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BOOKER
“So, you’ve mentioned you were in the military. I assume you saw combat?”
I stare at the woman sitting across from us, her accent thicker than Genevieve’s but easy enough to understand. The first moment I walked in with my own accent, her face brightened, as most do. Genevieve is sitting at my side, quiet and supportive.
Couple’s therapy.
If not for the actual help this is getting me, I’d have laughed. I certainly never thought I’d be in a room like this, talking about my feelings. We’re mostly here for me, but Genevieve asked to be a part of it so she could help when my attacks came. I appreciate her care, but it doesn’t make sitting here and talking to a stranger any easier.
“I did.” My blunt, clipped words portray everything I’m not saying.
“You’ve never been to therapy before?” she asks softly, her tone understanding, welcoming even.
I frown. “They tried to make me, after I served…” Shrugging, I focus on the feel of Genevieve’s hand in mine. “I lied and said I was fine, but I couldn’t deal with it then. I’m still not sure I can now.”
The therapist’s eyes are saddened by my admission, but her professionalism keeps her from saying anything else. I could have gone to therapy years ago but choose not to, then it was too late. Now, Genevieve simply made a call and we’d gotten in. Though that could be because of who Genevieve is. This office certainly screams money.
“Tell me about your relationship,” the therapist says. “Have you had any troubles?”
Genevieve grins. “Nothing too active right now. Mostly, I just want to help Booker as much as I’m able to.”
I nod. “The others have tiptoed around the situation, and while it helps, a lot of the time it just makes me…embarrassed for the way I react to little things.”
“The others?” the therapist asks, looking between us, her eyes sharp.
Realising my mistake, I clamp my lips shut. We’d come into this deciding not to mention how our family works, in case of backlash or judgement, but there doesn’t seem to be anything but curiosity on her face.
Genevieve meets my eyes and then looks back to the older woman. “Our relationship is kind of…unique.”
The therapist’s eyes brighten. “Poly?”
“Sort of,” she says slowly. “But…it’s more like they are all focused on me.”
The therapist smiles gently. “There’s nothing wrong with that. There are places where it’s common practice. When I volunteered for mission trips, I was in a village in Africa where women took multiple husbands. They seemed very happy with the arrangement. I assume yours is much the same.”
The slight blush on Genevieve’s face makes me want to lean in and kiss her. I just barely stop myself. “I have no complaints,” Genevieve answers, glancing at me as if she can sense what I’m thinking.
“Good.” The therapist flips through her notebook in front of her, closing it. “Now, you came in for couple’s therapy, and honestly, your relationship seems strong to me. As far as coping mechanisms, Genevieve, you’re doing great. Just keep being supportive and open, and that’s such a large step in itself, you’ll see a difference. I’m sure you already have.” Her eyes flick to me. “Booker, if you’re open to it, we can do one-on-one sessions to help with the PTSD. I don’t see you as a viable option for medication, but I think therapy once a week will help you greatly. Mainly, we can just discuss what’s happening, relapses, triggers, and find ways to combat them and live with them in a way where they don’t disrupt your life.”
I glance at Genevieve and see the support there. No matter what, I know she’ll be happy with me, that she’ll be here to help me through this. Therapy has been a long time coming, and once, I thought myself too manly to do something like this, but Genevieve has changed everything. She doesn’t judge me, just as Archer, Gage, and Eric don’t. She doesn’t demand things of me I can’t provide. She’ll never disappear on me or belittle me for my PTSD. She’s here for good and bad, in sickness and health.
Fuck, I’d like to marry this woman, but there are four of us. It isn’t exactly legal. But perhaps, one day, we’ll dress her in a dress—not white, because Genevieve deserves better—and we’ll hold our own ceremony among us, just for our little family, because that is all that matters.
She’s already mine, ours in our hearts, but a ring couldn’t hurt.
Or maybe four.
“That sounds good, Doc,” I say. “Better late than never, huh?”
“Indeed,” the therapist says, smiling at us. “Looks like you completed your first session. I have to say, of all the couples that have come in, you two are definitely on the healthier side. I look forward to meeting with you more, Booker.” She stands but pauses. “How did you two meet again?”
Genevieve grins. “Well, it’s a funny story. They practically stole me.”
The therapist melts. “Aw, like they stole your heart?”
Genevieve laughs and stands, keeping her hand in mine. Her eyes find mine, and there’s so much reflected there—happiness, contentment, and a glow I’ve never seen in a woman. She’s a woman so fully in love, there’s no going back. We’re all in it for the long haul, forever, and nothing is ever going to stand in the way of that again. She winks, a private joke. The thought staggers me for a moment as my heart slams, knowing there will never be another for me. She’s it. Forever. I never walked into her penthouse expecting to have my world turned upside down, but here we are, and I cannot thank the fucking stars enough for us being there that night. For finding her.
For her falling in love with us the way we all did with her the first moment we laid eyes on her.
“Something like that,” Genevieve answers with a grin. “Something just like that.”
Fuck it. I tug her in and kiss her, swallowing her moan.
With that kiss, I tell her how much I love her, how completely and utterly hers I am.
