Kennedy's Redemption (The Protectors 3)
Page 51
“Kenny, baby?” Her momma’s broken words of hope had her breaking down. The tears came hot, hard, and fast. Her throat was so tight she couldn’t breathe. So overwhelmed with emotion, she lost the will to hold herself up and fell at her momma’s feet begging forgiveness.
“I’m so sorry, Momma.”
“Oh baby, hush, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m so glad to see you’re safe,” her mother soothed, wrapping her in her arms tighter than she could ever remember.
For a while, they just sat there hugging and crying. Occasionally trying to speak but not being able to, they just held onto each other. Eventually, she felt heat at her back before a hand pulled her hair away from her ear and whispered, “Sunshine, come on up. Let’s get you inside. You’re shivering like crazy.”
As Creed helped her to her feet she got a good look at everyone and it seemed their display had them all slightly teary-eyed. Walking to her dads, she threw her arms around them and whispered, “Daddy,” like a prayer.
“Ah, kiddo. I missed ya,” her dad, Andrew, told her while squeezing her tighter into his side.
“House just wasn’t the same without your clunky shoes running around, Ken-doll,” Jackson told her with a chuckle.
Peace settled into her heart in that moment. It was like things had shifted, and while she still had a lot to work out in her mind, it no longer felt like her world was crumbling. She knew that was due in large part to Creed and Linc opening her heart again. Coming to find her and not forcing her to come home but letting her heal while silently standing guard.
“Let’s go inside for some sweet tea and muffins, shall we,” her mother, ever the hostess, suggested.
One thing she missed while in Italy; her momma’s baking and sweet tea.
Seventeen
Sitting in her parent’s great room felt… More. She couldn’t really describe it; it just felt like home. Thinking of all the family game nights or movie nights they had when she was growing up. Even when Nate and Ty signed up with the Marine’s they never missed family night unless they were out of the country.
It felt easy being in the room that held so many wonderful memories again. Seeing the pictures hanging on the walls of her family in varying stages of life over the years. There were photos dating back to before her parents even met. She loved seeing them. It was like a photo reel, a look back in time.
When her momma came back in with the sweet tea and muffins both Creed and Linc stood in acknowledgment of her return, something she’d only seen her fathers do. Their old-school attitude only embedded them further into her heart. They treated her mom with such respect and were so gentle with her and her feelings.
The way they stood up to her fathers was amazing. Not many men had the gumption to do that. Any boy she’d thought about dating before paled in comparison because they could barely make eye contact with her overbearing fathers. But these men? They shot every expectation she’d ever had about what she would have to settle for in a man. She’d always believed her dads’ old-school gentleman charm was a thing of the past. Seeing these men act this way towards the one woman on this earth she held in the utmost esteem spoke to their integrity.
“Tell me, baby,” her momma started like a question but nothing came after.
Perplexed and overloaded she asked, “Tell you what, Momma?” Her voice was still hoarse from her crying jag out front.
“Anything you want, baby.”
She drew a blank. How do you tell the people you love most in the world that they were suffocating with their love? It was a slap in the face.
Linc leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Your art.” With a raised eyebrow she questioned him. “It’s a start,” he answered her.
Realizing he was right though she’d never tell him, she told her parents of her love for drawing. Of creating a picture with her emotions— the sunset and rise, big turbulent waves. Soft waves on the shoreline. The way the seagulls swooped down to the water to eat. Seeing whales in the distance. All of it held one emotion or another, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
“What got you into that?” Jackson asked her.
Hesitant to answer, she thought hard about how to word that she was seeing a therapist because they would eventually ask how and why she decided to, and she wasn’t proud of the answer to that question.
“When I left I was in a dark place in my mind. I was scared and alone. Every noise would frighten me. The small ones, the big ones, just everything.” She started hoping they would understand better if they knew her mindset. “A week after I arrived in Italy, I had a flashback in the market in the small town I was in.” Pausing to take a breath she looked to Linc and Creed for support on either side of her. “It wasn’t pretty. Anyway, it made for a rough couple of days and a lot of soul searching so I went into Florence to a library and searched out psychiatrists for trauma victims.”
She hadn’t been looking at them during the explan
ation so she was startled when her momma’s hand reached out squeezing her own in support to continue.
“I found one. A renowned psychiatrist from London had opened an office in Florence just last year. So I called before I could chicken out and I had an appointment for that same day because he’d had a cancellation.”
“What is his name?” Andrew asked her. Knowing him the way she did he was probably going to research him, dig up his background a little bit or bring him in for a full-on interrogation. Her dads used to own their own PI firm, now they just liked to dig up the goods on people for shits and giggles.
“Dr. James Schroder. He’s a good man, Daddy. He did right by me. It took him less than a minute after meeting me to know I needed his assistant in the room with us. That he terrified me for more reasons than being a complete stranger. He gave me a pen and paper to write down all of my information so he could search my case without me having to pour my soul out before I was comfortable.” She stopped to take a drink and moisten her dry throat. “I saw him three to four days a week, and for the first month, his assistant was always in the room with us. She would sit beside me and work on anything she had to do on her laptop with headphones in so she didn’t make me uncomfortable by listening in on us. Not that I ever actually spoke.
After just a few sessions Dr. Schroder figured out some simple methods to help me get my emotions out. One day he presented me with a few journals to write down my thoughts and feelings. Gave me an outlet without having to divulge my soul. I was also handed a sketch pad that he told me to do whatever I was happy with and that he wouldn’t ask me to see any of it until I was ready.”