Dear Doc ( MC No limits Book 4)

Chapter 1

Doc

Like every morning, I stand at the window and drink my coffee. Before everyday life even begins for others, I'm awake long ago. Habit can sometimes also be a curse.
I spent my time in training being woken up by our sergeant screaming as he woke us up while I was in SEAL training. And since then I've always got up at the same time, like I said, more of a curse than a habit.
My eyes looked across the street that yesterday was decorated for Ace and Nora's wedding, which now resembled a battlefield.
But on the battlefield, there were no balloons, flowers, and decorated tables...so that certainly can't be a good comparison.
As a child, it was always my dream to become a doctor, and I followed in the footsteps of my old man who, like me, grew up in the biker community.
Unlike King, Ace, and Duke, I was already a few years older than them and didn't go to school with them at the same time.
When I left the army, King became President, and I came home to a new world. I was 32 years old when I came back and messed up like I wish for no one...not even my enemies.
The world I was fleeing from seemed like hell, but sometimes I think that this new life I'm living now is just the punishment I'm serving.
My biker brothers dedicated their lives to a good cause, all these people they protected and helped, and I wanted to be a part of it too. To defend and protect...that was the reason I joined the SEAL, so this new life is the best compared to it.
What I could do was to take care of people, broken bones...torn limbs, gunshot wounds...knife wounds...all kinds of wounds. But that wasn't the only thing I could do, and after I returned, it became quieter here.
If you perceive this as peace, a life that is full of action, then you understand what a madhouse you have been in.
The biker community is a brotherhood just like my SEAL brothers, and discipline was important to me. Following rules, obeying orders, fighting for each other...doing the right thing. Just a little different, but still very much the same.
A lot of us left after the last mission...we messed up and lost a lot of men. Some would call us quitters, I just say we saved ourselves from the pain and found peace.
The peace I found in this chaos made me happy, even if you could not call it happiness. At least it made me feel useful, and I needed that.
All of Las Flores came to me, and I was respected not only by the No Limits but also by the people who were not part of our community.
The ugly blue car of Emily Owens drove to my house, and I watched her get out. She looked around, and I had to smile at her ridiculous walk over the stuff on the street.
She was always dressed nicely, chic blouses, and tight knee-length skirts that flattered her body as well as high heels that made her long legs look even longer. But obviously wasn't for the crap we left behind us as we celebrated Ace and Nora's big day.
I watched so many times as she wrote down notes and crossed her legs just to balance the high heels on her toes. Her eyes were blue with a lot of grey in them decorated with thick black eyelashes that were so long that I could barely look her in the eyes, blinded by beauty.
She always wore her hair styled in different ways, sometimes braided, occasionally combed back with a hair clip...but I've never seen her like this with her black hair wildly disheveled.
The long scar on her neck was never covered, and surely there was a story behind it that I never knew, but I was impressed by her self-confidence to show her scars so openly. Even after years, I could never show mine to anyone... never ever. And I had some...but one was a painful reminder of things I was trying to forget.
Emily was a beautiful woman with the curves of a goddess. Her full breasts pressed against the fabric of her blouse, and every time I thought one of the buttons would pop away to give me a view of pure paradise. I shouldn't think of her like that, she is my shrink.
But no woman interested me in that way, I never thought that way about anyone even though I met hundreds of women before I met her...but something triggered it in me from the first damn day I saw her.
I am not a man who sits lonely in front of the TV every evening; I certainly have fun with one or two of the women who come to the bar. But I don't think I'm capable of anything serious.
I am a very sick man because I adore my therapist. It's just my luck that she didn't notice anything all these years. I would never disrespect her in any way, and she was way too professional to say anything to her about it.
"Good morning, Doc," I heard her voice as I opened the door after hearing her knock.
And there goes my peace with her smile as she stood in front of me.
The huge sunglasses she wore hid her beautiful eyes, and I stared at my own reflection trying to see them.
"You came," I said, confused as I invited her in.
"Yeah...today is your appointment, isn't it?" She asked me, confused as she put her things down.
"I thought you weren't coming...the wedding was yesterday...you weren't there," I said, more interested in her answer than in my statement.
"I was busy," she answered briefly and took a seat in the armchair in which she had been listening to me for two years.
"Hungover?" I asked her as I poured her a coffee and she looked at me with her sunglasses still on her face.
"Just a migraine," she answered quietly.
I watched her as she took her notebook out of her bag and crossed her long legs.
I'm going to need a damn therapist because of my current therapist.
When I first met her, I did it at John and Evelyn's request. No matter what I said, they were both obviously more aware of my condition than the others.
Post-traumatic stress...too little is said about it so I don't blame King for not understanding at the beginning.
Over time and his work here as President, he met a lot of traumatized people and understood then what goes on in the minds of those who see things. That's why I think he gets why I still need a therapist.
Or maybe not. At the beginning, the therapy only helped me superficially, it took me almost a year to trust her and talk to her. And she came twice a week and talked to me until I was ready to open up.
I definitely need someone to talk to after every mission to process what I've seen better, but otherwise I'm fine. She doesn't have to know that, I think she wouldn't come at all, or just accept it after missions. Dr. Owen senior prepared his daughter well, and after he decided to retire five years ago, she took over everything. She had an exceptional talent for dealing with trauma and putting herself in the patient's shoes, and I was amazed to see many of her cases with us. She was smart and patient; I was just too amazed by everything she did. Her greatest success will probably be Nora, considering how she got here and comparing it to today...unbelievable.

