Chapter 13
MILES
“So your shrink is actually kinda hot.” Carter bumps my elbow as we cook lunch for the firehouse.
It’s Wednesday afternoon which means it’s our turn to handle lunch duty.
While he groans like a two year old every time the responsibility comes around, I personally love when it’s my day to cook.
I find that getting lost in the ingredients and following a regimen I don’t have to make decisions during is one of the few times I can turn my brain off.
Working as a fireman means my brain is always on guard, even if just a little.
But when I’m cooking, that feeling of needing to be guarded falls away and I cherish the moments I can use as an excuse to close out all the noise.
Unfortunately for me, I’m failing at shutting out any noise because of my friend who won’t shut up about running into Hanna this past Sunday.
“Would you stop calling her that?” I bite, glancing at him as I roll out the homemade pizza dough I’d just made from scratch. “And don’t talk about her like that, it’s disrespectful.”
“Talk about her like what? I said she’s hot; that’s a good thing,” he replies, reaching his finger into the metal bowl on the counter and taking a swipe of the fresh ricotta cheese I’d just mixed. He cries out when I whip my hand around and smack his away.
“No, it’s degrading. And Hanna’s not hot she’s…
she’s…” Words fail me as the image of her in those oversized overalls and messy bun come back to me in a flash.
How casual, yet somehow breathtakingly stunning, she looked.
The way her tired but soul-piercing gray eyes looked up at me and how I wished something criminal I got to wake up next to them every day.
“She’s what, lover boy?” he teases, leaning against the counter and tipping his chin at me. He’s been on my ass all week about her, asking if we’re a thing or not. Based on how she’s ignored my text messages, I’d go with ‘or not.’
“She’s none of your business,” I reply with an edge to my voice. He eyes the knife in my hand uneasily when I slam the handle of it into the top of the cutting board. I’ve told him at least a hundred times by now to let it go. At this point, I’m over his questions.
“Fine, fine, she’s none of my business.” He raises his hands in defense. “But when you see her tomorrow, you should really talk about your anger management issues. You are seeing her tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“I’m assuming so, seeing as how she said we were when we ran into her last weekend.”
His brows press together in the center of his face. “Didn’t you mention that you texted her? At the coffee shop, you said you checked in on her that morning?”
“Yes,” I mumble, pretending to act busy and distracted with lunch prep. It isn’t the hardest recipe I’ve ever made and at this point in the process I’m about ready to throw the pizza into the oven and finish the salad.
“And what, she ignored you?” When I don’t answer his question in a reasonable amount of time he bursts out laughing. “Oh my gosh, she’s totally ghosting you! The pretty doctor lady is totally ghosting you after this weekend. Yikes, that’s gotta hurt.” He sucks his lips and grimaces.
“It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t anything. She’s my therapist, not some random girl I met at a bar,” I begin to justify. Both to him and to myself. “She’s being professional. She gave me her number for professional reasons and I was the one who overstepped that boundary by texting her.”
“But she was the one who flirted with you while drunk. What’s the saying? Drunk mouths speak sober thoughts?” He tips an eyebrow at me. “And you’re already so far gone it’s not even funny.”
“I am not,” I sneer. Slipping the pizza into the oven, I shut the door with a little more force than I intend.
Carter’s eyes dramatically swing from the slammed door to me. “Mmhmm, sure you’re not. Well, now that lunch is cooked, I’ll go let everyone know to come on in to eat. Good job tag teaming lunch, lover boy.”
When he leans into the name and smacks me on the chest I have the strong urge to hit him.
Maybe I’ll talk about that in therapy tomorrow.
My lungs pump to match the rhythm of my arms while the sound of my feet carrying me down the sidewalk somehow reaches my ears.
I have my music turned all the way up yet I can still hear the heavy landing of each sole against the old cracked sidewalks of the city.
Or maybe it’s my heart beating so loud I can hear it in my ears.
The sun is only starting to crack over the horizon of the water as I run along it.
I’m not sure how we’d made it here already, but Thanksgiving is in two weeks.
Per our annual traditions, we’ll have our big firehouse meal for everyone on duty during the holiday, Carter and I included since Coop always works the holidays too.
Once the three of us get off, we’ll go home to Ivy’s to meet her and Willow who will have spent the entire day cooking while we were at work.
That’s how the holidays always go for us.
Some people’s family traditions are finding a pickle ornament tucked into their Christmas tree or opening gifts on Christmas Eve instead of the morning of.
For us, it’s starting the day by showing up for the city we live in and love, followed by spending the day with the people who mean the most to us.
The memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas pasts distract me from how my feet are starting to throb and my shins feel like someone’s kicked them with a steel toed boot.
Like the time Carter opened all of my presents on purpose after I told him Santa wasn’t real.
Or, the same year Cooper and Willow’s mom passed away, they came to our house on Christmas morning after Coop found his dad passed out on their couch, already drunk at nine in the morning.
Between the four of them on top of everyone I consider family in the Marines and at the firehouse, the holidays are never a time of sadness for me.
Christmas is actually one of my favorite times of year because I went to live with Ivy right around Christmas.
Since then, I never really wished for more than I have because I knew I hit the jackpot with the family I’d been given.
Turning the corner, I start to loop myself back towards my place. I have a few hours before my session with Hanna later this morning, but I want to make sure I have time to take a shower and get ready.
