Chapter Five
Hamish
I needed to stop obsessing over what Donovan and Tyson might be up to.
Eat your dinner. Work on your files.
Having an excellent memory with near-perfect recall aided greatly in my work.
Having an unrelenting image in my mind of Donovan standing over where Cole’d lain still caught my heart in my throat. I could do many things—including helping him deal with his trauma—but I wouldn’t be able to completely erase the memories.
As I ate my tomato soup, I entered various notes into my computer.
Aside from Donovan, my meeting with Julie Reyes had been the most intense.
I’d returned to the studio after speaking with Donovan and Tyson.
Julie had spoken to Marianne earlier, but when I queried her, she indicated she’d be willing to speak to me.
I had the suspicion she knew I’d been with Donovan.
She didn’t feel his level of guilt, though.
She expressed continual gratitude that Cole’d saved her life—while cognizant of the fact that if she’d been hurt and he hadn’t, that he would’ve been beset by guilt.
Much like what Donovan was enduring. She had the self-awareness to wonder if she should feel guilty, but since she hadn’t been the target, her dominant feelings of unease were the same as the others—should she have seen this coming?
Yes, she’d been aware of Meggibeth’s crush on Cole.
But lots of women—and men—had crushes on the handsome man.
Should they have realized Meggibeth’s feelings ran deeper? Into the obsessive tendencies?
I assured her that likely this hadn’t been predictable. Unless Meggibeth had made threats in the past—and she hadn’t, as far as anyone could remember—than perhaps she’d hidden that obsession well.
After finishing up my notes, I put the kettle on. A nice chamomile would hopefully help me settle.
As the tea steeped, I changed into my plaid flannel pajamas.
In my thick wool socks, I wandered around the condo.
I tended to keep the blinds for my patio door open so I could look out upon the vast mountain landscape.
The lights on Grouse Mountain illuminated the night skiers—plenty of snow this winter.
My phone rang.
Assuming my boss was calling for a check-in, I barely caught the caller ID, only belatedly realizing it read unknown caller. “This is Hamish.”
“Hey, Doc.”
Well, no question who was on the other end. “Hello, Donovan.”
“You don’t like when I call you Doc.”
“I have no preference either way.”
“You’re lying.”
“I don’t lie.” Prevaricate? Well, that was another story.
“I only give nicknames to people I care about.”
Okay, that hit unexpectedly. “You’re saying you care about me?” Part of me wanted to know, and part of me turned wary—on high alert.
“Of course I care about you. You’re going to make me all better.”
I pulled the tea bag out of the mug and tossed it into the compost while I gathered my thoughts. “I hate to ask, but have you been drinking?”
He barked out a laugh. “You think I can’t be honest if I’m sober?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Tyson gave me the good drugs. And I promptly fell asleep. Just woke up a few minutes ago. I have to piss, but I needed to talk to you first.”
“Will you be able to manage getting to the bathroom? Are you steady on your feet?”
“I’m relaxed in the recliner. Tyson shouldn’t have let me drink all that soda.”
“I’m certain Tyson would’ve worried about you becoming dehydrated if you didn’t.” I took a sip of my tea. “Soda? I thought you’d be a water person.”
He snickered. “You guessed it. We grabbed a burger and fries, and since he was having a soda, I figured it’d be rude if I didn’t.”
“Ah, fair enough.” I took another sip. “How can I help you, Donovan?”
“Tell me it’s going to be okay. That I won’t keep replaying it in my mind. That I won’t keep trying to change things when I know damn well that I can’t. Or stop my mind from going to an even darker place where Julie’s shot as well and Cole dies.”
I closed my eyes, seeking the right words. “Your mind is going to go to those places, Donovan. You need to keep focusing on what really happened and then move on to the place where you’re safe. Where Cole and Julie are safe. Why don’t we try some deep breathing—”
“Fuck that. I just need to get laid or something. Will you help with that?”
Words completely failed me. Because, firstly, wildly inappropriate. And secondly, oh my God, yes, so that in every way.
Donovan just kept right on going. “Are you a top? I don’t tend to hook up with tops, but I have in the past. I mean, I don’t let them top me, but…oh, you’re probably a bottom. A bossy bottom, I’ll bet. Always having the answer to everything and needing to tell people what to do.”
“Well—”
“Or maybe you’re the stoic type. I love breaking them.”
“Breaking?” Jesus, that didn’t sound good.
“Negotiated catharsis, Doc. We agree that I’m going to break you—physically and emotionally—using BDSM.”
That term perked me right up. My boss and her husband were hugely into BDSM, and I’d done tons of research when I’d learned that tidbit. Fascinated didn’t begin to describe how I felt when hearing the word. “And you think I’m the stoic type that you can break?”
“Yep.” He popped his P.
Part of me was tempted to agree. To see what he could make of…whatever this was between the two of us.
“And I’d ask Tyson to watch.” He snickered.
My cheeks heated. “That’s…”
“You’d think it might be an invasion of your privacy, but I don’t think so. I think he’d want to be there—need to be there. He’s protective of you, Doc.”
“I’d say he’s protective of you.” Little gestures and gentle words that Tyson had offered today. And sure, most of that was cop to victim, but I sensed more. Mutual attraction better described what I’d witnessed both at the crime scene and later—at the coffee shop.
