Chapter 11
Holden
“You’ve been a little antsy this session,” Dr. Levy observed at my therapy appointment, not that it was hard to see, with me fidgeting nervously on her tiny couch in her room full of light, soothing colors that did nothing to settle my nerves.
She was a woman of about sixty-five, with silvering hair worn in a single long braid. She dressed in peasant tops and flowing skirts and big chunky jewelry. Her horn-rimmed glasses hung from a chain around her neck, and she lifted them up only when she needed to read her notes.
I’d started seeing Dr. Levy at age ten, so she knew the long, mostly failed journey of my recovery. The ups and the downs and, embarrassingly, the avoidance I’d been engaged in since my foster mom died.
There was no shortage of baggage in my brain.
“It must be hard having someone in your space,” Dr. Levy said. “How are you handling that?”
“Okay. I invited Shiloh into my house. Into my room too. So it’s all good.”
I kept my tone casual, but my knee jiggled, giving away my anxiety.
“So, what prompted you to schedule this appointment? We weren’t due to see each other for a few more days.”
I came here to talk about Shiloh, but fear locked the words in my throat. What if I didn’t get the answers I wanted? Or even scarier, what if I did?
Dr. Levy was used to my reticence and gave me time to pry the words free. After twenty years of on-and-off therapy, I should be better at opening up. It made me feel vulnerable, like I was painting a target on my back and asking someone to take aim.
But it was more than that. This particular question scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think I’d ever ask it, but now I couldn’t stop wondering.
I licked my dry lips. “Do you think it’s possible for me to have intimacy?”
“Well, sure.”
Hope fluttered. “Really?”
“Intimacy takes many forms, Holden. It requires trust and honesty, but yes, you can share emotional intimacy with someone if you’re ready for it.”
“What about physical?”
“It’s possible, yes. It isn’t easy or fast. I’ve seen patients make remarkable progress.” She raised an eyebrow. “Have you been keeping up with your exposure therapy?”
I grimaced. “A little.”
“The more you avoid touch, the more power it holds over you. You have to listen to your body and trust your boundaries, of course. But if you truly want to overcome this, you have to do the work. We can discuss other therapy options—”
“No,” I said.
I’d been down that road before. It felt as if I’d tried every form of therapy, but gradual exposure to build tolerance had always made the most sense for me.
When I was much younger, more open to change, it had been easier.
I’d hugged my foster mom with ease, even kissed her cheek.
But after she died and our family went into a tailspin of conflict, I’d withdrawn into myself and regressed.
“I’m working on it with my brothers. I’ll keep working on it.”
“All right,” she said. “We’ll stay the course, then.”
“But how much progress can I really make? I mean, a pat on the arm or a hug is one thing. But sex?”
“Sex?” she said, surprised.
“Not with my brothers,” I said quickly.
She laughed. “Well, I’d think not.”
“I’m just wondering about what’s possible for me. Should I bother to even hope…?”
“Always hope, Holden. It’s a powerful healing tool.”
“But sex is so vulnerable. Naked. And it’s not just one quick touch, but prolonged contact. Do any of your patients really manage that?”
“Well, I can’t talk about anyone specific, but yes, Holden. Patients with touch aversion due to trauma can have physical intimacy again. But no trauma is the same, and no trauma response is the same. I can’t guarantee you anything.”
I nodded.
“But what I’m hearing is that you want this for yourself, and that’s more than I’ve seen in the past five or six years.” Her voice turned teasing. “This Shiloh must have made quite an impression.”
I chuckled, my face heating. “Um, yeah. We…met online.”
“Ah.”
There was a wealth of understanding in that one syllable.
But then it was Dr. Levy who suggested I find some kind of outlet for my sexual frustration after I’d pulled a hamstring at the gym from working my body so hard.
She’d been the one to mention that the internet had all sorts of sexual content I might find interesting.
I’d never given her any details of my sessions with Shiloh. I’d wanted to keep him to myself. But now…
“We had video sex for weeks,” I admitted. “And now that he’s here…”
“You still have a sexual attraction,” Dr. Levy filled in.
“Yes. We, uh, sort of had sex without touching. In the same room. And Shiloh asked if I’d want to do that again.”
“Do you?”
“God yes,” I said so quickly it was embarrassing.
Dr. Levy and I both laughed. I covered my hot face with one hand.
“This is wonderful, Holden. I’m so happy you’ve met someone special.”
I dropped my hand. “But where can it go? I want to touch him so much, you know? He can’t possibly be satisfied with this kind of sex. He’s normal.”
She blew a raspberry at me. “What’s normal, anyway?”
“You know what I’m saying,” I persisted. “He’s used to sexual partners who don’t avoid touch.”
“Well, I can’t speak to what Shiloh wants or doesn’t want. You’d have to ask him about that.”
That was fair. Annoying, but fair.
“Let’s talk about what you want,” she said. “If Shiloh’s perfectly happy having intimacy this way, would you be satisfied?”
My stomach twisted up. “No. But I’ve never been satisfied with any of this. It wasn’t my choice.”
“No,” she said gently. “But it’s important to know what you really want.”
“I want him. But—” I shook my head, swallowing down the words that hurt. The words that carried truth, but also pain.
“But what? I can’t help you if you hold back.”
I balled up my fists, nails cutting into my palms.
