Chapter Seventeen
Lorcan
Justin Bridges-Powers’s office was a bright yellow. A happy yellow. Something meant to soothe.
That sense of calm and serenity wasn’t working on me.
I’d chosen to sit in the middle of the three-seater couch.
He sat in a high-back chair across from me.
While he had a mug of tea, I drank decaf coffee.
Rainbow had, after seeking my approval, added an Irish cream, uh, creamer to my coffee. A bit sweeter than I would’ve liked, but the mix made the decaf more bearable. At this hour, consuming caffeine just wasn’t a good idea.
I sipped. “This is actually pretty good.”
The therapist smiled. He was a decent-sized guy with red hair and beard. His bright-blue eyes shone with…empathy? Amusement?
That color reminds me of Cody. The rest of the man didn’t. His ginger hair and beard were quite the opposite of…my boyfriend? We had yet to define our relationship.
“Rainbow often knows just the right touch. You’re always free to say no, though.” The counselor smiled.
I shrugged. “She’s a nice lady. I’m appreciative of that these days.”
“You’ve had a rough go?”
“Here’s where I word vomit my life to you, right? Do I start from my crappy childhood or just stick to the last two years of hell?”
“We’ve got an hour. You can choose where to start. I’ll ask questions or redirect you if I think we’re too far off topic. I will say I read your intake form, and you were very honest—I appreciate that. Cuts down on some of the noise.”
“Noise?”
“Potential distractions.”
Slowly, I nodded. “And you researched me.”
“Without judgment, I promise. I like to know a bit about my patients. If they’ve been in the news. It’s a bit of a gamble. You might assume I already know what’s out there or you might not want me to look—”
I waved him off. “I don’t care. If it cuts through the—” I frowned. “Noise. Right. If we go straight for the problem, then that helps, right?”
He nodded.
“I’m dating Cody. I mean—” Heat raced to my cheeks. “I think you should know that, right? Because honesty is important.”
“Cody hasn’t spoken to me about you. I only know he took the intake forms Friday night and brought them back Monday morning. And I can promise what is said between the two of us stays between the two of us. Unless I believe a child is being harmed or that you are in imminent danger of self-harm.”
“Or if I threaten someone.” I wasn’t certain if that was explicitly in the rules—but I wanted it out on the table.
“Or that possibility as well.”
“Okay. I hate my ex-husband for what he did to me, but I don’t wish him dead. Maybe in jail for a few years?” I scratched my chin. “But before we go there, I think it’s important that I be honest with you.”
He sat a little straighter.
“But if I’m honest, then I’m sharing something about Cody that you might not know.”
“I appreciate your concern. Cody has confided in me that he has some…unique preferences. What I don’t want to do is make the leap to think that you feel the same way.”
“Me?” I scrunched my nose. “I’m not—” I flapped my hand. “A Daddy? A handler? We haven’t really talked about terminology.” I bit my lip. “Shit.”
He again offered up his serene smile. “Cody let me know. I haven’t made any assumptions about you—or that you’re even into the lifestyle.
I appreciate you protecting Cody. He’s pretty open about things, but I’ll admit I wasn’t aware of that aspect of his life.
” He paused. “I can say we’ve had clients over the years who’ve enjoyed various lifestyles—from hardcore BDSM to puppies, kitties, and littles.
We don’t advertise as kink-friendly, but word gets around. ”
“I’m a puppy.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. The room’s ambient temperature was perfect—but I was sweating.
“I’ve met puppies before. I think that sounds like a lovely way to enjoy life. Although it’s not something I’ve considered for myself, I certainly can see the appeal.”
Right. You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.
No one’s going to out you. “It’s been a long time.
Since I’ve wanted this. I knew, though, that my husband would never have agreed to it.
You know how you just know something—deep in your gut?
I knew it with him.” I twitched my nose, then took another sip of coffee.
“He wasn’t all bad. In fact, I thought we had a solid marriage. Until he stole everything.”
“That must have hurt.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my sternum.
“I’d never known pain like that. Like physical pain?
Sure. You work construction and eventually something’s bound to go wrong.
But the pain of betrayal? I can’t—" I swallowed. “Some days I’m not certain how I keep going. And then I meet a guy like Cody, and I’m sure I’m not worthy of him.
I have a lifetime of baggage. And he’s…perfect. ”
Justin nodded. “I can’t speak for Cody. I will say that none of us are perfect.
I mean, I love my husband…but he’s got faults.
My own imperfections are, he swears, something he loves about me.
Our experiences shape who we are. Good, bad, ugly, and glorious—they’ve led us to this spot.
So we can embrace the learning that we’ve had, or we can fight against the past and wish to change it. ”
“If only.”
“Right? I have a few things I’d have done differently. But those experiences led me here—and I’m happy where I am.”
“So if I can find happiness, then I can accept all that came before?” That sounded way too easy.
“That’s entirely possible but not necessary. Moving forward doesn’t require you to accept anything, only to cope with it in a healthy way. Why don’t we start unpacking your ‘baggage’?” He used air quotes around the word I’d only just used.
