14. Billie #2
"I can't be his therapist anymore." The words came out in a rush.
"I thought I could handle it, thought I could maintain professional boundaries and help him heal and keep my feelings out of it, but I can't. Every time I touch him during therapy, every time I see him making progress or struggling with setbacks, I'm not thinking like a clinician. I'm thinking like..."
"Like someone who cares about him in ways that go beyond professional interest."
"Like someone who's falling in love with him all over again," I said quietly. "And that's not fair to him. He needs a therapist who can focus on his recovery, not someone who's fighting the urge to hold him every time he's in pain."
Xander leaned back in his chair, studying my face with the kind of attention that made me feel like he was seeing more than I was showing. "Can I ask you something, and will you give me an honest answer?"
I nodded.
"Do you think your feelings are compromising the quality of care you're giving him? Are you making treatment decisions based on what's best for him as a patient, or what feels emotionally satisfying for you as someone who cares about him?"
The question hit like a physical blow because I'd been asking myself the same thing all night. Yet, even now I still wasn't sure about the answer.
"I don't know. I want to believe I'm still being professional, but yesterday when I saw he'd set back his recovery doing that demolition work, my first instinct wasn't to evaluate the damage clinically.
It was to want to take care of him. To make sure he wasn't pushing himself too hard because he felt like he had something to prove. "
"And that's a problem because...?"
"Because that's not clinical thinking. That's personal. That's what someone who loves him would think, not what his physical therapist should be focused on."
Xander was quiet for a moment, turning his coffee cup in his hands with the same deliberate precision Aunt Helen had used earlier. The similarity made me wonder if wisdom always came with careful pauses and measured consideration.
"You know, when I was struggling with my addiction," he said finally, "the thing that helped me most wasn't clinical detachment from the people trying to help me. It was knowing they cared about me as a person, not just as a case to be managed."
"That's different."
"Is it? Or are you so afraid of your feelings that you're convinced they automatically make you a worse therapist instead of possibly making you a better one?"
I stared at him, recognizing the echo of both Helen's words and my own fears. "Are you seriously suggesting I should keep treating him when I'm emotionally compromised?"
"No. I'm suggesting that maybe the fact that you're questioning yourself, that you're prioritizing his wellbeing over your comfort, that you're willing to step back when you think it's best for him—maybe that makes you exactly the kind of person he needs in his corner.
" He paused, meeting my eyes directly. "But if you can't separate your clinical judgment from your personal feelings, then you're right.
Someone else should handle his physical therapy. "
The relief that washed through me at hearing him say it was almost overwhelming. "I've already thought about that. Laura Straits is looking for additional hours. She's got excellent credentials, specializes in trauma recovery. She could take over his care."
"When?"
"I'd give him two weeks' notice. Transition meetings with Laura, make sure there's continuity of care. She could start July fifteenth."
Xander nodded slowly. "And after that?"
"After that, I'm going to be his friend." The words felt both true and incomplete, but they were safer than admitting what I really wanted. "He needs someone he can trust, someone who's not trying to fix him or heal him or push him toward anything he's not ready for. He needs his friend back."
"Just his friend?"
I hesitated, caught between honesty and self-preservation.
"Being more than that is too dangerous right now.
For both of us. What we had when we were kids was beautiful, but we were different people then.
Right now, Gage needs stability and support more than he needs someone with complicated romantic feelings making his recovery more difficult. "
Xander leaned back in his chair, studying my face with the kind of attention that made me feel like he was seeing more than I was showing. "And what do you need?"
"I need to know that I can be around him without compromising my professional judgment. I need to know that transferring his care is about doing what's best for him, not about running away from my feelings."
"Are you running away?"
"I'm being practical. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you're making decisions based on fear instead of what you actually want."
The observation stung because it echoed what Helen had said earlier, what I'd been trying not to acknowledge all morning. "Maybe fear is appropriate here. Maybe some risks aren't worth taking."
"And maybe some risks are the only way to find out what's possible.
" Xander stood and moved to the window, looking out at the mountains that surrounded our small town.
"But you're right about one thing, transferring his care is the professional thing to do.
Laura's excellent, and she'll give him the objective treatment he deserves. "
"Thank you for understanding."
"I understand that you're protecting yourself. I just hope you're not protecting yourself right out of something that could be worth fighting for."
He turned back to face me, his expression gentle but serious.
"For what it's worth, I've watched my brother these past weeks.
The way he talks about you, the way he's working harder on his recovery because he wants to prove he's worth the effort you're putting in.
That's not the behavior of someone who just wants professional help. "
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that maybe friendship is a good place to start. But don't be surprised if it doesn't stay that simple for very long."