Page 58 of Graciously His

“Are you all right?”

“Oh,” I force a smile, “yes, sorry. Just woolgathering.”

“I’m sure you’ve had more than enough to process these last few days.”

I twist my fingers in my lap. “You said you compared my story with the medical files. I’m a little afraid to ask what you found.”

“Before we get to that, I want to let you know that I’m here across capacities, Grace. If you need additional support, I have colleagues who will be more than willing to fit you in at short notice. In fact, it’s my preference that we make an appointment with a holistic trauma therapist at the end of this session.”

I let out a breath, trying to keep myself steady. “I don’t know. I’ve had so many appointments my whole life, and—and you’re here and that’s great but, I don’t know how much time I want to spend dealing with all this.”

“Not a problem,” she answers, “but the therapists I work with would meet you where you’re at. If you don’t want to discuss details, they won’t push you. If you’d prefer an approach through artistic expression,” she nods at my bullet journal, “or even through meditation, they could do that instead. Getting psychological help doesn’t have to be about sitting inside your trauma, reliving your worst events.”

I nod, considering carefully. “Art might be good, at some point.”

She scratches in her notebook. “Excellent. Now, I'd like to share my findings with you, if you’re feeling ready, Grace?”

I nod.

And Eileen tells me—

Everything.

Chapter 23

Nate

Ispend most of Grace’s appointment on the phone with Dare. Everything is fine with the app—disaster is averted, membership is rebounding, and no lasting damage has been done. But I’m fucking fuming.

She kicked me out.

And there was nothing I could do about it in front of Eileen, nothing I could say to assert my right to sit in. The first time my wife had the option to make me leave, she took it. It throws all the progress we’ve made into question.

I grumble at Dare on the phone, finding shit to snarl about. Specifically, why he hasn’t gotten me his cousin’s contact details.

“You need to fuck off now, boss,” he says, interrupting me in the middle of reiterating my demand.

“Excuse me, you little shit?” The phone is perched on my desk while I get a few squats in, a 25KG dumbbell in each hand.

“You’ve been shitting down my throat all day. There’s no way I’m letting you talk to my cousin when you’re like this. He’d probably cry.”

“Fuck him then.” A pause, and I realise I’m being too much of a dick for even my employee—and friend—to handle. I put down the dumbbells. “Sorry, man. I just… I’ll fuck off.”

“Your head’s out of order, boss. Take time off. Calm that shit down.”

I rub my face, tension mounting in my shoulders now that I’ve put the weights down.

“You can’t fill in for both Nick and me indefinitely. Let me talk to your cousin, Dare. I promise I’ll be nice. You deserve at least a bit of free time.”

“Nah, I’d just game my brains out and spend all my money on ‘90s collectibles.”

That gets a rusty laugh out of me, and I realise my fury is spent. “All right, man. Go ahead and hire your cousin for me, yeah? I’ll take some time and get my head in order. We’ll do a morning check-in each day this week, and that’s it.”

“That’s it,” Dare reiterates, the ever-clicking sound of his keyboard pausing. “I’m so proud of you, Nathaniel. You’re actually accepting help.”

“Oh, fuck off, Derek.”

“Fucking off, boss.”