Snowbound - Harlequin.com

JANICE KAY JOHNSON 253
in any way. But damn could they pin him to his chair
like a butterfly on a board.
Blue, he realized. They were a washed-out blue. To
go with an ordinary face, brown hair, a body average in
build and height and a rumpled sport shirt tucked into
wrinkled khakis.
The guy didn’t believe in leading gently up to the
hard part. Say, a week from now. Maybe use this first
session to get to know John, to exchange war stories.
No, he’d asked a few brisk questions. What unit?
How much action had he seen? How many friends had
died?
Ten minutes, tops. Now he looked at John and said,
“The day you got hurt. What’s your most vivid memory?
Just a snapshot.”
John felt like a phobic in a dentist’s chair waiting for
the drill to descend. Pretending he was just fine, when
his body was rigid. God, he wanted to bolt.
Fiona, he thought desperately. Fiona.
Drawing a shallow breath, he said, “Blood dripping
down a soccer ball. Lying there wondering why it
hadn’t popped.”
“When you wake up at night screaming, what are
you trying to do?”
He started to shove up from his chair. “How the hell
do you know? Did Liz tell you…?” He stopped, feeling
foolish. “You had your own nightmares.”
“We all have nightmares.” His expression was kind.
“Even veterans who aren’t suffering from PTSD
have ’em. It’s the mind’s way of processing traumatic
memories.”