3. Tyler
Unwilling Attraction
This morning just sets the tone for the whole damn day.
There I am, walking out of the kitchen, feeling somewhat decent for a change, when my knee gives out.
No warning, no gradual pain to signal it’s about to happen—just bam, and I”m stumbling like a calf on ice.
The worst part? My son, Timmy, sees it all. The look on his face... I’ve seen respect, awe, and now, pity.
Seeing that shift is like a punch to the gut. It puts me in a foul mood, one that I can’t seem to shake off.
By the time I get to therapy with Dr. Marlene, I’m a ticking time bomb of irritation and self-loathing.
She greets me with her usual calm demeanor.
”Good morning, Tyler. How has your morning been so far?”
I barely keep the snarl out of my voice.
”Why does that matter? We’re just here to go through the motions, right?”
I can tell I’m being unreasonable, but stumbling this morning stripped away any patience I had.
Dr. Marlene, unphased by my tone, tries to steer the conversation back to a productive path.
”Tyler, therapy is a process that facilitates healing and understanding. It’s not about prying into your personal life but offering support and strategies to improve it.”
Her words are meant to be soothing, but they feel like sandpaper against my raw nerves.
”Healing? Understanding? It seems more like a deep dive into someone’s privacy under the guise of professional help. I don’t buy it.”
I know I’m being harsh and combative, but I wouldn’t say I like the thought of spilling my guts to someone who, in my mind, could never understand the depth of what I’m going through.
The worried look on Timmy”s face this morning, the pause in my career, my identity—it’s too much to package neatly for a therapy session.
Dr. Marlene remains patient, her voice steady.
”I understand your skepticism, Tyler. Many people feel vulnerable in therapy initially. But I assure you, the goal is to help you build strategies to cope, to find ways to adapt, and to grow beyond your injury.”
I scoff, unable to help myself.
”Adapt and grow? I was a bull rider, Dr. Marlene. My whole life was about conquering, not coping and adapting.”
Dr. Marlene leans forward, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that feels too probing.
”Tyler, you”ve mentioned your whole life has been about conquering. But have you dedicated so much of your time and energy to your career that now, as you”re healing, you”re unsure of your identity outside of being a bull rider?”
Her question hits closer to home than I care to admit. I shift in my seat, discomfort written all over me.
”It”s not just about riding bulls,”
I grumble, avoiding her gaze.
”It’s about living a life that feels worth something. Right now, with the sponsorships being my only income, I feel... worthless. Weak.”
I stop talking, horrified that I”ve allowed myself to reveal so much.
Dr. Marlene’s strategy, whatever it is, has me opening up, and I can”t stand it.
”You’re being sneaky, making me talk about all this personal stuff.”
I accuse her, my voice laced with resentment.
She raises her eyebrows slightly, expressing calm understanding rather than offense.
”Tyler, I don’t intend to trick you or make you uncomfortable. It’s important to explore these feelings, to understand that your worth isn”t solely defined by your career or how you earn your income.”
But her words are like dust in the wind to me. I’ve built a wall, and I’m not letting her in further.
”I think we’re done here.”
I say curtly, standing up abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.
”I don’t need someone else telling me how I should feel about my life.”
”Tyler.. we have thirty minutes left. You should stay for all of your time.”
I reluctantly sit back down on the couch with an attitude, but now I refuse to answer any more of her questions.
I fold my arms across my chest as stubbornly as a child, allowing her to talk in this one-sided conversation.
The session continues in this vein, with Dr. Marlene trying to break through the walls I”ve built around my pride and my pain and me fighting her every step of the way.
She doesn’t know about Timmy, and I won’t tell her.
She knows me as the guy who rode bulls, not as a father who can’t even walk out of his kitchen without nearly falling in front of his son.
The therapy session wraps up, and honestly, not much has changed.
Dr. Marlene tried, but I”m just not feeling it. I walked out as mad and frustrated as I walked in, maybe even more.
And to top off this fantastic day, it all started with me tripping in front of Timmy. It”s just been one of those days.
I know I”m torturing myself, refusing to see how therapy could help, clinging to my anger like a life raft.
Yet, somewhere beneath all that bluster and bravado, I”m terrified.
I”m frightened that this is as good as it gets, that I”ll never be the man I once was in the arena or as a father.
But admitting that, even to myself, feels like conceding defeat—and that’s something Tyler Parker has never been good at.
Hours later, I find myself nursing a whiskey at the Last Chance Bar like it”s medicine.
Maybe it is, in a way. The kind that doesn”t heal but numbs. I didn”t worry about driving.
My boots could carry me back home just fine. And Timmy, he”s safe at home with Mrs. Carolyn.
