Between You and Me(25)

He blinked as new memories crashed into his head. With a tight sigh, he said simply, "Katrina happened."

"As in . . . Hurricane Katrina?" she asked tentatively.

"Yup." Again, as it had a thousand times before, the image of little  Rodney Parsons's body floating in the murky, filthy water assaulted him.  Logan briefly squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away. "I was right in  the thick of it. Where I was working . . . those people had nothing, or  close to nothing. So when the storm hit . . . in a nutshell, we had no  idea what hit us. And I tried to help people, I was frantic, but I  couldn't do anything for them. Not enough, anyway. And people I knew  died." His eyes met hers. He saw the empathy there, but she sat quietly,  listening raptly. "Whatever you saw on TV? It was worse. It was a true  circle of hell, what we lived through down there."

"I can't imagine," she murmured. "I won't insult you with platitudes. It sounds horrific."

He raked his hands through his hair. His chest tightened and his blood  pulsed in his head, the familiar signs of his demons trying to rear  their vicious heads. "I'm not going to go into details now, all right?"

"Sure. Whatever you want."

"Good. So . . . um . . ." He edited in his head, trying to decide what  to share and what he wanted to keep to himself. There was so much . . .  and he didn't want to talk about any of it. But Tess had trusted him  with some of her secrets, and he wanted to do the same. He wanted to  place some trust in her, and he wasn't even sure why.                       
       
           



       

"I can tell you still carry it with you," she said quietly.

He nodded at that. "Yeah. But not every day. It's not as bad as it used to be."

"It sounds traumatic. If you don't want to tell me any more, that's fine."

"It was traumatic. I was devastated, angry, shaking my fist at the  universe . . . and I had survivor's guilt for years. PTSD lingers, crops  up once in a while. Something like that is hard to shake." He reached  for his water and took a few gulps, draining the glass. "Back then, the  devastation, the deaths of people I'd come to know and care about . . . I  took it personally. So many things I believed in, I just . . . I lost  faith in the system, because it failed us. And how was I supposed to do  social work in a system that was clearly broken? I didn't want to. I  couldn't cope, and I spiraled."

He let his eyes drift away, then made himself look at Tess directly.  "Within a few weeks, I started drinking to numb the pain. I drank every  night . . . then it started during the day too. Then, after a few  months, I stopped going to work. Rachel kept trying to help me, but at  that point, I couldn't be helped, because I didn't care about anything  anymore. I trashed my life, basically. Threw it all away."

"You were drowning in grief and guilt," Tess said softly. "You needed help."

"I didn't ask for any. Too proud. Too broken at that point. I was lost."  He rubbed the back of his neck. This was his history, the truth. He  wasn't uncomfortable telling the story, but had to admit he didn't want  this beautiful, smart, totally together woman to think less of him. He  hoped she wouldn't, but if she did, there wasn't much he could do about  it. At least he was being honest. "By six months after Katrina, I was  unemployed and in an alcoholic stupor. And my wife gave up and left.  Rock bottom."

Tess didn't say anything. She just willed him to keep talking by the  absorbed, intent look on her face, the kindness in her eyes that shone  without pity or judgment.

So he did. "I hated her for that. I felt so betrayed. So much for those  vows, huh? For better or worse, in sickness and in health . . . For a  psychologist who wanted to help people, she felt I was beyond help. But  the thing is, she wasn't totally wrong. You can't help someone who  doesn't want to help themselves."

"But you were her husband," Tess said. "I . . . I wasn't there. I don't know what went on. But she should've stayed."

"Thanks. But. In the short run, she saved herself, and in the long run,  she did me a favor." Logan put down the fork and shoved back a bit from  the table. He leaned his forearms on it and looked Tess right in the  eye. "Because that's what it took for me to look around and see how bad  things had gotten. That I'd lost everything that mattered to me. My  career, my wife . . . myself." He cleared his throat.

"So. My mother flew down to New Orleans and kicked my ass into gear.  Said she refused to stand by anymore and let me kill myself. She'd hoped  Rachel would pull me out of it, but she didn't. So my mom literally  threw me into the shower, smacked me sober. And said she'd pay for rehab  if I'd go, and really work at it, not half-ass it. If I didn't do that,  I would've probably ended up dead, and I knew it. So that's what I  did."

"How old were you then?"

"Got out of rehab a week before I turned twenty-seven."

"Thank God," Tess said on an exhale. "You still had your whole life ahead of you. I'm glad you got the help you needed."

"Me too."

"I hate to think of what kind of pain you were in," she said gently. "That you went down that road, and that far."

"Thanks. I'm okay now. Really." He sat up straighter in his chair. "So  what you said before, about a past life, a past you? Same here. Yes,  once in a while something reminds me of it all, and things crop up in my  head. But I've got a handle on it, it doesn't handle me. I'm a  different person now. With a different life." He offered a contented  grin. "It's quiet and pretty simple. I do honest work, and no one's  welfare depends on me or my help. No drama. That works for me."                       
       
           



       

She cocked her head to the side, apparently considering his words. "Wait  a second." Tess leaned in, her eyes narrowing. "People do depend on  you. You still help people, you just-"

"I don't have their lives in my hands, Tess," he said firmly. "Yes, I  still help people. But it's nothing like what I was doing before. At the  end of the day, I leave my work at work. No one's hungry, sick,  homeless, desperate . . . and I don't take the work home with me. In  here." He tapped his temple, then scratched at his beard and shifted in  his seat.

"What about your ex-wife?" Tess asked.

"What about her?"

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Yeah. She moved to California. Has her own private practice. Remarried a  few years after she left me. Has two kids. A good life. She deserves  that. Why not." He fiddled with the fork beside his plate. "About a year  after I got out of rehab, I wrote her a long email. Wanted her to know  I'd gotten sober, moved back to Colorado, and took my life back. Also, I  owed her an apology. I also needed to rail at her a little, but mostly,  I needed to own what I'd done. And to get some closure. She answered me  . . . we went back and forth for a few weeks. But that was it. That was  years ago already."

"Did you get that closure?" Tess wondered aloud.

"I did. We addressed a lot of things that needed to be addressed. But . .  . I'll never get married again. I don't, uh . . . I don't do  relationships." He tried for a wry grin and a lighter tone. "I prefer to  be alone now. Surely you, of all people, can understand that."

She blinked at the parallel he drew. "I do, but . . . wow, it's  different. I want a family so much, but I never found the right person  to do that with. You had the person. You were married, you . . . Did you  want all that before the bottom fell out? A family, that kind of life?"

"Before? Yeah." His voice was gruff. "After? No. Too much loss."

They sat in heavy silence for a minute. Then he sighed and said, "See?  Warned you. That's some dark stuff." He shook his head raggedly. "I  shouldn't have told you."

"Stop that," Tess commanded. "I asked because I wanted to know. I'm glad  I know." She reached across the table for his hand and squeezed it,  sending a streak of electricity up his arm. "You're still my friend. I  don't think any less of you. If anything, I think even more of you."

He gazed at her in muted awe, this beautiful, amazingly empathetic woman. "Are we friends now?"

Her shapely brow lifted. "Yes. I'd like to think we are. Aren't we?"

He couldn't hold back the smile that spread on his face. "Yeah. We are."

"Good." She rubbed the top of his hand with her thumb, so soft, before  she pulled her hand back. "And the truth is, knowing some of that? There  are things about you that make more sense now."