77. Now
SEVENTY-SEVEN
now
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised when Dr. Laura calls me on Saturday evening.
After all, even if Grayson is sickened by everything that’s happened, he’s still Grayson. Thoughtful and thorough in his trademark, take-charge way.
Apparently, he found my therapist’s information and called her, relaying what occurred and informing her that he’ll foot the bill for any treatment I require. Indefinitely. She immediately called to schedule an emergency session.
I probably also shouldn’t be surprised to find Marco waiting for me outside m y building. He takes one look at my swollen, blotchy face and wordlessly produces a coffee cup from behind his back, along with a pastry.
“My grandmother baked this,” he tells me. “I thought you might be hungry.”
I’ve spent the entire day and night locked in my bedroom, refusing to answer any of the thousand knocks Maggie pounded into the hollow door. And Marco is right—I certainly haven’t had the stomach for food of any sort.
In truth, I still don’t. Every time I recall the way revulsion twisted Gray’s gorgeous face, the vitriol in his voice —I’ve never been more repulsed than I am right now— my insides swirl and heave.
I take Marco’s kind offering anyway, ducking my head to hide my puffy eyes. His tone takes on a sympathetic note. “Mr. Stryker has asked me to drive you to your appointment. He’s… unwell. Or he would have been here himself.”
How do you not see how fucked up and twisted this shit is?
“Oh, I sincerely doubt that,” I mumble. “But thank you for coming.”
I don’t bother to ask if Gray is okay. I know him well enough to know he’ll continue to blame himself for everything and steep in his guilt for as long as his loved ones allow. Instead, I inquire, “Is he at least with his parents? He shouldn’t be alone.”
“His mother has been to see him,” Marco reports quietly, turning the car into traffic. “I don’t believe she stayed long, though.”
He’s isolating himself. The same way he did after he found out about his father’s illness. “Please make sure he doesn’t drink too much,” I murmur, sighing out the window. “It only makes him feel worse.”
Marco’s dark eyes meet mine in the rearview, brimming with empathy. “I’ll see to it, Ella.”
Well, if nothing else, at least the guy finally calls me by my actual name .
With a nod, I lean my head against the cool glass and close my eyes. “Thank you, Marco.”
Dr. Laura passes me a new box of tissues after I finish off the one she originally offered me.
“What I’m hearing,” she intones, watching me with her calm, solemn gaze. “Is that your largest source of grief in all of this isn’t what happened to you because of Daniel—or even the way Gray treated you last week—but the aftermath, when Grayson left you.”
A humorless snort of laughter combines with a sniffle. “I suppose that’s truly pathetic, huh?”
Dr. Laura sits back in her seat. “I’m not judging your feelings, Ella. And I would argue that there is no ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’ way to feel after a deranged man holds you at gunpoint. Particularly one who’s already harmed you in the past the way Daniel did.”
I nod into my tissue. “I just… I’ve spent years trying to get over Gray to protect everyone. Yesterday, when Daniel attacked me, I kept thinking, at least now Grayson will know everything. He’ll know I loved him and never wanted to hurt him. Maybe he can forgive me .”
Dr. Laura’s brow pinches. “Those things may still be possible, though,” she points out. “It’s only been a day, Ella. You’ve had years to process what Daniel did to you. Grayson’s only had hours.”
The truth of her words sinks into my chest, finally halting my tears. When she sees me listening, she goes on. “What he went through yesterday—seeing you on the floor, unconscious. Hearing excruciating details about your attacks. Learning his entire family life and company structure are based on heinous people who set out to harm and control him from the jump… All of that would be very trau matic. It’s possible he didn’t mean a lot of the things he said—or that, once he has taken time to process the trauma, his feelings will change.”
Of course, she’s right.
I wanted to fall in his arms and finally let him comfort me. I wanted him to vow to fix what Daniel had broken between us. When he left, it crushed me. I never stopped to consider that his entire world had imploded moments before he rejected me.
“Am I stupid to hope that he’ll come back?” I croak. “Again?”
“Hope is never stupid,” she replies. “I would argue, in this instance, hope is an act of great courage.”
It’s a lovely sentiment. One I probably should find reassuring. But I’ve been in therapy long enough to hear the double meaning in her words.
Hoping Gray will come back to me is courageous.
Because there’s a chance he never will.