17. Chapter 17 #3
Neither of us moved.
"Of what?" I asked.
Her eyes held mine.
"Of the way you matter to me."
The room disappeared around us.
"Of the way my professional judgment gets compromised when I think about your safety," she continued. "Of how often I have to remind myself where the boundaries are. Of what happens when the six months are over."
My voice dropped.
"What do you want to happen?"
She didn't answer immediately. Just looked at me like she was weighing the cost of honesty against the safety of continuing to pretend.
"Tell me," I said.
"That's not fair."
"I know."
"I'm still your therapist."
"I know."
"This could damage everything."
"I know that too."
"Then why are you asking me?"
"Because I need one honest answer tonight."
Her breath caught.
I stepped closer. Not touching. Not yet.
"What do you want to happen when the six months are over?"
Caroline's eyes shone.
"I want to stop pretending that what I feel is just therapeutic transference."
My pulse thundered.
She took one step toward me.
"I want to stop maintaining professional distance."
Another.
"Caroline."
"I want to—"
She didn't finish.
Maybe because there wasn't a safe ending to that sentence. Maybe because we'd already said too much.
She moved closer. Or I did. I never knew which one of us closed the final inch.
The kiss happened like a collision. Like something that had been held back for months finally broke through.
Her mouth hit mine, and every rational thought disappeared. It was angry and desperate and intense. All the things we weren't supposed to feel distilled into a single moment.
Her hand came up to my face. Mine found her waist. I pulled her closer on instinct, and she made a small, broken sound against my mouth that nearly destroyed whatever restraint I had left.
For one moment, everything else disappeared. The trigger. The danger. The surveillance. The professional ethics.
All of it dissolved into the feeling of finally being allowed to want something. Someone. Her.
Then reality crashed back in. We pulled apart simultaneously. Both breathing hard. Both staring.
Caroline touched her lips. "That was—"
"A mistake," I finished.
Nothing had ever felt less like one.
Pain flashed across her face. "A serious ethical violation," she said.
"Yeah."
Neither of us moved.
The office suddenly felt like the most consequential place on earth. Everything had changed in that single moment.
Every boundary we'd maintained. Every rule we'd followed. All of it compromised because for ten seconds, maybe twenty, we'd stopped running from what we felt.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Caroline's eyes snapped to mine. "Don't be."
I stared at her.
She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm not sorry," she whispered. "And that's the problem."
Jesus.
I wanted to cross the room. I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to tell her I didn't give a fuck about six months or rules or consequences.
Instead, I stayed where I was. "What do we do now?"
Caroline moved back to her desk, putting physical distance between us. "I don't know."
"You always know."
"Not this time."
Her voice cracked. Barely. Enough. "I genuinely don't know, Colt."
"We could pretend it didn't happen."
She looked at me. "Could we?"
No.
We couldn't.
We both knew it the moment the words left my mouth.
I glanced at the door. Then back at her. "I'm going to go."
Her expression changed.
"Before we do something else we can't take back," I added.
Caroline nodded. She didn't say anything.
I made it to the door before her voice stopped me.
"Colt."
I turned.
She stood behind her desk with one hand braced against its edge. "What happened tonight at the grocery store wasn't weakness."
My throat tightened.
"Don't turn needing someone into another reason to punish yourself."
I stared at her.
Of course she'd say that now. Of course, after everything we'd just done, she'd still find the exact wound I was trying to hide.
"I came here because I needed you," I said.
"I know."
"That's not going to get easier after tonight."
Pain moved across her face. "I know that too."
I opened the door. Then I left. She watched me go with the same expression someone might have while watching a door close on something important.
I drove back to my apartment with both hands locked around the steering wheel. At every red light, I replayed the kiss.
The feeling of her in my arms. The desperation of the moment. The sound she'd made when I pulled her closer.
The absolute certainty that I wanted more. So much more.
But beneath the want was the knowledge that more could destroy everything. Her career. My recovery. The trust the club had placed in both of us.
And maybe that was the cruelest part.
For most of my life, I'd thought restraint was weakness. I'd thought strength meant acting. Fighting. Taking control before someone else could.
Caroline had spent months teaching me otherwise. Now I had to prove I'd learned it.
Some things were more important than want.
Even when wanting her felt like the first honest thing I'd done in years. Even when walking away cost me everything.