“He’ll never make a move unless you say it’s okay.”
What the hell? “Uh, Donovan, I’m not capable, nor would it be recommended, for me to tell Tyson to abandon his professional ethics. I’m certain you’re well aware that cops can’t get involved with victims. Just like psychologists can’t get involved with their clients.”
He huffed.
Twice.
“You just have to be a Goody Two-shoes.”
“No, I have to be a man who’s aware of his professional and ethical obligations. As I’m sure Tyson—”
“He kissed me.”
I dropped onto the couch like a stone. This I had not seen coming. Should have…but hadn’t. “Well, that’s a turn I didn’t—”
“Actually, I think I kissed him.”
Did that make things marginally better? No, not really. But it made more sense. “How did that make you feel?”
A snicker. “Let’s just say my body reacted in all the right ways.
Well, you’d say the wrong ways, but I would’ve done him right there in the car if we could’ve managed it.
Then he brings me home, gives me the meds, and what do I do?
Fucking fall asleep. And he’s not here anymore, and… ” He swallowed audibly. “I’m…”
“Scared? Not wanting to be alone? Wishing he was still there?”
“Yes, yes, and hell fucking yes.” Another sigh. “But also horny as fuck. I don’t suppose you’d come over and alleviate—”
“Uh, that’s not going to happen.” I pushed up off the couch. “I can talk you through the anxiety of being alone, but I can’t—”
“Come over and give me a blow job?”
Thank God I wasn’t drinking my tea. I’d have sputtered it everywhere. “No. That’s not what therapists do.”
“Naughty ones do. The ones in my imagination do.”
“That’s quite a vivid imagination. What’s really going on, Donovan?”
“I’m horny.”
“So you said.”
“I haven’t gotten laid since Caressa and Michael and Cole got together.”
Huh. “Not to be intrusive into their relationship, but how does their becoming a triad impact you?” Julie had mentioned the three best friends were now in a committed relationship with each other.
“Before Caressa came back from South Sudan, Cole and I used to…play…regularly at his house. We’d bring people into his dungeon, and, you know…”
“Yes, I know.” Vividly. Reading all those damn books. Being intensely curious. Wanting to be a fly on the wall at Club Kink…
He chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that about you.”
I didn’t ask how—I wasn’t certain I wanted to know.
After a moment, he continued, “I mean, Cole’s an equal-opportunity guy. Men, women, trans folk—who I guess are also men and women—”
“Right.”
“Me? I’ll play with women, but I only fuck men.”
Good to know. Funny, I’d have pegged him as perhaps bi. I got that vibe from Tyson as well. Interesting, this kiss they’d shared.
“Are you all about the guys? Or do you like women as well?”
I cleared my throat. “I’m…quite gay.”
“You ever try?”
“No.” I might’ve squeaked that.
“I did.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise me.
“Several times, in fact. And I really cared about the women, but it just didn’t do it for me. And in that respect, Cole’s the opposite of me. He loves women—their bodies, their souls, their smell, their soft skin…”
“Okay.” I said the word tentatively. “Men can have soft skin as well.” Why I was bringing up this point, I had no idea.
“Oh yeah, I like that. I love guys with smooth skin. You’re one of them, eh? I bet you moisturize and wear sunscreen in the summer.”
“Uh, that’s possible—”
“I bet Tyson’s got rougher skin. Maybe even calluses. Well, he doesn’t do manual labor, so maybe not. But he’s tougher than you.” He drew in a breath. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being soft—I love soft guys. Just not guys who remind me of women. I’m all about the hard edges.”
Do I have hard edges?
Wrong thought.
I wandered over to the kitchen and poured my tea down the drain. “How can I help, Donovan?”
He cleared his throat. “I need to know everything’s going to be okay. That everyone’s going to be okay. That this’ll pass and things will go back to the way they were.”
Sighing softly, I sat at the kitchen table. “You know I can’t do that. You’re changed. Cole, Julie, and Elouise have changed. And change isn’t always bad. Yes, the catalyst for the change was something negative, but you can see this as a chance to grow and progress.”
“I was pretty perfect.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure you were. But there’s always room for improvement, right? Maybe you’ll be more empathetic. Or considerate. Or you’ll see things differently—”
“Like my life flashing before my eyes and having regrets?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have put it like that, but facing regrets can be helpful—”
“They’re in the past, Doc. Nothing to be done about them now.”
“But we can—”
“Good night.”
He disconnected the call.
Well, okay, then.
I had no idea what he meant by any of it.
Most people had regrets—that was part of being human.
Things we wished we’d done differently. Things said or not said.
Paths chosen or not chosen. Living with and accepting those regrets often formed the basis for genuine healing.
Many of the people I counseled had survivor’s guilt—they’d survived whatever horrible incident occurred and one or more of their colleagues hadn’t.
Cole Hamilton had lived. I’d hoped that would be of some comfort to Donovan, but it appeared to make little difference. Donovan blamed himself for not acting sooner—a common feeling.
My job was to help him work through those feelings.
While not falling for the guy.
Yeah. Simple. Piece of cake.
So, so, so not.