Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Red
One Month Later
One month has passed since the hospital and Blue's blood mixed with shattered glass.
The raw panic that gripped my chest when I found her still hasn't settled.
That night carved new pathways through my nervous system with every quiet moment still carrying an echo of her small, broken sounds.
But I keep the memories contained, locked behind routine, because schedules are what keep us both standing.
Sunlight slants through half-closed blinds, hitting my back. I wait, feeling jumpy.
Then Blue arrives, exactly on time, like she always does now. She knocks once.
"Come in," I say, the tug of my grin already forming.
She steps inside wearing a form-fitting tan sweater and dark jeans that hug her hips. A few strands escape the loose knot she threw her hair into, curling around her cheeks. She closes the door and crosses to the couch opposite me, softly offering, "Hi."
"Hi." My gut turns light and tight at the same time.
Silence settles for three heartbeats, then she says, "It's always strange to me not kissing you hello."
I nod. "I know. Me too."
We drew lines in the sand during Blue's first office session, and we keep our boundaries firm when at the office.
I ask, "How was the drive?"
"Quiet." She tucks one leg under her. "Traffic was fine. I listened to that playlist you sent."
"That's good." The playlist contains songs with calm instrumentals and the occasional acoustic track with lyrics about repair and morning light.
She takes a deep breath and waits, smiling softly.
I begin with the standard check-in, asking how she slept, even though I already know the answer. It was seven hours, interrupted once by a dream she didn't detail at breakfast. Her appetite has stayed steady, and she hasn't skipped meals.
"Any thoughts of self-harm?" I ask, my stomach flipping.
She doesn't flinch. "Not since last night."
My pulse ticks up. We were together last night, and I had no idea she had any inclination to hurt herself. I lean closer. "What triggered you last night?"
She exhales through her nose. "You came over after your last client. We cooked pasta. I burned the garlic because I got distracted watching you chop onions." A small smile flickers, then vanishes.
"And?"
"We ate on the couch. You put your arm around me. I leaned into your shoulder. We kissed for a while, and I fought to keep it slow, since we agreed it was best. But then I couldn't help myself, and I started to climb into your lap, and you said, 'Not tonight.'"
My cock flickers, remembering how hard I was when she kissed me. My voice drops. "Yes. I remember."
She releases a frustrated breath. "So we stopped kissing. We watched the rest of our show. Then you left at eleven-thirty and didn't stay the night."
Anxiety flares, and I consider my words so they don't sound accusing. "I thought it was best since I was having a hard time stopping myself from crossing the boundary we agreed was best."
She tilts her head, and her eyes slant. "You mean the boundary you set."
"And you agreed to."
"I didn't really have a choice, did I?"
I sigh. "You did. But let's talk about what happened inside you when you felt like harming yourself."
Her gaze lifts to mine. "I wanted more. A lot more.
My skin felt tight and hot. You left, and I hated the space between us.
But I also knew if you stayed, I wouldn't be able to keep my word—you wouldn't be able to keep your word to me, either.
And it made me angry. I felt out of control but also rejected. "
"Even though you just stated you knew I wanted you just as badly?" I question.
She nods. "Yes. You still left. You're a man, and I'm a woman. I started spinning out. If you really wanted me, how could you have gone home?"
"It wasn't easy, but I love you enough to do what's best for you," I declare.
She scoffs.
"You don't believe me?"
She glances at the ceiling, then pins her glare on me. "What's best for me isn't this boundary, Red. It's been a month. I need to be held and to feel how much you want and need me. This only feels like rejection now."
"I promise you, it's not," I insist.
She huffs, "Sure it's not."
"It's not," I firmly assert.
She bites her lip for a moment, then continues, "I thought about just using the tip of my knife on my knee, but I knew if I did, you'd be upset."
"You would have been upset with yourself, too," I remind her.
She doesn't react and adds, "I breathed through it and counted to ten like you taught me. The urge passed."
Pride moves through me, quiet and steady. I don't voice it yet. I've learned praising her too early can turn into currency she spends later to deflect. Instead, I ask, "And after I left?"
"I went to bed alone. I didn't touch myself. I didn't text you anything provocative. I wrote three sentences in the journal about what the dream I had on Monday meant instead." She pulls a slim notebook from her bag and sets it on the cushion beside her. "I brought it if you want to read."
