim Bradford showed up.
Same place, same time. First Wednesday of every month. 7.30-8.30. Coffee provided.
He’d like it. The routine. Every month. Without fail.
That was maybe the point, he supposed. The routine.
Tim was pretty similar to some of the other, younger ex-soldiers who had come through the group. Still built like he was in the army. No prosthetics or catastrophic injuries. Went into something where he could use those skills. The police.
James remembered Tim’s first session. He doesn’t really know why, because it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Not in any way.
Tim didn’t talk the first session. Not a word. The facilitator didn’t push him. Just gave a small, respectful smile when he gave a subtle shake of his head as the circle moved around. That, and his face had turned sheet-white.
Averse to therapy, then, James had thought. He’d learn. Just like all the other young soldiers who’d come through. Just like James had.
Maybe what James had really noticed about that session was how Tim kept scratching at his thighs. Shifting, pretending his jeans weren’t rubbing against the raw skin on his quads.
No one seemed to notice. And if they did, they didn’t mention it. James noticed.
The second session, Tim looked ready to pass out, but he did speak. Said his name. How long he’d been in the army. The two tours he’d been on, one in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, the second as a sergeant. That he was a police officer. A sergeant as well. How long he’d been a police officer.
Then he clammed up.
That wasn’t unusual. The facilitator simply thanked him for speaking, then moved on with a small nod.
Thank you for sharing.
Over the next few sessions, James learnt small pieces of information about Tim’s life.
How he took his coffee, for starters. (Black. He said Lucy called it motor oil.)
Except, James didn’t know who Lucy was.
Tim mentioned her nearly every session after that, but he never gave any context about who she was to him.
Lucy loved the navy henley he was wearing today.
Lucy had a ridiculous coffee order.
Lucy loved sunsets.
Lucy championed therapy. A lot, apparently.
Nearly became a psychologist herself.
Lucy was pescatarian.
Lucy said this.
Lucy said that.
Lucy was proud of him.
The more James heard about Lucy, the more confused he became.
Tim had been coming for a year by the time someone actually asked about Lucy.
He knew by now the group wasn’t going to judge him.
So after Tim finished sharing, former army sergeant Amy Coleson put up her hand. “Tim?”
Tim looked up, his jaw working.
“What does your wife do?”
Oh.
Well. James…had picked up that Lucy was maybe not Tim’s wife.
And he found out he was right when Tim tensed up like he’d been tasered at that question.
“Lucy’s…not my wife.”
“Oh,” Amy replied. “Girlfriend?”
Tim paused, shook his head.
Looked down at this hands, scratching at his thighs again.
“Uh,” he gave a sad chuckle. “No. No. I really…she’s…,” he swallowed. “She’s my ex.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
“I’m sorry,” Amy replied. “I didn’t mean to—“
Tim shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I…I fucked things up with her. Majorly. That’s…that’s sort of why I came here. In the first place.”
Tim swallowed, dipping his head.
The facilitator remained quiet. Tim knew by now that his admissions were voluntary. He would tap out if he needed it.
“I had a pretty shitty dad,” he laughed wetly. “Typical, abusive bastard. Gave me more scars than bones I have in my body, just about.”
Everyone was silent.
“And, uh, apparently, that meant I internalised the message that I needed to be punished. For every wrongdoing. Every personal failing.”
He looked down.
“And, you know, if I fuck up professionally, LAPD’s pretty strict, we don’t get away with much. So I get punished for that.”
He swallowed, his voice thick.
“I broke up with Lucy,” he choked out. “I told…I told myself I was protecting her.”
He scoffed. “My therapist thinks it was a way to punish myself for something that I did.”
“I lied. About something that had happened when I was in the army. And it came back to bite me. Got brought to the attention of the LAPD. And I lied more.”
He took a shuddering breath in.
“And I was spinning out, because I didn’t know who I was anymore. And so, I broke up with Lucy to protect her from me. And to punish myself.”
He wiped a tear from the his cheek with the back of his hand, letting out a half-laugh. “She…she was the one who told me to go to therapy in the first place. I don’t think she thought I would. But…”
He trailed off for a moment.
“The night I started therapy, I asked for an emergency appointment. Because if I’d gone home, I…”
He shook his head, cutting himself off.
“She—“ he leaned back, a hand pressed over his mouth, his eyes darting every which way to try and avoid eye contact.
“She’s my everything. And I… I feel like I’ve finally earned my way back in, or at least partially. And I don’t expect her to give me another chance, she shouldn’t, really, but if she does, I—I’d make damn sure that I don’t mess this one up.”
James leaned forward on his forearms, his left arm resting against the cool metal of his prosthetic leg, the one he could feel even through his jeans.
“She’s the one, isn’t she?” He asked quietly.
Tim looked up, his face pinched together from crying. He nodded. Let out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.”
James nodded once.
He’d heard a lot of things about Lucy.
She liked sunsets and yoga.
She drank coffee that qualified as dessert.
She was the Mid-Wilshire shooting champ, five years and counting.
But somehow, Lucy being the reason Tim started therapy was the most important thing. The first real thing.
Tim was different after that session.
More open. More honest.
To the group. To his therapist, apparently.
But mostly to himself, it seemed.
And, of course, to Lucy.
James watched as Tim’s smile slowly returned to his face over the next few months.
(Maybe not returned. James hadn’t really actually seen Tim smile, except for the small smiles he gave when he was talking about Lucy.)
And finally, when Tim had been smiling for an entire session, someone asked him why he was so happy.
He said he’d come up with a plan to ask Lucy to move in with him.
She was a sergeant now.
He was so proud of her.
(Tim didn’t say that bit. But it was pretty obvious.)
They moved in together. Tim was happier than James had ever seen him.
He still had shitty days. Didn’t they all.
He still rubbed at his thighs sometimes when he was overwhelmed.
But he stopped pretending Lucy wasn’t the centre of his universe.
He walked into group one day announcing he’d bought a ring.
Then, he walked into the next one beaming.
“She said yes.”
James cornered Tim after that one, when everyone was moving around mingling with steaming cups of coffee.
“It’s about time, man.”
Tim chuckled. “Yeah, probably.”
James raised an eyebrow. “Definitely. You’ve been in love with her since you walked in that first day.”
Tim opened his mouth to speak. “No, I—“
James gave him a look.
Tim relaxed, letting out a half-laugh. He hesitated for a moment, then finally admitted, “Yeah.”
James nodded once.
The two men settled in the silence for a moment, Tim smiling while he stirred his coffee.
“How’d you know?” he asked after a moment.
James looked up, surprised by the question. He laughed.
“Tim, you can’t even make your coffee without mentioning her.”
Tim’s eyebrows creased together. “I don’t—“
James rolled his eyes. “Yes. You do.”
“Black coffee?”
“‘Lucy calls it motor oil.’”
“New shirt?”
“‘Lucy likes this one.‘“
“Promotion?”
“‘Lucy got promoted too.’”
Tim opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Huh.”
James clapped him over the back with one hand. “We better be invited to the wedding, Bradford.”
Tim smiled. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll make sure of it.”
James nodded once, sobering a little.
He looked at Tim, who, a year and a half ago, had sounded like he was swallowing broken glass when he said Lucy’s name.
Now they were getting married.
“Congrats, sarge.”
Tim just dipped his head, hiding his smile. “Thank you.”
James smiled. Took another sip of coffee.
“So…”
Tim looked up.
James lifted an eyebrow.
“What’s this I hear about you getting kidnapped?”