Chapter 7
Ian
Ifeel lightheaded. Chest tight, my unfocused gaze stays on the closed door as I suck in deep breaths. Thoughts race through my mind as I try to make sense of what just happened.
We were perfect. She was perfect. What the fuck went wrong?
I swallow hard.
I know exactly what went wrong.
If you let your guard down and open up to someone when you’re as fucked up as I am, of course, they’re going to realize they don’t want to deal with all your issues.
The last month has been the happiest I’ve ever been.
Even the guys at work have made comments.
At first, it made me uncomfortable. But it didn’t take me long to realize that I was actually enjoying feeling like that, and I didn’t want to tamp it down out of fear and discomfort of the unknown.
I wanted to embrace it. Revel in it. And it all had to do with the way Maggie made me feel.
She made me laugh, but she was also just as comfortable relaxing together in silence.
She told me stories about her childhood in North Carolina and how much she missed her family.
And while I didn’t tell her every gruesome detail of my childhood, I opened up to her about more than I have to any other person.
I even told her about more of the things that happened while I was in the military that still weigh heavily on my conscience.
She never hesitated in giving me the comfort and understanding that I always hoped for but never thought I deserved.
Until now.
I suck in another deep breath. I hear sounds from inside her apartment, but I can’t decipher what they are. Pivoting on my heels, I stalk away. There is no point in sticking around.
By the time I’m climbing into my Bronco, I can’t decide which emotion is stronger—anger or the bone-deep sadness and disappointment that I wasn’t good enough for someone I thought might’ve been the one.
I slam the door, the sound loud in the evening air. My fists tighten and release as I attempt to gain control. When I fail, I slam one of them against the steering wheel with a shout. My chest heaves with my unsteady breaths.
I can’t be alone.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this place mentally, but I know the last thing I need is to be alone. That will only cause me to spiral further.
Jack is on a job. I don’t know where Nate is, but he’s my next best bet. Starting my car, my tires squeal as I tear out of the parking lot, feeling as reckless as I am heartbroken.
By the time I’m parking on the street in front of his house, I’m just as distraught as I was when I left Maggie’s. Nate’s truck isn’t in the driveway, but it could be in the garage.
He better fucking be home.
My fist bangs into the wood in rapid succession before crossing my arms over my chest. I bounce on the balls of my feet slightly to try to dissipate some of the anxious energy.
The door whips open, but instead of my best friend’s face staring back at me, it’s the surprised but smiling face of his oldest sister, Pamela.
“Ian! It’s so good to see you!”
I know my smile looks as forced as it feels. “Uh, yeah, good to see you, too, Pamela. Is Nate here?”
She eyes me curiously. “No, he isn’t. I have a key and had some things to drop off, so I was just bringing them inside.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb. “I don’t know what time he’ll be home, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you waiting inside if you want.”
I turn my head and stare at the house next door as I blow out a breath through pursed lips.
A warm hand settles on my forearm. “Ian, is everything okay?”
My gaze finds Pamela again. “You’re a therapist, right?”
Tilting her head to the side, her eyes narrow slightly before cautiously affirming, “I am.”
“I need to hire you.”
Her eyebrows jump in shock. “Taking on someone I know personally is highly unethical.”
My heart beats wildly, anxiousness taking over. I’m not above begging. “Pamela, please.”
She shakes her head sadly as her face morphs into a sympathetic look that breaks me even further. “I can refer you to someone.”
“No!” The word comes out so forcefully, it jolts us both. “Pamela, please. You’re Nate’s sister. I trust Nate with my life. And you’re an extension of him. I can’t trust anyone else. I’ve never trusted anyone else. But I need help.” I take a small step closer. “I need you to help me.”
She gnaws on her bottom lip as she regards me. I should probably worry about her judging my outburst, but I’m too far gone.
“I’m assuming something happened today?”
My jaw muscles clench before I give her a curt nod.
“One session.” My exhale of relief is audible. “You aren’t paying me.”
I try to argue, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“And I’m not acting as a therapist. This is simply two friends talking in my office.”
As much as I want to compensate her, I know she’s doing me a huge favor. “Understood.”
She tells me an address. “That’s my office. Let’s go there.”
My eyes bore into hers. “Thank you, Pamela. This means more to me than you know.”
Almost all of the walls in Pamela’s office are covered with bookshelves. Each one is filled with a mix of books and decorative items. The lighting is dim, creating a cozy atmosphere as I drop onto the couch. Pamela grabs a notebook and pen from her desk before settling into the chair facing me.
She taps her pen a few times on her notebook while staring at me, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “You’ve never gone to therapy before?”
Even though it’s a question, she already knows the answer. “I have not.”
“But you think you need it?”
I incline my head. “I know I need it. But it isn’t easy for a guy like me to admit he needs therapy.”
Her nod is slow but understanding. “Do you want to start with what happened today?”
My stomach clenches. The pain with Maggie is too fresh. Maybe talking about the things that made her decide I wasn’t the person for her will help ease that pain, too. “No.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
I inhale and exhale once before asking, “Should we start with how my father killed my mother right in front of me and I couldn’t stop him, or how I made a decision that got four of my best friends killed?”
The side of the pen presses into Pamela’s lips as she stares at me, her face devoid of any reaction. The hand holding the pen drops to the notepad in her lap. “Let me call my husband and tell him I’ll be late.”