Chapter Twenty-Four
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, AS Crew settled into the couch in Colleen’s office, he realized he no longer saw the clock as a fifty-minute captor. If anything, some days their sessions went too quickly. Colleen was as consistent as night turning to day and as helpful as a shield from the wind.
Only Colleen wasn’t a shield. She was the keeper of the shield, and she didn’t open the door and welcome Crew in.
She stood behind the glass, encouraging him to find what stood between him and the door.
Gently coaxing it out of him by making him dig deeper, seeing things he didn’t necessarily want to see, though he was better for it afterward.
He’d come to trust her and looked forward to their time together.
Not because there was anything pleasant about digging around in the areas of his life he’d rather leave buried, but because he wanted to get to the other side, to figure out why he’d allowed himself to be the type of man whose self-worth was wrapped up in what others thought of him instead of trusting his instincts and blazing the path he’d once hoped to.
Colleen was making that possible by helping him see the errors of his ways and take responsibility for those choices. More importantly, she was helping him learn how to shield himself from making them again.
But as much as she had helped him get through those doors and find a shield and was continuing to help him find a way forward, he knew some of the changes and discoveries he was making were unearthed by Birdie and, to some extent, by her family and even some of the other people on the ranch.
Interacting with people who didn’t give a damn about what he earned or owned provided its own kind of freedom.
“How are you today, Crew?” Colleen asked.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You looked deep in thought. Would you like a minute before we get started?”
“No, thanks. I was just thinking about how much has changed since I came to the ranch.”
She smiled. “How much you’ve changed or your situation has changed?”
“Both, actually.”
“Would you like to talk about those changes?”
He mulled that over. “I’m not sure I can put it all into words.
It’s just a sense of feeling less like a villain.
A little more accepted and less like I’m floundering.
I’m still going for runs in the mornings, and that helps to clear my head for the day.
Most days I run into Tiny checking on the horses in the rehab barn, and we talk, fix stuff.
I know I have a long way to go with Dare and Billie, but as I mentioned Monday, things with Billie aren’t as tense as they were in the beginning. ”
“Yes, I was glad to hear that. Feeling accepted is important. Have you thought more about what might have changed for you to gain that acceptance from Billie and the others?”
“I don’t know. I’m a hard worker, and there’s a lot of work to be done.”
“Do you think it could have anything to do with people getting to know you? Or seeing that you’ve stuck it out despite Dare’s abruptness?”
“Maybe the sticking-it-out thing. That’s something I wanted to talk with you about, but not in regard to the ranch. I’ve been thinking about writing to my mother.” He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since Birdie mentioned it a couple of weeks ago.
“Oh?” she asked with interest.
“A friend suggested it.” He trusted Colleen but felt protective of Birdie and decided to keep her identity to himself. “Since it’s too painful for my mother to see or talk to me, she thought letters or cards might be a good way to show my mother that I love her without putting pressure on her.”
“Your friend sounds thoughtful. How do you feel about the idea of writing to her?”
“I like the idea. I want my mother to know I love her, even if she can’t bear to see me. I didn’t realize how important that was to me until my friend brought up the idea. Unless you think it might cause my mother more harm than good?”
“I don’t know your mother, so I can’t answer that. It’s important to realize that we can’t control how others react to the things we do. We can only control our own actions and emotions. So, the real question is, what are you hoping to gain from writing to her?”
“Nothing, really. I don’t need her to write back or reach out, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s my mother. I just want her to know that I love her and she’s family, no matter what.”
“How will it make you feel knowing you’ve offered her that sense of family?”
He sat forward, resting his forearms on his legs, thinking about the question. “Good if she wants to know it and shitty if she doesn’t.”
Colleen tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you feel guilty for her grief?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “I mean, I can’t help that I remind her of Robbie, but there’s a level of guilt that comes with knowing I do.”
“Do you think the letters will alleviate that guilt?”
“No.”
“Will it make you feel more or less connected to her?”
“More, maybe.”
“How do you think you’ll feel if she reaches out and asks you not to write to her?”
He took a deep breath, not wanting to think about that. “It’ll make me sad, but no sadder than I am knowing I can’t see her.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks.
” His gaze swept over the room, moving past the desk she never used when he was there, file cabinets that probably held a lot of secrets, to the windows.