“Yeah, okay.” I took another sip. “I had a crappy childhood, a mediocre run at being a teenager, but my twenties were when good things started to happen.” I held in the wince. “I met the love of my life.”
“Why don’t you tell me about that—if you’re comfortable.”
And so I did.
Two hours later, I’d driven away from Healing Hands, perhaps a bit faster than advisable, and now sat on a stool at Cody’s kitchen bar as he whipped up a chicken vegetable stir-fry.
The session had been good, important, but had shaken me in ways I didn’t want to look at too closely.
The normalcy of Cody’s place was a gift. “That smells amazing.”
“I’m just glad you love onions as much as I do.” He added a touch of salt.
The food sizzled.
“I suppose I should tell you what happened.” I was ambivalent about this. Sharing felt important, but I also didn’t want to rehash Stephen over and over again.
He turned to face me, spatula suspended in the air.
“There is no supposed to. In fact, you shouldn’t tell me more than you need or want to.
I’m not your therapist, and I don’t want us to be on those terms.” He pivoted his attention back to the food.
“Sorry, I need to keep an eye on this. I will say that I’m here to listen, not to judge, and if you just want to curl up and put your head on my lap, that’s great too. ”
“You make it sound so easy.” I fingered the cloth napkin he’d handed me. I loved that he avoided paper whenever he could. Because of the environment. I admired that about him. All the little things he did.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that your session probably wasn’t easy.” He tossed me a glance. “And that’s not Justin telling me. That’s the slump in your shoulders. But, for all I know, Riley rode your ass at work today, and that’s what’s got you down.”
I snorted.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. She’s a good woman.”
“True.” I sipped the ice water with a sliver of lemon. “Her next contract is for some market-rate rental-housing project. The owner of the company, Beatrice O’Halloran, landed a huge contract. Margins are going to be tight, and the women won’t be making much money.”
“I heard about this project. Aren’t they teaming up with the company Foster works with?”
“Arnav’s husband? Yeah.” I fingered the napkin again. “Riley said something about Foster taking more leave because they’re fostering a couple of kids right now. She didn’t share the details, but I gleaned it’s a tough situation.” I sighed. “Arnav mentioned it during the trial.”
“It’s great Foster has that option.” Cody turned off the burner and moved the wok to another burner. He checked the brown rice and apparently—if the grin on his face was any indication—was pleased. He brought the pot to the plates. Just before he scooped the rice, he eyed me. “How hungry?”
“Uh, starved?”
“Cool. I made lots.” He scooped two hefty spoonsful onto the plates. Then he added a touch of lime to the stir-fry and then apportioned it as well.
The kitchen smelled amazing.
He turned off the vent above the stovetop.
The silence took me by surprise.
I hadn’t realized how loudly we’d been speaking.
He handed me a plate. “Do you want to sit at the table or stay where you are? These stools don’t get nearly enough use.”
If we sit on the stools, then I don’t have to look you in the eye. “This is fine.” I gestured for him to sit next to me.
He did. With a sigh.
I eyed him.
He waved me off. “I did a workout in the gym after work. I’m a bit sore.”
“That’s why your hair’s damp.”
He ran his fingers through the silky strands.
I knew they were silky because I might’ve grasped them when we made love last night—after I’d tucked away my paws and ears for safekeeping.
“I used a hair dryer, but I wanted to have the rice cooking when you got home.”
After a moment, I brushed my knuckles over his bare forearm. “You’re too good to me.”
He grinned. “Self-preservation. I was starving.” He batted his eyelashes at me. “But I’m glad you stopped on the way home to pick up more of your things.”
I rolled my eyes. “You keep plying me with food. Sunday night we had tacos. Last night we had fish and chips.” Again, I brushed my hand against his. “And you sent me to work with leftover spaghetti because you didn’t want me heating up fish in the shared microwave.”
“Again, self-preservation. I don’t want to get an earful from Riley.” He grinned.
“I haven’t told her about us.”
“And you don’t have to.” He didn’t bat an eye. “You can say as much, or as little, as you want. I’ll never pressure you for more.”
“Except practically moving in.”
He shrugged. “I’ve discovered I like having someone in my bed, but please don’t consider that pressure.”
It staggered me that he hadn’t had a long-term relationship before. He was a guy who screamed permanence.
As I once had. “You’re free to boot me out whenever you get tired of me.”
His fork—which was deep in the stir-fry—stilled. He looked over at me. “Please don’t say that again.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “I’m an adult. I treat things like an adult would. If this relationship stops working for us, then I’d talk to you one-to-one. With respect. I’m not going to boot you out.”
Shame heated my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Sore spot for me, you know? I might’ve overreacted.” Yet he still held my gaze.
“He left me. With literally nothing.”
“And my parents booted me out. With literally nothing. So we both know how that feels and, I hope, we’d never be so callous to someone else.”
I shook my head vehemently. No. I’ll never hurt you. Because, in that moment, feelings I didn’t understand welled within me. I blinked.
He leaned over to press a kiss to my lips. “Garlic breath goes well with fresh onions, I think.”
As he’d undoubtedly expected me to—I laughed.
And we finished our dinner.
We didn’t play that night. Both of us were exhausted. He did make gentle love with me and held me long into the night.