Dr. Levy leaned forward, picking up a stress ball that looked like a panda head and tossing it to me. I had a handful of these at home because every time I got stressed, she gave me another one.
I caught the ball and squeezed it in my hand, squishing the panda’s face. It was still dang cute, though. I squeezed and released it three times, breathing slowly, centering myself.
I hated losing control of my emotions. Bad enough I couldn’t control my body. I refused to let my trauma rule me more than it already did.
I forced the pain into a box and locked it.
“I want Shiloh, but I’m broken. Doesn’t he deserve better?”
“Don’t you deserve better?” she countered.
“This is who I am. I don’t have a choice, but he does.”
“So, give him a choice, then.”
Damn it. The woman was too good at playing devil’s advocate. I blew out a breath. “I don’t want to hurt him. If I try to touch him and I can’t…”
She nodded. “It might sting a little. Communication is essential. This is why I emphasized emotional intimacy and trust earlier. Shiloh needs to understand this won’t be easy, that there will be setbacks, and that no matter what happens, it’s not about him.
It’s about you. But you, Holden Cross, have to be honest about your vulnerability.
I know that’s not easy for you. If you’re not entirely honest with Shiloh about how you’re feeling every step of the way, he could trigger your trauma by accident. ”
“I don’t even know if he wants to try,” I admitted.
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’d start there, then.
Be honest with him, Holden. Be honest with yourself.
If you really want this, it’ll take time and effort, but I’ve seen how far you’ve come in the years we’ve known each other.
From a terrified little boy jumping at every sound to a strong, confident man. ”
I scoffed. “A man still afraid of touch.”
She tilted her head. “Your brain is trying to protect you. You were young when you were abused, and you’ve associated touch with pain.
It was at such a young, impressionable age that it’s more difficult to reprogram.
One way to do it is to show your brain positive associations, hence the exposure therapy.
But take it slow. You can’t rush this, and you can’t force it. ”
“Believe me, I know,” I said, dryly, remembering the panic attack I set off in myself the last time I’d tried to push through it with a college girl.
“Good, then I have homework for you.”
“Oh, goodie.”
She chuckled. “I know it’s always a delight, but you may like this one.”
“Okay, I’m listening…”
“Tell Shiloh you’d like to work on your touch aversion with him, starting very slow and building to more. Assuming he’d want to be physically intimate with you. Talk to him about the challenges. Prepare him for the experience, which might include you stopping abruptly or even reacting badly.”
My stomach flipped. This was really going to happen, then? I was going to try to get physical with Shiloh?
“Okay, I can do that.”
“And then, when you’re ready, I want you to try to hold his hand.”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s all?”
“That’s all? That’s a lot,” she said.
It was. I’d mastered handshakes for the sake of my business, but those were quick. Perfunctory. Holding Shiloh’s hand, interlocking our fingers, simply for the pleasure of it…well, the idea made my pulse spike with anticipation and anxiety.
But it seemed more manageable than the mountain of physical intimacy I’d been imagining. Just a first step. Anyone could take one step, right?
“Start with just touching his hand,” Dr. Levy said. “For only as long as you like. You stay in control, okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good at being the one in control.”
She smiled sadly. “I know you are. In this way, it might serve you. You set the pace. You determine when you’re ready for more.”
“I can do that.”
“Report back to me next week. I want to hear your progress. And if you’re struggling, I want to help you come up with new strategies. If you want this, Holden, I’m here for you.”
Later that evening, I was still thinking about Dr. Levy’s words. I distracted myself by taking on the chore of making dinner, but once we all sat down to bowls of chicken chili around the table, I couldn’t take my eyes off Shiloh.
He pursed his lips, blowing over his first spoonful before sipping it delicately into his mouth. Would I get to touch that mouth with mine? Experience it pressed to my throat or chest or feel it close around my cock as I’d fantasized so many times?
My stomach tied itself in knots. Once I asked Shiloh to do this with me, there was no going back. I could ask to stop, yes, but it would be admitting failure. Giving up again.
Right now, in this moment, hope still lived. Turning hope into reality was taking it out of its fragile little bubble and exposing it to a harsh world. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, no matter how badly I wanted to be.
“Shiloh sure is pretty,” Axel joked from his place at the opposite end of the table.
“The prettiest,” Gray agreed with a smirk.
I blinked to awareness, noticing everyone’s eyes on me. Watching me stare. Including Shiloh.
“I was lost in thought,” I grumbled.
“Sure you were,” Bailey said with a grin. “Lost in thought about Shiloh’s beautiful eyes.”
“His amazing cheekbones,” Gray put in.
“His sexy-as-fuck a—” Dalton clapped a hand over Axel’s mouth before he could finish that statement.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” I said dryly. “You’re doing us all a service by muzzling that one.”
Axel nipped his hand, and Dalton yanked it down. “Ow. You bit me.”
“You like it,” Axel said, eyes sparkling.
“I like you,” Dalton said, the sap, and leaned in to kiss him.
My brothers all exchanged affection so casually. They didn’t have to stare longingly at their men. If I were brave enough, could I have that too?
Maybe not the forever kind of love that my brothers had. Shiloh told me before he ever came here that he wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.
But even a fraction of what they had would be more than I had ever dreamed of. If I couldn’t have Shiloh forever, maybe I could have one small piece of him, just enough to say I’d actually lived and not just survived.