Chapter 15
15
I ’m back in Dr. Price’s office, sitting on the edge of his pretentious settee. The velvet beneath me carries a chill, more from the atmosphere than the fabric itself. It’s the kind of cold that seeps into the bones. Even the fireplace burning in the corner does nothing to warm this place.
The shrink doesn’t speak right away.
Of course he doesn’t.
No, his pen talks for him, poised above the notepad resting on his lap. Like last time, he’s sitting across from me, and there’s a choreographed quality in the way he presents himself. Relaxed yet military-straight, every move meticulous. It’s almost theatrical.
Keeping my hands in my lap, I return his unwavering stare. The quiet between us builds, each moment chipping away at my resolve. The longer I sit here, saying nothing, the more my stubbornness frays. I’m going to lose this battle of wills, because I can’t stand to be in this room a minute more.
“Oliver thought I should come.”
Dr. Price nods. “I noticed you left the memorial the other day. What made you take off like that?”
My mind drifts to the sound of Sebastian’s name in his father’s mouth, to the man’s venomous lies, dressed in grief’s clothing.
“I left because of Mr. Stone.”
He writes something on his notepad, no doubt another mark added to whatever narrative he’s constructing about me. “You found his speech triggering?”
“Triggering?” My brow lifts. “Try infuriating. The man had the audacity to fake tears, going on about legacy and pride as if he didn’t spend every day of Sebastian’s life tearing him down. He’s a fraud of a father.”
“Grief can change a person’s perspective. Perhaps the loss forced him to reassess how he treated his son?”
I gape at him, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”
“Simply playing Devil’s Advocate. Grief can change people, as you’re well aware.”
“That man is incapable of change. The show he put on might’ve been his best performance yet.”
“You believe he was being dishonest?”
“I believe he’s evil.” I ease back against the cushions. “Like a lot of the men pulling the strings here.”
At my backhanded insult, Dr. Price doesn’t even twitch. Ever the man of composure, he jots something down, his pen scribbling hushed judgment across the page.
“How are your days?” he asks, flipping to a new page. “What do they look like?”
I let out a soft, joyless laugh. “A lot of nothing. I stare at the ceiling, watch the ocean, count the snowflakes. Sometimes I eat.”
“Sometimes?” His silver-grey eyes narrow, the point of his pen tapping a restless beat against the notebook.
“Most of the time,” I say, not sure if it’s more truth or lie.
“And your nights?”
“I sleep.”
“And before that?” A faint twitch pulls at his mouth, too restrained to be a smile. “Have you tried my control method?”
Last night blazes through my mind in vivid color, and warmth blooms on my cheeks. Oliver stood in my doorway, same as all the other nights.
No sound or shift.
Just him, holding tight to his infuriating status quo.
And me, swallowing down my moans.
Desperate to contain the inferno, I’d shoved the blanket aside before taking my nipples between my fingers, pinching hard to tame the heat. But the second I touched myself there…
Oliver moved .
With a bite of his lower lip, he took a purposeful step into the room, leaned against the wall, and I’d wondered…
Would this be the night he finally did something?
After what felt like a full minute of silent warfare, he adjusted the bulge in his pants, crossed his arms over his sleep shirt, and settled in like a man prepared to wait forever.
Dr. Price clears his throat, dragging me back to the sterile present, but it’s too late.
He already has a good idea of what I’m thinking.
“Have you orgasmed yet?” he asks, too casual, as if we’re discussing the completion of a project.
“I’d rather not talk about that.”
“Why not? Masturbation is a natural and healthy part of life.”
“It’s also private.”
“I’ll take a simple yes or no , then.”
“Why are you so fixated on this?”
“My approach isn’t conventional, but I’d like to know if it’s working.”
His demeanor is too clinical and composed, and every atom in my body warns me to tread these dangerous waters with caution. Still, the truth breaks loose, unchecked.
“I haven’t been able to.”
“But you’ve tried?”
“I guess I’ve been holding back.” I squirm in my seat, hating the way his questions strip me bare. But once the metaphorical clothes come off, there’s no putting them back on.
“What’s stopping you, Novalee?”
“Oliver.” I swallow my pride and my shame, then forge ahead. “He’s been watching me every night.”
Dr. Price sets his notebook and pen down. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“It did…at first.”
“And now?” He folds his hands in his lap, and the energy between us hisses like a viper. “How does it make you feel?”
“Trapped.”
“How so?”
I gaze out the window at the falling snow, dazed by the wintry light of day. “I feel like I’m stuck in purgatory. He hasn’t said a word, and except for last night, he hasn’t moved from my doorway.”
“What was different about last night?”
“I did…something.”
“Please, tell me more.”
“I got his attention,” I admit, flashing back to the large bulge in Oliver’s pajama pants.
“Was that your goal?”
I return to Dr. Price and his dark pewter eyes. A flare of interest transforms his features, vanishing the instant our gazes collide.
Once again, I’ve been playing into his hands this whole time.
“As I told you already, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Understood, but I would like to know one thing.” He leans in, drawing out the pause until it hums with expectation. “You haven’t been able to let go in front of Oliver, but have you crossed that threshold at all since Sebastian’s death?”
His words punch the air from my lungs, and I sit frozen for a beat, torn between the urge to withdraw and the pull of exhausted honesty.
He waits, his pointer finger ticking the seconds away as he dares me to hand over another piece of myself.
“Twice,” I say, my voice so small I don’t recognize it.
“Were you alone?”
“I was with Liam.” The admission burns my tongue, hot with shame.
“When?”
“The night I almost jumped.”
“Why do you think you were able to let go with Liam?”
“Because he’s safe?” I shrug. “Because I didn’t have a choice? We both got swept up, after I almost…” My voice trails off, strangled with too many regrets.
The admission hangs in the air, tainting the space with raw vulnerability.
Surprisingly, Dr. Price doesn’t pounce on it. He lets the silence snowball until I break it with another reluctant truth.
“It’s always been easy with Liam.”
“The real question isn’t why you’re able to climax with Liam.”
“It’s not?”
“No. What you should be asking is, why isn’t it happening now ?” He gives the thought room to breathe, watching me squirm. “You want to know what I think?”
I hesitate, then nod, betrayed by curiosity.
“I think you’re scared to surrender because it means opening yourself to someone new. After losing Sebastian, you’re terrified of letting anyone else in.”
I narrow my eyes. “But wasn’t the point of this nightly ritual to demonstrate control?”
“Which you’ve done.” His tone softens, part coax and part command. “Now it’s time to release yourself from the prison you’ve built.”
“In front of Oliver?” I cross my legs. “Is that what you’re implying?”
“I’m not implying anything. If having an audience brings you pleasure, then you should explore it. You’ve earned it.” He straightens the gold band of his watch, as if on cue. “I’m afraid our time is up.”
I blink, disoriented. “We’re done already?”
“For today, yes. You’re making more progress than you realize.” He rises, prompting me to do the same.
“Continue your nightly routine,” he adds, heading to the door. “During the day, I want you to immerse yourself in your work again.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Not with Sebastian’s studio right down the hall.
“At least give it a try.” He opens the door, and the brass handle catches the firelight. “Find joy in something each day, no matter how small. Start a new project, or visit a friend.”
A rare smile touches his lips—a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the doctor.
“Healing takes time.”