"I do." I extend my hand.
She places the notebook in my palm without hesitation. Our fingers brush. Heat races up my arm and dives down my spine. I try to ignore it, open to the marked page, and scan her neat handwriting.
She wrote, I'm walking away down a long corridor. I call out, 'Red', but my voice gets swallowed up by the walls. There’s no blood, or glass, just absence.
She ends the entry with one line. I don't want to lose him, but I'm afraid I already have.
My heartbeat picks up. I close the notebook and set it on the desk. "Thank you for writing it down."
"You're welcome." Her voice stays even, but her pupils slightly dilate. She presses her thighs together, then forces them apart again.
We sit with the tension. It hums between us, thick enough to taste, full of want and restraint.
She finally pins her sad, wide blue gaze on me and says, "Am I losing you, Red?"
"No."
She blinks hard, trying to keep control of her breath.
I break the boundary and move to the couch.
I slide my arm around her and tug her into me.
"How could you lose me when my body remembers every inch of yours.
All I can think about is the way your back arches when I grip your hips, or how your breath hitches when my teeth graze your throat.
And your shudder? Jesus Christ, Blue. Nothing's ever haunted me so much. "
"Then why can't we eliminate this boundary? It's been long enough," she claims.
I stay quiet.
She looks down and takes a few long breaths. She murmurs, "You're hard, Dr. Mercer."
My throat tightens. I admit, "Yes."
Her lips part. "I could—"
"No." The word comes out firmer than I intend. I soften it. "We're in session."
She closes her eyes, scrunching her face.
I put my hand on her chin. "Look at me, Bluebird."
She obeys.
I reiterate, "I'm dying to have you again."
"Then have me."
"I will when—"
"I want your hands on me, Dr. Mercer. I want your mouth desperately tasting every inch of me.
I want you inside me until neither of us can think.
But more than that, I want to keep this.
" She gestures between us. "I want to keep showing up and not breaking the rules here.
Because when I do, I don't hate myself afterward.
But I want things to change when we're not in this office. "
My throat tightens. I hold her gaze. "What we've built in this office is the hardest intimacy we've ever built."
"I know." Her voice cracks on the last word. "It's harder than sex. It's scarier. But stop avoiding the other part of what I'm asking from you."
My pulse throbs in my throat. "I'm not avoiding it."
She jumps off the couch, flings herself into my chair, and crosses her legs. She turns my notebook to a clean page and picks up the pen. "Let's reverse roles for a minute."
I arch my eyebrows.
"Humor me," she adds, then reaches over and flips the hourglass.
My chest tightens, but I agree. "Okay."
"Let's discuss the real reason why you're avoiding having sex with me."
"I'm not avoiding it."
"So you want me to spell it out for you?" she asks.
I stare at the falling blue sand.
She blurts out, "You're afraid that if we return to being us at home, we'll have to figure out our real problem."
I snap my gaze toward her. "What's our real problem?"
"How the world finds out about us being together," she asserts.
I freeze, and my mouth turns dry. My pulse bangs between my ears.
Her lips curve. "There we go. The real issue."
"Blue—"
"No, Red. My family isn't going away. We're not going away. It's time we tell them and get it over with so we can move on with our lives," she claims, her voice rising.
I swallow hard. "You know it's not that easy."
She points at me. "You're making it impossible. It's not."
I shift in my seat. "I understand we need to figure that issue out. And we will."
"When, Red?"
I admit, "I can't give you a date."
She scoffs, and her eyes turn to darts, aimed at me.
"We need to figure out a plan," I offer.
Blue's shoulders rise and fall with each sharp breath, her eyes locked on mine like she's daring me to back down. "A plan? That's your answer? We've been circling this for weeks, Red. Months, if I'm honest. You talk about boundaries and trust and rebuilding, but this is the wall you won't climb."
I lean forward on the couch, hands clasped to keep them steady. "It's not a wall. It's caution. Your family aren't just people we can drop a bomb on and walk away. One wrong word, and everything shatters. My practice, your stability, us."
She slams the pen down on my desk, the sound cracking through the room.
"Caution? That's cowardice dressed up in therapy speak.
You love me, right? You've said it a hundred times in this office, in my bed, in whispers when no one's around.
But out there?" She jabs a finger toward the window.
"Out there, I'm still your dirty secret. "