Rebel (Renegades #2)

Rebel (Renegades #2) Page 31

He covered her hand with his, turned his head, and kissed her palm. “You’re worried about me, while I’m worried about you.”

“These are my issues, Wes, not yours.”

“Yours are mine.”

“Go play with Rodie.” She stepped back. “You two seem to make each other happy.”

Rubi walked back to the table where Jax and Lexi talked about the new house as they cleared dishes from the table. She connected the rig to her computer with a cable, sat, and propped her feet up on another chair. Her fingers started flying over the keyboard. How her mind worked that fast, he couldn’t fathom.

He approached the table and picked up the Frisbee. Rodie danced on his hind legs beside him.

“You don’t have time for that, Lex,” Jax was saying. “I’ll hire an interior designer. They’ll make it just the way you want it.”

“Why is it going to be the way I want it?” Lexi asked. “It’s your house.”

Jax wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulled her against him, and kissed her hard. “Our house,” he said as she smiled up at him. “Let’s practice. Repeat after me. Our. House.”

Lexi stretched up on her toes, her hands filled with plates. “I kinda want to practice something else.”

And she kissed him again. Jax groaned. He set the dishes in his hand down without breaking the kiss and gripped Lexi’s face, pulling her in and kissing her hard. Wes didn’t know how he knew, but he just knew—those two were going to last the distance. He was both thrilled for them and envious of them at the same time.

Rodie let out one impatient bark, dragging Wes’s gaze down to his brindle-and-white face. He took one look at those lopsided ears and smiled. He was one really freaking great dog, which, he knew from a lifetime of raising animals, said a lot about his owner. He glanced at Rubi once more and found her fingers still, hovering over the keys. When his gaze lifted to her face, she was staring, puzzled. The Are you really okay? look in her eyes propelled him toward the beach with the Frisbee.

The phone in his back pocket buzzed. He flung the Frisbee for Rodie, then pulled his phone out. “Yep.”

“Hey, stranger.” His sister’s bouncy voice instantly quelled his unease. The tension slipped from his shoulders and his jaw loosened with a smile. Somehow, the simple sound of her voice brought balance back to his topsy-turvy world. His family had always grounded him.

“Hey, yourself. What’s new?”

“Let’s see,” Whitney quipped in a way that made him smile. “Mom and Dad’s clothes drier caught on fire this morning while Tori was at the hospital with Wyatt and Abby and Emma and their new puppy were at Mom and Dad’s—”

“Puppy?” He watched Rodie jump the waves and grab the Frisbee. Wes had just talked with Tori, Wyatt’s wife, two days ago, and she certainly hadn’t said anything about a puppy. “Where the hell did the puppy come from?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he moved on to an even bigger question. “And what the hell are they doing getting a puppy when Wyatt—?”

“Tori thought the girls needed a distraction. Said the girls were stressed and depressed with everything going on with Wyatt.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” He was suddenly reminded of the constant chaos that seemed to reign around his childhood home—family, friends, neighbors, pets, church groups, his mother’s bunko club…and during harvest, complete mayhem for weeks. That brought up thoughts of his niece, Emma. “How’s Emma dealing with that?”

“Well, you know Emma,” Whitney said. “Depends on the day.”

Yeah, he did know. Her autism made it difficult for her to tolerate such chaos. “You didn’t suggest that slice of insanity, did you?”

“Bite your tongue.”

He shook his head at just another one of his sister-in-law’s bizarre whims. Kinda like deciding to get pregnant without discussing it with Wyatt, and before they’d decided to get married. Although, Wes had to smile when he thought of his oldest niece, the little result of that whim. “That girl… Shit, you know I love her, but sometimes…”

“Believe me, I know. I live here.”

Wes chuckled. “Lots of room out here in California, not to mention a shitload of messed-up heads for you to shrink. You’d be a millionaire in no time.”

“Ah, California…” she said wistfully, then, “Speaking of, Mom tells me you’re flying in tomorrow. I drew the short straw, so I’m stuck on airport duty. You’ll have to take me out for drinks to make it up to me.”

“Deal,” Wes said. “How’s Wyatt?”

“Little better every day. Depressed, which is to be expected. Tori’s…well, Tori. Up, down, sideways.”

“This has got to be hell on her.”

“It is.” Whitney’s voice turned sad. “It’s pretty much hell on everyone.”

“Well, I have good news.”

“Yeah?”

“The physical therapy rig I’m making is really coming along. I’ve got a friend helping me with it. She’s programmed it to respond to muscle stimuli. She’s just adding some safety features as we speak. The whole thing is pretty slick. But don’t tell anyone yet. I don’t want Wyatt to get his hopes up until I have it in my hands, ready to go. I really think this is going to work great, Whit. Get him on his feet faster and stronger.”

