Chapter 21
Ava greeted Deacon at the door with the warm neutrality of a seasoned therapist, monochrome shirt and slacks, tortoiseshell glasses, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, ushering him inside with a smile that was inscrutable in its lack of judgment.
The first thing that struck him as he entered her office for his second appointment was the silence.
Not the hush of a luxury spa or the sterile quiet of a hospital waiting room, but real silence and the soft comfort he felt in it.
A velvet sort of absence, cultivated by intention, as though every sound from the world outside had been vacuumed out and Ava herself wove the remaining atmosphere into a blanketed covering for both of them.
Even the ticking of her clock was so muted it drifted into the conceptual.
“Hi, how have things been this week?” she asked, settling into her chair with the practiced form of someone who’d spent thousands of hours making strangers feel less alone.
Deacon hesitated as he sank back into the couch, feeling not at ease but exposed.
He had no clue how things were going. He truly didn’t.
When he left Jenna’s house the night before, he was sure it was over.
But then, he couldn’t sleep and he had a gut feeling that she couldn’t either, so on a wild impulse, he started texting her.
And she didn’t block him. She read every text.
Including the ones he’d sent her that morning.
He knew because she had read receipts on her phone.
“Good, I think.” Deacon heard the hollowness in his voice. He braced for Ava to dig, an expertly blunt probe into his lack of conviction, but she only nodded, lips pursed in a way that meant she was giving him the floor if he wanted it.
She waited, not saying anything, which meant he was supposed to speak. The pause was stretched, measured, and strategic. Deacon knew this move, he used it in interviews, on the all-hands calls, in boardrooms where silence was a tool for drawing out what people truly thought.
Deacon weighed his next words. All he wanted to talk about was Jenna. But what if Ava knew her? What if they were friends? He didn’t want to do anything to expose her. She clearly didn’t want anyone to know anything about them.
But this was therapy, and Ava had said nothing went past these walls. He decided to trust her. And obviously he wouldn’t say Jenna’s name or anything that would give away who she was.
“I spent some time with the woman I was telling you about.”
“How did that go?” Ava’s tone was gentle, not prodding.
“I don’t know. She has an issue with money in general, but specifically with me having money.” Deacon also knew she had an issue with other people’s opinions of them, but the money thing was also real.
“An issue with you having money?” Ava repeated, not with skepticism, but with that gentle therapist’s reframe that always landed just a half-pitch above incredulity. She set her pen down on the notebook and slouched deeper into her chair, like she was getting ready to dig in for a long haul.
Deacon hesitated. “She doesn’t like that I have it.”
"Oh.”
“Most people act strange because of it. They want to be near me, closer to me. Some might pretend not to care or know, but you can tell that they do. And their true intentions usually end up coming out. There are some people who resent the wealthy. But that’s not her.
With her, it’s like, it’s a… barrier. She doesn’t resent my money, she actually hates that I have it. ”
“Hates. That’s a strong word.”
“Yeah.” He thought about it. “You’re right, maybe hate is too strong a word. I don’t know, disgust.”
“That’s also quite a strong word.”
He considered her reactions to the fancy rental car. The fancy hotel. To him having a guest house. Maybe hate was a strong word. Maybe disgust was also too much. “I guess you would say more of a strong aversion. Like if money were a bad smell she couldn’t stand.”
“That’s quite an image.” Ava smiled. “Is that a good thing?”
“Is what a good thing?”
“Well, you know she doesn’t want you for your money.”
“I don’t think she wants me at all.” A half-hearted laugh came from his chest, but he wasn’t really joking. “But we have a very…we have a lot of chemistry. It’s sort of undeniable. I guess I’m not sure she wants to want me.”
Ava smiled, kind and not patronizing. She’d probably had a hundred versions of this talk before. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“I doubt you’re familiar with the catalog of Selena Gomez songs,” she began, “but she has one titled ‘The Heart Wants What It Wants.’ If this woman is struggling with her feelings, I doubt very much they’re shallow or surface-level.”
Deacon opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to object, but the phrase stuck in his throat. It was all so foreign, being on the outside of someone’s emotional fortress, guessing at what was behind the walls. Most people he knew wouldn’t shut up about themselves. Jenna wouldn’t let him in.
“How can you say that?” he asked after a beat, voice a little rough.
“You don’t know her.” Unless she did. He studied Ava’s face for any hint of recognition, but she only regarded him with that neutral, therapist’s gaze.
He began to second-guess his instinct to trust her, but she was so direct, so utterly unflappable, he couldn’t imagine her hiding anything.
Ava considered the question as if she truly might know Jenna and then shook her head.
“If money means so little to her,” she said, “I’m guessing things other people might value—appearance, status, even superficial physical attraction—don’t tempt her the way they would someone else.
So, if she’s having this internal battle, maybe she’s convinced herself it’s just an intense draw to you, a chemical thing.
But I would almost guarantee it’s more than that.
If she feels a genuine connection with you, something deeper, she’s probably terrified of it.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so hard for her to walk away. ”
Deacon processed that in silence. It was a plausible theory, he supposed.
Jenna hadn’t acted like any woman he’d ever pursued.
Not that he’d had to do much in the way of pursuing.
Women had always been easy. He’d had to relearn the entire playbook, but the problem was, she wasn’t even playing the same game he was.
Every time he thought he’d made headway, she’d go cold, or vanish, or put up some new kind of barricade.
It was like chasing a ghost. A ghost who occasionally invited him inside, gave him the best sex of his life, then pushed him out and bolted the door.
“Have you considered taking the physical component off the table?” Ava asked.
The words hit him like a slap. Take the physical component out? Wasn’t that the only thing he was good at in this scenario? Without that, what did he have to offer?
“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely bewildered. “You mean—”
Ava smiled, patient as ever. “Before I moved here, I was a relationship therapist. I saw people struggling with this exact dynamic. My advice is to ask her to be your friend. No expectations. No pressure. Just… see what happens.”
“You want me to friend-zone myself?” Deacon had never been put in the friend-zone, willingly or not.
Ava’s expression softened. “Do you want her in your life long-term?”
He didn’t even need to think about it. “I want to marry her. I want her to be my wife. I want to raise our daughters together. I want to have babies with her, if that’s what she wants.
” The statement hung in the air a moment, and even Deacon was stunned by the depth of his own desire.
He stared at the floor, flexing his hands, as if he could physically shape the world to fit that image.
“Okay, then take the pressure off the physical,” Ava spoke gently. “Give her space to see that what she feels for you isn’t just… animal magnetism. That what you have is more than that.”
Deacon wondered if that would work. She hadn’t messaged him back since he sent her those X-rated texts. What if he did flip the script completely?
At this point, what did he have to lose?