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There was no doubt that I was nervous, and having to wait in the shrink’s office by myself wasn’t helping. There was a large bay window that overlooked the parking lot and a sad, dwarf plum tree. There was a pile of books on a bookshelf that looked like most of the self-help section of Barnes and Noble, a couple of wingback chairs, and a couch.
Of course there was a couch.
The whole set up was obviously intended to make a patient feel calm, which made me really nervous. Frankly, I thought Yolanda might be right—ten years was a long time. What could yakking about this shit really do for me now?
Maybe she’d get me some good drugs.
No, she probably wouldn’t—recovering addict and all.
So what could she really do for me? Was I supposed to talk enough to cause a panic attack? If I talked enough and panicked enough, would I eventually run out of attacks? Could it kill me if I had too many?
What the fuck was a panic attack, anyway? And post-traumatic stress—what the fuck did any of that shit mean? I thought that was just for guys who served in wars overseas.
I looked out the window at the little tree and wondered if I could climb down it and get the fuck away before either the doctor or Damon figured out what I had done. I probably didn’t have time, but the window did look like it would open easily enough.
I touched the cool glass and then moved down to the brass handle.
“Nice ink,” a female voice said from behind me.
I turned around and looked into the pale blue eyes of Erin, the woman I met in the laundromat. It was the same chick who had—before I hooked up with Tria—followed me to Feet First. We had drinks. I dragged her back to the locker room for a quick fuck, but things didn’t exactly work out.
“Well, this is going to be a little awkward,” Erin said as she tossed her long, straight blonde hair over her shoulder.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled.
“I should have recognized your name,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry, I could have avoided this.”
“What do you mean, avoided it?”
“I can’t do this, Liam,” she said. “I can’t treat you. Though it wasn’t much, we do have a little…history. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I’ll have to call around and find someone else who can work with you.”
No. Shit no! I couldn’t let that happen. I’d barely made it this far.
Just getting to this office had been painful enough. If I had to start all over again—make another appointment, get to the building, go into the office—I’d never make it. It would delay everything, too. I had to get better as quickly as possible for Tria and…and the baby.
I couldn’t let her just brush me off, not for such a stupid fucking reason.
“If we’d fucked, I could see your point,” I said, “but we didn’t. As I recall, my dick didn’t work for you, so let’s just forget it and get going with this.”
“We can’t, Liam.”
“Why not?”
“I’m attracted to you,” she said bluntly.
“Well, I’m taken,” I replied. “So it doesn’t fucking matter.”
Erin sighed and leaned back in her chair. She shook her head slowly as she reached for the phone, but I wouldn’t let her blow me off that easily. I moved forward and placed my hand over the keypad of her desk phone before she could start dialing.
“Please?” I said. “The most wonderful woman in the world is pregnant. I’m a fucked-up junkie who can’t even think about her being that way without having a panic attack, and I don’t even know what the fuck a panic attack is. I need help. Please.”
Her lips tightened at the corners as she looked at me for a long moment.
“All right,” she said through her tight lips. “Three sessions. Let’s see how it works. If there is anything remotely awkward or unprofessional, you will transfer to another therapist. In the meantime, I will have Dr. Baynor locate one who fits your needs and is taking new patients, just in case.”
“Works for me,” I said.
“Then let’s begin.”