"Shall I prescribe you something? Painkillers?" I asked her, to which she exhaled in annoyance. This was unusual for her as she was always smiling and polite, never mad or even upset. She took off her sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, only to stop abruptly when she heard my chair fall over as I stood up. "What the heck happened?" I asked her when I saw her red eye and the purple-colored skin around it. She hid half her face under her hair and tried to put her glasses on again, but I took them off and brushed her soft hair away from her face. My palm held her chin, and I looked over her face in worry until she pulled her head back to escape my touch.

"What happened?" I asked her, and she threw the sunglasses into her bag and looked up at me. "It's nothing, Doc... An accident," she said to me as she seemed upset. I'm not an idiot; I know exactly what a punch in the face looks like, so what the heck is that.

"Emily..." I started, and she glared at me even angrier.
"Listen, Doc, my private life is none of your business. I'm your therapist and here to help you. And it's Dr. Owen, we're not friends that you think you're allowed to touch me," she said sternly, to which I took a step back.
Her voice was shaking, and she shifted in her chair. Her eyes darted around the room, and she seemed to open her mouth a few times to say something, but nothing came. She was so nervous that it made me nervous too.
"Is King awake?" she asked me seriously.
"I don't know...probably not," I answered her, confused.
"Then I'll wait... I should wait, right?" she asked more to herself than to me.

In all that time, she never crossed the line; she was always professional, and my behavior was that of an upset man and not a patient, which insulted her. I hardly knew anything about her, and I respected it. But now... I just wanted to know what happened and who the heck hurt her. "I... I'm sorry, I'm just worried," I defended my behavior.
"There's nothing you have to worry about," she said as she closed her notebook.

I looked at her angry face, her lips pressed together, and her cheeks heavily flushed in contrast to her otherwise fair skin. She couldn't look me in the eyes... "You know you can talk with me," I said as she looked around confused.
"Doc..." she began before I held up my hands defensively... I meant well and hoped she understood. "...let's continue," she said as she nodded towards the chair for me to sit down. The therapy session was incredibly uncomfortable when I tried to say something, and she just stared at her notebook.

She kept looking from her notebook out the window at her car and wiggling her leg nervously. After a while, she stood up, put her glasses back on, and took her bag. "It was a mistake to come here. I'm sorry, Doc," she said, before I could answer. She was already walking out the door. "Emily, if you don't want to talk to me, you can always talk to Evelyn," I said as I walked next to her, and she fought her way to her car through the flowers on the street.
"I need to talk to King," she replied, still visibly distracted.

As much as she tried to get to the car faster, she definitely wasn't very fast in those shoes, and they weren't practical either. She stumbled forward a few steps, and I'm sure she would have fallen too if I hadn't caught her. My arm wrapped around her petite waist, and I pulled her close to me to avoid the painful impact. When her back hit my chest, I took a deep breath, not from the blow but from the scent that surrounded me. She smelled of jasmine and orange blossoms, and it was hard to even stand on my legs when I felt her so close.

She stiffened at our touch, her hand grabbed my arm, and we stood like that for at least half a minute, without saying a word. Her delicate hand held me tightly, and I felt her breathing quickly until she freed herself from my embrace and stormed into the car. I stared at her as she frantically tried to put the key in the ignition without looking at me. I swear I heard her swear before she started the car and drove away, wiping her tears.
I felt like a maniac... What did I do to her?