Not that I need to.
Or have any reason to.
I just want to.
‘You’re already so far gone for her.’ I hear Carter’s words creep into my ear.
I am not so far gone, I’m not even half a block down the road.
Hanna is nothing more than my therapist. A nice woman who’s helping me unclog all the shit in my head.
Wanting to take a thorough shower before seeing her has nothing to do with me having feelings for her and everything with wanting to be a gentleman.
And while I’ve only known her a couple weeks, I know she deserves someone far better than me to treat her far better than just a gentleman.
Several hours and a deep clean later, I’m sitting in the lobby of her office dwarfing the chair I’m in. I might workout consistently and run almost daily, but that doesn’t prevent me from still being a big dude. And the chairs she has in her office are made for people far smaller than me.
I know she’s here since the music I assume is supposed to calm you while you wait is playing and I can hear her singing to herself behind her closed office door.
A smile spreads across my face as I listen to her sing, remembering how she serenaded me at the bar last weekend.
When she’s ready, she swings the door open and greets me with a semi-nervous smile.
“Good morning, Miles. Come on in.” She waves a hand to her side, inviting me into the smaller room we meet in. I push myself up from the chair and try to hide my smirk. She’s nervous.
“How’ve ya been, doc?” I ask as I step inside her office. She closes the door softly behind me.
“I’ve been well. Can’t believe it’s Thursday already.”
“Yeah, this week’s gone by fast. Feels like this weekend was only yesterday.”
She seems to hiccup at my word and when I take a seat on the couch and face her, I see her trying to compose herself. Two fingers touch the arm of her glasses as she adjusts them on her face.
“So, how’s this week been for you? Have you been sleeping better?” She tips her head to the side with one hand poised and ready to take down notes as I talk.
My eyes narrow. “Some days are better than others. I have this new thing that’s been keeping me up though, making it hard to sleep.”
Her pen is dancing across the pad of paper she has resting on her knee. “And what’s that?”
I wait for her to look up and meet my gaze.
When she does, I smile at her. “I met this amazing woman at the bar this weekend and thought I was nothing but a gentleman. But then we ran into one another the next morning and it was like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
She’s also ignored the few texts I sent her to make sure she was okay after she left the bar with her friend.
I don’t know. I feel like maybe I upset her somehow, maybe made her feel uncomfortable. ”
I pause for impact and lean over my knees, closing the distance between us a little more. “What’s your take?”
She clears her throat and pinches the corners of her mouth back.
Clasping her hands in her lap, she abandons the pen and paper all together.
“I’d say it sounds like she’s trying to maintain a professional boundary.
One that, while you were nothing short of a gentleman, she must uphold because of the professional relationship the two of you have. ”
I nod my head slowly. “I see, ‘professional.’”
“Professional,” she repeats.
“Let me ask you something, doc.” I drop my voice so it’s just above a murmur.
“Do you call all your patients cute? Or is it just me?” I can’t stop myself from smiling at her and lean back against the couch, not breaking my eyes away from hers.
I know I’m pushing it, more than likely crossing a line I shouldn’t cross, but I also know in my gut that there’s something more than strictly professional between us.
She lets out a dejected sigh before tucking her legs underneath her in the oversized chair she always sits in.
The leggings she wears flex with her legs and the oversized sweater she has on lifts just enough as she hoists herself up in the seat to where I catch a glimpse of her torso.
She wraps her hair around one shoulder and gives me a serious look.
“Miles, what happened this weekend was nothing more than a drunken mistake. I never drink that much and it’s very rare these days that I go out like that at all. While I’m more than grateful that you took care of my friend and I, I need you to know that there aren’t any feelings there. I’m sorry.”
She’s direct but kind as she says it. Professional. Maybe I did read the situation wrong. Trying to cushion my bruised ego, I smile kindly and nod.
“Of course. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, that was never my intention.”
“No, no! You didn’t, I promise. I’m sorry for acting like such a fool. This is why I tend to stay in on the weekends.” She laughs.
“Every weekend?” I ask, raising a brow at her. Someone as pretty as she is should be taken out and shown off weekly—no, daily.
She nods matter-of-factly. “Pretty much. I tend to keep my life low key. Work, family, and friends when I can.”
“You don’t date?”
“Miles,” she warns and I lift my hands in front of me defensively.
“What? I’m asking in a ‘professional’ way. If I’m going to come here week after week and get my head shrunk, I’d like to know more about the woman I’m coming to see.”
She seems to take my explanation under consideration.
“No, I’m not currently seeing anyone.” Thank fucking Christ. “But I also don’t have time for a relationship right now. I see patients daily and at the end of the day I just want to go home and crash. Nothing about that really bodes well for me meeting my soulmate.”
“Maybe your couch can be your soulmate,” I offer. This gets her to laugh and I swear to god it’s better than any song I’ve heard in my entire life.
“You’re right, maybe it could be. But enough about me, we are here to talk about you.” She leans over her lap, reaching for the pen and paper once more. “So fill me in, how have you been sleeping recently?”
With that, she turns the conversation onto me and masterfully keeps it there for the rest of our time together.
I share just enough to get by, answering in only half truths because I know I don’t really need to be here.
I came today for one reason and it wasn’t because I had some sort of ‘trauma’ to heal from.
I came here today because whether I’m willing to admit it to myself or not, I have it bad for my therapist.