I will forever thank that woman. Moving to Pine Creek with Timmy and me was a miracle.
She”s significantly more family to us than my blood ever was, especially after I cut ties with my greedy relatives.
Her being here, it”s a relief I can hardly put into words.
Sitting here, swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I can”t help but feel a heavy sense of depression sinking in.
It gnaws at me, the realization that my blood family only saw dollar signs when they looked at me, not the man or the father I strived to be.
And Joyce, Timmy”s mother, was cut from the same cloth.
That one-night stand turned my world upside down when she showed up nine months later, saying I would be a dad.
But her eyes weren”t filled with the joy of bringing a life into this world, they were filled with greed, seeing me as nothing more than a paycheck.
I ensured she wouldn”t be a part of Timmy”s life, not in a way that mattered.
A hefty chunk of change in exchange for her signature on a contract and an NDA, and just like that, she was gone.
Maybe I was too harsh, but I”ve seen firsthand what greed can do to people, and I wasn”t about to let my son be raised in that environment.
Mrs. Carolyn has been our rock through all this.
She was just the neighbor back in Boulder Springs, our former small-town home, but now, she”s family.
She even moved here with us from Boulder Springs. When I was clueless, she showed me the ropes of being a dad.
She”s been there, from feeding Timmy to ensuring he slept safely at night and baby-proofing the house. I would”ve been lost without her.
I owe this woman more than I can ever repay. Her guidance has made me the father I am today.
Taking another sip, I try to shake off the dark thoughts. But it”s hard.
It”s hard not to feel like you”re drowning when you”ve got a past heavy enough to pull you under.
After becoming good and buzzed, I start feeling somewhat better—enough that now I want to step outside for some nice fresh air on this incredible night.
I turn my head towards the door and could swear that I saw Dr. Marlene, or someone who looks like her from the back, walk out.
I hurry towards the door and step outside the bar to see a woman walking toward the same forest green Buick Century parked outside Dr. Marlene”s office.
”Dr. Marlene?”
I call out curiously, as the woman whips around in surprise, her wavy brown locks swinging when she turns to face me.
It is her, and for some reason, she looks so beautiful to me tonight.
Maybe because the alcohol puts me in a better mood, and not sitting on her couch for therapy isn”t putting me in a foul mood.
”What are you doing here?”
I ask, taking a few hesitant steps towards her.
The pale moonlight filters down, accentuating the confusion dancing across her features.
”I was just dropping something off for Sam, the owner. We”ve been friends for years. But I”m heading home now.”
Dr. Marlene explains, clutching her purse a little tighter, perhaps a subconscious barrier between us.
I can”t quite pinpoint why the idea of her leaving stokes a flicker of disappointment.
”Why don”t you come inside for a drink with me?”
I suggest, trying to mask the hope lacing my words with casual indifference.
Dr. Marlene hesitates, her professional demeanor surfacing.
”Tyler, I can”t.”
She starts, her voice firm but gentle.
”Having a drink with a patient... it”s not professional. It crosses boundaries that shouldn”t be crossed.”
Her refusal ignites a spark of frustration in me.
”But you can prod and poke into every corner of my life in your office? Ask me all those personal questions?”
I challenge, the alcohol loosening my tongue.
”One drink. How”s that any different?”
She looks at me, her expression softening, indicating she understands my frustration, but her stance remains unwavering.
”It”s about maintaining a professional relationship, Tyler. There are ethics involved. It”s not about what I ask or don”t ask in session, it”s about our roles. I”m your therapist, not a friend. That line exists for a reason... no matter how handsome you are.”
There”s a beat of silence as her words sink in, and I can tell she didn”t mean for the compliment of my handsomeness to slip out.
Once filled with my burgeoning hope for something undefined, the night air now tastes bitter with rejection.
I nod, finally stepping back, recognizing the boundary she”s unwilling to cross.
”Alright, Dr. Marlene. Goodnight then.”
I say, a hint of resignation trailing my voice.
”Goodnight, Tyler.”
She says, heading to her car. This conversation left me thinking about how crazy and complicated human connections are.
It”s weird how the things that link us can also pull us apart.
I start to turn around and head back inside, but then I notice an unfamiliar feeling inside me—something drawing me towards Dr. Marlene.
There”s been some hidden attraction since the first day we met, hiding underneath the disdain I”ve held for her from our therapy sessions.
I cross the parking lot to close the distance between us, her words calling me handsome swirling in my mind as I gently grab her by the elbow.
I spin her around as her wide eyes lock onto mine before my lips press against hers. She”s stunned but shocks me when she kisses me back.
That is until she finally breaks the kiss and returns my expression of shock.
She quickly gets into her car and pulls out of the bar”s parking lot while I touch my lips, which continue to tingle..