“And?”

“Several people who survived childhood abuse and wanted to escape the long-term effects it was having on their lives.”

“And?”

“She, uh, tried to help me after Cora,” Somers said. His face heated when Hazard looked at him. “I only came a couple of times, and I fully recognize that I was the problem there, so don’t hold that against her.”

Pauline’s expression softened. “You know that’s not how we talk about ourselves, John-Henry.”

He shrugged and leaned into Hazard’s shoulder; for the first time since they had stepped into that room, Hazard squeezed his hand back.

“May I ask a question?” Pauline said.

“Here we go,” Hazard said, glancing at Somers. “No, I do not want to kill my father and marry my mother. No, I do not have sexual fantasies about being choked or dominated. No, I am not coping with childhood trauma by sexually gratifying John.”

“You did give me a squeezer in a hospital bed the other day,” Somers put in.

Hazard’s face went scarlet. Pauline put a hand over her mouth and gave Somers a look. He shrugged and poked Hazard.

“Let her ask a few questions before you start answering this time.”

Face still flaming, Hazard nodded.

“Why do you want to deal with this right now?”

“Because it’s messing up my relationships. I’m lashing out.” When Somers poked him, Hazard growled and added, “More than usual. And it’s beginning to affect my work. I still consult for the police, and I can’t afford to be paralyzed every time the light flickers or I smell moldy carpet or there’s a sudden noise.”

Pauline nodded. “What have you been doing to cope with the effects up to this point?”

“What do you mean?”

“Most people dealing with PTSD find some way of numbing themselves: drugs, alcohol, sexual excess—”

“Let’s hear more about that one,” Somers murmured into Hazard’s shoulder.

Hazard pinched the inside of Somers’s thigh, and Somers yelped.

“—while other people depersonalize and dissociate. They often describe it as feeling dead inside, unable to connect with other people, unable to experience pleasure or love or affection, even with the ones who are closest to them.”

Hazard’s breathing roughened. He ran this thumb under his eyes and shook his head. “No, it’s not . . . it’s not any of that.” He kissed Somers on the temple, looked back at Pauline and said, “I drink a little.”

“One beer a week,” Somers said.

“But mostly,” Hazard said, “I’ve just been trying to control my breathing when I panic. That’s an easy hack for putting the parasympathetic nervous system back in charge. I also focus on immediate sensory details: where I am really, instead of where I am in a . . . flashback.”

“And you just figured that out on your own?”

Red bloomed in Hazard’s cheeks again. “I may have done some reading.”

“Well, you should be very proud of yourself. It’s not often that I have a client who has worked so hard to help himself.”