“God, I hope so. It’s an amazing concept, and you could build a spaceship out of a trash can. So how are things with you?”

He reached down to take the Frisbee from Rodie’s mouth, and the pup shook out his wet fur, spraying Wes with cool seawater. He glanced over his shoulder toward Rubi and found her watching him, a soft smile on her face. “Another day in paradise.”

Whitney laughed, and the sound made Wes smile. He did miss his family. He missed the support and sounding board they’d always provided.

Which prompted Wes to say, “Hey, Whit?” before he’d fully thought out what he was going to say, then stumbling through, “Do you know much about…neglect?”

She hesitated. “What kind of neglect?”

“In kids. You know, when parents aren’t around or don’t care.”

“Yeah,” she said, drawing the word out with an uncertain tone. “But that’s a broad topic. What’s this about?”

“I have a friend I’m trying to understand better. She had a shitty father, no mother. The way we were raised…it’s hard to relate.”

“A friend…or a girlfriend?” Whitney asked.

“We’re…kinda trying to figure that out.”

“Oh.” Her voice dropped with dread.

Wes shifted on his feet. “Oh, what?”

“Well…how much time do you have? It’s not simple.”

“Can you just give me the Cliff’s notes?”

“Let me ask you this,” Whitney said. “How deep are you in with her?”

Over his head—that was how deep. “Look,” he backpedaled, suddenly feeling sick. “It’s not a big deal. Forget I asked.”

“That deep, huh?”

“Sorta, kinda, not…really…” Yes. That fucking deep.

A moment of silence followed. Wes pulled in a breath to cut off the awkwardness, but Whitney spoke before he could.

“The first thing you need to know is that no two cases of childhood neglect are alike, just like no two people are alike, so the effects are as unique as a fingerprint.”

“But like a fingerprint, there are some overall similarities, right?”

“True. The most important of which—for you—would be the person’s inability to form lasting relationships.”

That statement felt like a punch to his gut. When she didn’t go on, he said, “I’m listening.”

“Neglect is just another form of abuse.” So much compassion filled Whitney’s tone, Wes cringed. He couldn’t stand thinking of Rubi as an abused kid. “We can talk about this more when you’re home, but when a child doesn’t connect with some type of primary caregiver, they lack the ability to truly connect with people. They’re often unable to trust, suffer poor self-esteem, and can’t regulate or even understand their own emotions let alone others’. The longest-lasting effect is the PTSD—”

“Wait. What? She wasn’t physically abused…at least I don’t think…” Fuck, he didn’t know. Every muscle in his body was tight.

“She didn’t have to be. PTSD is an emotional reaction. Because she can’t process them correctly, whenever they come—the fear, anger, sadness—she’s going to want to run, or fight back.”

Wes’s mind was churning, remembering everything he’d learned about Rubi over the last two months, everything that had transpired with her over the last week. He glanced back at the group, where Lexi continued clearing the table, laughing at something Rubi said. “What if she has a really good friend? One she’s had for a decade? Someone who’s like a sister to her?”

“That’s a good sign that she can hold a relationship together. But it’s a woman-to-woman relationship, different from the way a woman exposes herself to a man when she’s in love. Romantic relationships are typically the perfect storm for these people, Wes. No smooth sailing.”

Wes’s gut felt shredded now. “Are they… I don’t know… I know this isn’t the right word, but curable? I mean…can someone be rewired?”

“You must really like her,” Whitney said, her voice soft.

Wes didn’t confirm or deny. He was feeling a little fragile himself at the moment.

“Of course there’s hope, Wes. I’m a psychologist. If I didn’t believe I was helping people every day after all I’ve gone through to get here, I’d throw myself off a bridge. That said…after years of treating patients with childhood trauma, my advice to you—as my brother, whom I love and want to see happy—would be to back out as quickly and quietly as possible.”

Yeah…no. Too late for that.

“So,” he said, switching away from the uncomfortable topic, “do you need my flight info?”

“No. Mom gave it to me.” Squealing echoed from the background. “Oh boy. Sounds like they’re having more fun with the dog. I better go. See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait,” Wes said, half-serious, half-dreading. “Bye.”

He tossed the Frisbee one more time for Rodie as his sister’s words lay heavily in his gut. But his optimistic side kept fighting on Rubi’s behalf. He picked out all Rubi’s awesome qualities, justified and rationalized backward, forward, sideways, and diagonally to give her the benefit of the doubt. To tell himself he could be the one who was different for her.

But his other side doubted. And dreaded. And second-guessed his decision to start this sexual affair. A sexual affair that had instantly turned into something far more for Wes.