Chapter 2 Rose
ROSE
Twenty years later…
Ablast of cool air whipped through my hair, the sweet scent of rain and budding flowers filling the cab of my SUV.
It was springtime in the south, although you wouldn’t know it.
Days and inches of rain had plagued the small town, causing intermittent flash flooding and more cases of seasonal depression than I’d seen in my entire career.
The late morning sun peeked out from the thick, gray clouds that had been hovering overhead for days.
My face lifted to the sky, taking a moment to appreciate the beams of light shooting through the canopy of trees above us.
Somewhere beyond the miles of forest that surrounded me was a glorious rainbow.
Maybe I’ll catch it next time, I thought.
My SUV hit a pothole, mud splattering onto the windshield as it bottomed out.
“Road needs some work.” This growl came from the passenger seat, the first words my boss had muttered since checking his seatbelt—twice.
With my grip tightening around the steering wheel, I peered down to the dirt road where most of the rocks had been washed away.
It had been five days of storm after storm, with midnight temperatures dipping low enough to allow black ice to form on the mountain roads in time for morning commute.
The first responders had been working overtime, even recording a PSA for the small-town folk reminding them to drive with caution, and threatening to close down the mountain that housed Banshee’s Brew liquor store. I hadn’t seen an accident since.
“Well… can’t rain forever.” I replied, glancing again up at the sky.
As if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Rose… watch out,” my boss said.
“Wh—” Before I could finish the question, a low-hanging branch scratched down the side of my brand-new BMW.
Shake it off, Rose, the voice in my head scolded.
You’ve got this.
I called this voice Thorn—the thorn to my Rose.
Thorn was relentless. Unforgiving. Judgy as hell. But she was also the reason I’d earned a doctorate in Psychology by twenty-five—while holding down a full-time job. According to my advisor, it was a record.
Thorn was the fire in my gut, the grit in my spine. The drive to rise above my circumstances and refuse to be defined by them. She got me the job at the prestigious Kline and Associates Clinic. She got me here.
And she’s the reason we’re on this journey now—
Success, still to be determined.
As the branch let out one final, tortured squeal, I glanced over at Dr. Theo Kline and forced a breezy, well-what-can-you-do kind of smile—a casual shrug-off that didn’t come naturally to me.
He just shook his head. I humored him, though I wasn’t sure why.
Part of me always suspected he could see straight through me.
It had been eight months since I’d danced my acceptance to his offer to be part of his team.
Little did I know four months of that time was going to consist of a very humbling “training-phase” where he personally monitored my client sessions.
Yep, my boss would lurk in the corner of the room while new clients poured their hearts out on my couch, judging my response to every tear.
But I fought through the awkwardness because a job with Kline and Associates was exponentially better than my previous job practicing psychology at an elite private college where the frat boys’ biggest challenges included paying off their teachers and finding new Adderall dealers.
I clicked through the radio stations in an effort to break the silence and ease the nerves that were starting to creep up.
“You like country?”
Theo wrinkled his nose.
“No? That’s blasphemy in these parts, Dr. Kline.”
He didn’t laugh.
I turned to another station. “How about rock?”
Nothing.
“Pop?” I grinned and looked over at him. “A little Biebs to get the blood flowing in the morning?”
“Slow down there, Andretti.”
My heart skipped as the one-lane wooden bridge, shimmering with a layer of ice, came into view. I gently tapped the brakes—that’s what you’re supposed to do right?—and coasted over the dilapidated bridge.
“Calm down, Rose.”
I cleared my throat, willing my pulse to slow. “My adrenaline, noradrenaline, and cortisol levels are fine, thank you very much.” Because that was a normal response for a mental health professional.
“I’m not suggesting you’re on the verge of a panic attack, I’m just saying… relax.”
“I’m fine.”
“’Round ten?” he repeated. “Is that an official calendar invite option? Because if so, my whole life just changed.”
He refocused on his inbox, scrolling through the emails I knew he’d forward to me, only to demand a full rundown during my lunch break.
That was Theo—always analyzing, always working, always dissecting some angle or detail no one else would think twice about.