There was so much space between him and his mother, and all he wanted to do was close it.
He met Colleen’s gaze and said, “Honestly, I think about it all the time.”
“I think that’s your answer. If it’s that important to you and you understand it may not end the way you hope, it’s probably worth a try.”
He sat back, breathing a little easier. “Okay.”
“Your friend who suggested the idea seems insightful. Is she someone special?”
“Yeah, she is,” he said with a smile. “But it’s complicated.”
“Most relationships come with complications.”
“That’s true, but I think you can appreciate how my situation comes with complications that are outside the norm.”
“Of course. It sounds like you’ve shared some of your family history with her. Have you told her about the accident and your time in prison?”
“Yes, and thankfully, she’s still here.”
Colleen’s smile reached her eyes. “How does that feel?”
“Incredible,” he admitted. “She’s the only woman I’ve ever been able to truly be myself with.”
“That’s wonderful, Crew. Are you still enjoying your volunteer work at the food bank?”
“Yeah, very much.” He shifted on the couch. “I’m thinking about getting more involved with those efforts.”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
“It feels good doing something for others and going back to my roots. I loved volunteering with my mom and Robbie when I was a kid.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before. I’d like to circle back to your mom for a moment. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“You said that she deserves to know she’s loved. Do you feel like you owe that to her?”
“Not at all. My love for her has never changed, and I want her to know that.”
“That’s very thoughtful. Do you think you deserve to hear that she loves you?”
“I know she loves me,” he said honestly.
“Yes, you’ve shared that with me, and that’s good. But do you believe you deserve to hear it from her?”
He pressed his hands into his thighs. “I don’t think that’s something I can ask for.”
“That’s not what I asked, but why do you feel that way?”
“Because I know she can’t give me that. She’s too mired down in guilt and grief. I wouldn’t put that pressure on her.”
Colleen nodded. “I understand. What if we take your mother’s grief out of the equation and focus only on you? Do you think you deserve to hear that she loves you?”
He shook his head, knowing what she was asking and still struggling to say yes.
He tried to swallow past an unexpected lump forming in his throat.
“Why is it so hard for me to admit that I deserve it?” He fisted one hand, channeling those uncomfortable feelings into that fist, and rubbed it with his other hand, as if he could ease them that way.
Or at least contain them, keep them from coming out.
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know,” he said, frustrated. “That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Do you think it could have anything to do with how she or your father treated you when you were growing up?”
“No. Before Robbie died, my mother told me she loved me all the time, and my father told me enough to know he once did.”
“What about after Robbie died?”
Crew’s chest constricted. “You know what happened with my mom. She’s depressed. When she stopped seeing me, she pretty much stopped saying it. But I know she loves me.”
“And your father?”
“There’s no love there,” he said. “You know what he did with my ex.”
“Yes, but did you feel loved by him after Robbie died? When you were growing up? In high school? College? As an adult, before you found out he’d betrayed you?”
Crew clenched his jaw against the painful truth.
“I don’t know. I told you. As a kid, I was focused on making sure I did everything right and didn’t cause trouble, so he wouldn’t have to worry about me.
And as an adult, I strove to be impressive as hell, so he could never think I was less than him.
” Anger gripped him. “I had to work to earn his love,” he snapped.
“I didn’t have a choice. He was all I had. ”
Her expression softened. “Do you think that and your mother’s inability to see you could have an impact on why it’s hard for you to feel like you deserve to hear your mother say she loves you for merely existing as her son?”
He sat back as the truth sank in like boulders in his gut, bringing clarity to more than just his relationship with his parents but also to his relationship with Divinia.
The way he’d twisted himself into knots to make sure she was happy and had whatever she wanted, casting even his desire to talk about his family aside.
The truth only sharpened the contrast to his relationship with Birdie. Birdie never asked for a damn thing beyond his time. She didn’t care what he wore, never pried into his finances or complained about the absence of fancy restaurants and luxurious outings.
She just wanted him.
And that was one of the reasons he wanted to give her everything.
A whole damn world built around her smile.
A life that fit her fire, in and out of the bedroom, so full of happiness and comfort, it crowded out any doubts of being too much or not enough—and obliterated the judgments they were sure to face.