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Fuck.
God, why does he have to be my therapist? Why did I have to see the other side of him? Why does he have to take my breath away?
Fuck. I’m screwed.
Yeah, no way can I tell Sydney anything.
MONDAY COMES before I know it.
Then Tuesday.
By the time Wednesday arrives, I’m ready for the week to be over. The clock on my desk says its only three p.m. Two more days to go.
The phone rings on my desk and the light for my line rings. “The Stone Agency. This is Eve.”
“Eve, it’s Michael.”
“Hi, Michael. How can I help you?”
“When you have a free minute, can you come to my office?”
“Yes, of course. No problem.”
What could he want to talk to me about? Maybe he’s noticed my lack of work, or maybe a client complained. Maybe he’s noticed my attacks? My heart pounds and my hands shake at my sides as I approach his door.
When I walk into his office, he motions for me to close the door and take a seat. If my heart rams against my ribs any harder, it might pop out of my chest. He looks tired as he continues to study me for a few more minutes before he exhales.
“How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“I’ve been meaning to check on you. Richard would have wanted me to.” I recognize the remorse in his voice.
My lips part slightly. “There is no obligation, Michael. It’s okay.”
“I’m not sure you know this, but Richard and I were really close. I started working for him straight out of college. Your father had just passed.” He bowed his head before looking back up. “He was hurting. He had lost his best friend. I understood his loss. I had lost my older brother to drugs. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I know how close you and Richard were. I know how much he loved you. You were for all intents and purposes his daughter, and if there is anything you ever need, I’m here for you. I’ll never be Richard. I wouldn’t try to fill his shoes. But I can be your friend when and if you need one. I would consider it a great honor to be a part of your life.”
“Thank you, Michael. I’d like that.” His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle, aging him.
We sit in silence for a moment and then he coughs, clearing his throat. “Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, but the lawyers are coming at the end of next week to go through the paperwork in regards to the company. Can you mark it on your calendar?”
“Okay. Sure. No problem.”
“Great, well, I’m sure you have much work to catch up on, so I’ll speak to you later.”
If he only knew how much . . .
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
EVE
PACING BACK and forth in my room, I’m debating whether I should pour myself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t. My drinking only puts a Band Aid on the issue . . . my damn nightmares. I’m just so goddamn scared to close my eyes without its security.
My anxiety feels like an all-encompassing disease.
It coils inside me like a venomous serpent.
Its bitterness slowly infects me.
Until one day it takes over everything.
My hands start to sweat. My muscles start to tighten. Pure panic fills me fast. It feels as if every last breath has been extracted from my lungs. I grab at my arm, pressing my index finger to the pulse in my wrist. It beats erratically. Pain radiates down my left arm as all the muscles tense, and tears pour down my face. I grab my phone and call the number on Dr. Montgomery’s card.
Ring. Inhale.
Ring. Exhale.
Rin—
“Hello?”
My body stiffens at the sound of his voice. I didn’t expect him to answer, and now that he has I don’t know what to say.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
“Dr. Montgomery?”
“Eve, is that you?”
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think you would answer.”
“You’re not bothering me.”
I let out a chocked sob.
“Shh, you’re okay. Shh,” he coos in the phone. “Take a deep breath in. Now exhale. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m scared,” I whimper.
“What are you scared of?”
“Everything.”
“I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? Can you tell me what set you off tonight?”
“I’m afraid to fall asleep.” It sounds so ridiculous, even to my own ears. But the fear is real.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I’m sure you’re busy. I’m okay now.” I evade his question. Calling him was a mistake.
“Eve.” His voice is authoritative. “Please, speak to me.”
I can’t help but concede. “I have nightmares.” Once I purge the words I purposely withheld for so long, it feels as if a small weight that I carry in my heart is lifted.
“What are they about?” I let out an audible sigh.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t remember your nightmares when you wake?”
“Not really.”
&nb
sp; “Is there anything at all that sticks out?”
“The smell of blood.”
I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing through the line. “Do you want to meet me?”
“Meet you?” I look at the clock. It’s after nine pm.
“Yes, come to the diner.” He’s not asking me to meet him, he’s telling me, and something inside me stirs. The idea of seeing Dr. Montgomery again outside the office has my pulse racing, jumping out of my bed and searching for clothes.
“Okay, give me thirty minutes,” I reply
“See you then.” He hangs up, leaving me in a ball of nerves.
Shit.
I throw on a cute pair of leggings, an oversized button down, and my boots. Then I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, fix my hair and put on a light dusting of makeup. I want to appear as if I just rolled out of bed, not that I’m “trying.” Even though I am. I should probably find a new doctor, one who doesn’t have me running around like a crazy woman trying to look pretty for. But I can’t make myself do that. When I’m with him, I feel normal. I probably shouldn’t since I talk to him about my deep secrets and neuroses, but I do.
Grabbing my pea coat, I make my way to the elevator and then down to the lobby and into the frigid air. It’s a cold blast that has my teeth chattering as I walk to the corner of Thirty-Fifth and Third, but luck is on my side as it only takes me a few minutes to get there. Not seeing him, I step farther into the room and go to wait by the wall. After a few seconds, I sense a familiar presence beside me, and my heart hammers in my chest.
“Eve.” Slowly, I turn my face up and I meet shimmering blue eyes.
“Oh, hi. Have you been here long?” I ask.
“No. Just got here. Ready to sit?” I nod and the hostess leads us to an empty table in the corner. After we sit, Dr. Montgomery cocks his head to the side. Surveying.
“You okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares?” I was right. Before, he was hurt. Now, sitting across from him, it plays clearly over his features. His brows are knit, his teeth are biting his lower lip, but really it’s the eyes that give him away. They look hollow, sad, and concerned.