Especially lately, post-divorce—according to the waitress at Donny’s Diner, who had all the gossip and none of the filter.
Theo was in his mid-fifties, on the shorter side, with shaggy brown hair shot through with gray and a beard he only trimmed when his ever-present sunflower seeds started getting caught in it.
His wardrobe came in three options: brown, darker brown, and plaid.
He had a dry sense of humor, eyes that missed nothing, and a permanent I-know-more-than-you smirk carved into his face.
That morning, bundled in a brown hat, oversized wool coat, plaid scarf, and cracked leather gloves, he looked like a modern-day Sherlock Holmes—if Holmes had been raised on trail mix and passive aggression.
It wasn’t exactly the start I’d planned for the appointment I’d spent weeks arranging.
He’d already tried to cancel twice—the latest excuse being the storm—but I’d sold him with a carefully crafted speech about how unpredictable southern weather could be, sweetened with an offer to buy lunch on the way back.
Sold. I would’ve thrown in breakfast the next day if that’s what it took.
There was no way I was missing that appointment.
The date had been set for months. Arrangements made. Checklists completed. I’d dotted every “I,” crossed every “T,” and stress-dreamed about it for at least a week. Nothing—not rain, not sleet, not black ice, and definitely not Theo—was going to derail it.
I forced Thorn out of my thoughts and focused on the road that was getting narrower by the minute.
Sprinkles had started to fall again, and if the darkening clouds were any indication, another deluge was about to hit.
Finally I turned into a long driveway next to the red sign I’d pounded into the ground two days earlier.
Massey Stables
I wrinkled my nose as Thorn judged my paint job. There was a splatter of mud in the corner, and the arches on the “M” weren’t perfectly parallel but I’d deal with that later.
My nerves started to build as we drove down the long gravel driveway that cut between two wide, treeless fields, green with budding grass. Two horses grazed in the distance, red plaid blankets strapped to their backs.
I’d picked those out myself.
I inhaled slowly, silently, reminding myself—again—to relax.
I knew my selling points.
I knew my audience.
Most importantly, I knew my numbers. My facts—my best friends.
That’s what made me different in my line of work. In a profession built around emotions, feelings, and ever-shifting grey areas, I broke things down into digestible pieces—facts and figures—and tackled them head-on. I wasn’t afraid to blend proven methods with new ideas.
Like I was doing now.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as the red carriage stable came into view, its fresh coat of paint gleaming beneath the overcast sky.
I’d fought for every inch of that transformation—right down to the new shutters, the tennis elbow I’d earned, and the stains I never quite got out of my jeans.
Pride warmed my chest as I rolled to a stop beneath the massive oak tree.
The stable was small—humble, a better word—but it did what we needed. For now. Someday, I hoped to add more stalls, a network of trails, maybe even a riding course if I could find the funds. In the corner of my mind, I pictured a therapy clinic right next door. My name on the sign.
But first, I had to get the ball rolling.
The brief bit of sunlight had vanished, replaced by a heavy grey haze stretching across the fields.
Theo’s gaze stayed locked on the stable.
Either he was waiting for a valet to open his door or he wanted to make sure I understood exactly how unenthusiastic he was about being here. I guessed the latter.
“Ready?” I said, injecting confidence into my voice as I pushed open my door. I didn’t wait for a response.
This was my show.
Briefcase in hand, attitude in my step, I rounded the hood—
And slipped.
Not a cute, dainty misstep. I mean full-blown, limbs-flailing, air-grabbing, sack-of-potatoes kind of fall. Straight onto my ass and into a fresh pile of horse manure.
My briefcase flew from my hand, arced through the air, and landed squarely—upright—on the hood of the car. Right in front of Theo’s face, gawking behind the windshield.
Teeth gritted, I scrambled to my feet and swiped at the muck streaked across my brand-new charcoal Von Furstenberg power suit. The one I’d bought specifically for this meeting. The one that had devoured half my spring wardrobe budget.
I snatched the briefcase off the hood just as Theo’s door slammed shut behind him. He was grinning.
Of course he was.