21. Hailey
“Your five o’clock has arrived.” Nat’s voice fills my office through the intercom.
My head jerks up from my bag, where I’d been stuffing my files in hopes that they’d keep me company tonight. Knowing I’ll ignore them and stare out at the city, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me, instead.
“I don’t have a five on Wednesdays.”
“Look at your calendar.”
I pull a lungful of air into my chest, hold it, and navigate to my calendar. I let it out in a rush. “New client? I’m not taking new clients.” The last one didn’t work out too well.
“They’re here,” she whispers. “Do you want me to send them away?”
Who the fuck are they? I don’t even have an intake form for them or a file or a background check. I never go into a couple’s session without extensive backgrounds on both. The fastest way to die is getting between the wrong couple.
I should know.
“Yes.”
This is what I get for moping around the last two days and not paying attention to the important things. Like my patients. Like my aunt who finally decided to come back from France. Like my general health and well-being.
No, I’ve spent every waking and sleeping moment thinking about Arlo’s eyes, Arlo’s lips, Arlo’s cock, Arlo’s arms, Arlo’s fingers, Arlo’s words. Arlo’s fucking words.
“Sorry, I can’t.” Nat chirps. “They’re headed in.”
Before I can voice my outrage, my door swings open. Natalia and Astor charge into my office in stunning outfits with perfectly fixed hair and makeup. While I cower behind my desk, looking like something Plinko coughed up.
They sit in the wooden chairs on the opposite side of my desk and study me.
“What is going on?” My voice is shrill.
“That’s what we’d like to know,” Astor counters.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re a shit liar.” Nat rubs a finger along the edge of her perfectly etched lipstick. “As a kid, you were terrible at it. As an adult, somehow, you’re worse. Your mom was a shit liar too.”
“Please, don’t talk about her.”
“Why not?” Nat pushes back, which is unusual for her. “I should talk about my sister more than I do.” She crosses her legs and relaxes back into the chair. “She was my best friend for almost thirty years. I talked to her every day. I confessed my deepest, darkest secrets, hopes, and dreams to her. She gave hers to me until she felt like she couldn’t.” Her lips purse. “I’m pissed at her for not trusting me with her worst secret, but I have to forgive her. It’s time for both of us to forgive her and continue our lives.”
“Haven’t we been?” There’s a screech in my throat. I hate it. It shows too much. Still, I push ahead, knowing I’m wrong. “You’re a world-renowned model and the best aunt a girl could ever want.” A tear slips from my eyes. “And I’m a successful psychologist with a great best friend.”
“And I’m a serial dater who pushes a man away the moment he tries to get too close, while you won’t even dare to let a man see how wonderful you are.” My aunt smiles at me. “No one needs a man to be happy. We’re proof of that, but I’d sure as hell like a partner I can rely on in this life. It’s taken me a long time and a man almost half my age to realize it, but I have with the help of Astor.”
“He’s not half your age,” Astor blurts. “He’s thirty-one.”
“You’ve been going to therapy?” I share a look between them.
“Yes, for the past year,” she admits.
“I’ve been begging you to go forever. What made you finally decide to go?” There’s exacerbation in my voice, but also shock.
Her smile is sweet and slow. “Arlo Judge.”
I pin her to the seat with my glare.
“After speaking to him at the gala, I watched him.” She wiggles one svelte shoulder. “I can’t tell you why. Maybe because he’s objectively gorgeous. Maybe because he is mysterious and interesting. Maybe because his face had gone from sour to bright when we spoke about you. Either way, I watched him ignore his friends and other women’s overtures—and there were several—to catalog your every move through the night. I saw him gather his courage to go and speak with you.” Her brows droop, and the smile slips from her face.
“He said a few words, but you didn’t even register him to be able to acknowledge them. It was like the invisible barrier around you since the incident suddenly revealed itself. It was impenetrable. And I realized that I had the same type of defense. You didn’t see the potential for love and care or even connection right in front of you. At that moment, I knew that the two greatest possibilities for love in my life—besides you—had been right. I was physically present, but emotionally unavailable to them and even myself.”
The potential for love and care and connection.
Her words crash against my walls. They connect all the chinks Matt’s loss, Arlo’s care and attention, and years of therapy created. My walls shudder.
Connection.
It’s what I feel when I’m around Arlo.
“I watched him go back to his friends and resolve to make a change in his life. The following Monday, he called to inquire about becoming your patient.” Her gaze flits to Astor. “I made my call later that day.”
My gaze slides to my friend. “You didn’t tell me.”
“Nope.” Astor sits straighter in her chair if it’s even possible. The woman’s posture is that of royalty. “If you’ll recall, I did challenge you to dig deeper and face more than I have in a long time.”
“I remember.”
“We know you’re going through something,” Astor continues. “A fundamental shift in how you interact with the world. It’s a scary time, but also full of possibility. We want you to let us in fully and completely. No more half-measures. We want to help. We can help. If you’ll let us.”
Nat nods in agreement. I measure her readiness for what I’m about to say. There’s a determination in her features I haven’t seen. A calmness in her usually flirty gaze.
“If you’re ready to face this, I think we should go home.”
I expect her to make excuses about my patients or the gala or having just gotten back from a trip, giving me an out before this madness gets good and started.
“You’re right.” She stands, rounds my desk, and pulls me up into a hug that squeezes the air from my lungs and shocks me as much as her agreement. Just as quickly, she releases me. “I know a guy with a jet.”
“Of course you do,” I grumble.
“I’ll talk to him this afternoon and let you know when we’re going. Then you can spill your deepest, darkest secrets to me on the way. Then I’ll tell you mine.”
“Count me in,” Astor adds.
“You’ll have to spill too,” Nat threatens, and my friend beams.
My insides quake. “Can’t wait.”