Page 72 of Anything But Lonely

He’s been in therapy for years now.

It’s never been something our family talked about much, but it’s also never been something they were ashamed of.

Rumi and Ava are also huge advocates for therapy—both regularly meeting with theirs on a weekly basis for most of their adult lives—and when Ava’s therapist recommended Dr. Hannah, Ava told Jack she thought I needed someone who wouldn’t push me into a version of healing I wasn’t ready for.

Someone who wouldn’t be a middle-aged man asking me to close my eyes and visualize my grief or some other bullshit that would make me shut down before I ever started.

So Ava gave the information to Jack.

And Jack waited until I was ready.

My phone rings the second I close the driver’s side door to my car, before I even have a chance to start the engine.

“What do you want from Hey Honey’s? Anderson’s going to run over there for us,” Ava asks in greeting.

“Hello to you too, babe,” I retort, smiling as I crank the heat up in my car, pulling out of my parking spot to start heading home.

“Iced Americano it is,” she replies, and I roll my eyes. She knows she doesn’t need to ask because my order is always the same—yet there’s something endearing about the way she does it anyway.

“Rumi is running a little late,” Ava goes on to explain. “Apparently Evee got into some of that new fingerpaint you got her.”

“Of course she did,” I laugh, picturing my niece covered in all the colors of the rainbow with a huge grin on her face.

After Jack practically picked me up off his office floor, he spent the rest of the day with me, making sure I got dinner, drank water, and didn't retreat back into my room the second he looked away. He didn't push me to talk more than I was ready to, and he didn't pretend like one breakdown meant everything was magically fixed.

He just stayed.

Rumi and Ava came by later that night with at least five different pints of ice cream and a group hug that lasted longer than any of us would normally allow.

We ate our weight in ice cream and watched the first three Twilight movies.

We didn’t have to talk—aside from mouthing the lines for almost the entirety of all three films—and for once, I let people take care of me.

I let myself sink into the feeling of actually being okay—not just pretending.

And it felt really fucking good.

The days have looked pretty similar since then—swapping whose house we spend time at, finishing up the random leftovers from the holidays, and finishing the movie marathon we started. On New Year’s Eve, we somehow perfectly timed it so midnight struck the moment Aro reveals he has Carlisle’s head in his hand.

“I only have about an hour, though. I’m meeting Jack back at the station to help finish unpacking his office.” And meet Mateo and Crew, but I keep that part to myself for now.

Jack knows they’re coming since I was with him when I got Crew’s phone call, and he said he wouldn’t mind the help since we didn’t get much unpacking done that day.

But he won’t push me on whatever is happening between me and Mateo like Ava and Rumi will. They mean well, just like I did when I gave both of them a hard time during their respective relationships with their now-partners, but I’m just not ready for it.

Especially since the last time I saw Mateo, I almost walked right into his moving car, and then he flipped the fuck out on me.

Rightfully so, I hate to admit.

I should’ve been watching where I was going.

He was so angry—but it didn’t feel like it was at me. More like it was for me.

And that’s confusing, to say the least.

“That should be fine. Georgie will be home by then anyway.”

“Oh, where is she?”