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Heather ignores me and addresses my woman. “Jo, how would you feel about one of my student residents taking over your counseling? This person isn’t required to enter notes in our system since he’s technically not a member of our staff. You’d be helping him out with his required hours of service, and you would be continuing your treatment. I would update him with my notes and set him free. I won’t require him to update me on your progress—I’ll sign off on it, putting your privacy first.”
Well, I’ll be damn. That’s not a half-bad idea.
I look at Josephine. “What do you think about that?” I’m not pushing her either way. Josephine is the one who needs to feel comfortable with this.
Josephine’s brows pull together. “You and all other staff would be left out of it?”
Heather nods. “Yes. Students are required to complete several hours of service to meet their major or doctoral requirements. I’ll give your case to him with the stipulation that you’ll not be included in any of his dissertations.”
Josephine bites her bottom lip. She looks uncomfortable, and it’s clear she’ll not be making any decision on the spot.
“Give her a couple of days to decide,” I offer.
Heather nods. “Of course. We can readdress it at our next session—” Heather doesn’t get to finish what she’s saying before Josephine launches out of my arms and bounds for the door. She heard ‘next session’ and took it as her cue to hightail it out of there. I have to sprint after her.
I finally catch up to her in the parking lot. “Pixie,” I say, taking her by the elbow to stop her.
She yanks herself free of my hold, her body language telling me to give her space.
I hate not being able to comfort her when she’s upset like this. I thought I behaved well back in Heather’s office and did my best not to pressure her. “Baby, what is it? What did I do?”
She sucks in a big breath, her bottom lip quivering. “It’s nothing you did. I’m just emotional and I can’t fucking talk about it without fear of having someone using it against me. I don’t want to talk to anyone else, student or other, about what I went through—I can’t risk being compromised again. I know my limits and I simply can’t afford to chance my sanity. I don’t want to start all over with a new counselor. I don’t want to give J—Jacob a second thought. It’s not fair. He’s dead. Why do I still have to suffer?”
“Oh, Pixie.” I pull her in and press my lips to her forehead. I wish I knew what the right thing to say to her was. I also wish I could kill Jacob all over again for putting my woman through this hell. I decide words aren’t going to do shit right now to make her feel better. I rock her in my arms instead.
“I want to feel safe and in control again. I want to alleviate my rattled emotions,” she mumbles, repeating what she said to me after we caught Peeping Tom.
I feel hopeless.
More than anything, I want to hold her and kiss her fears away, but it’s not realistic. This isn’t a fantasy—it’s cold reality, and sometimes shit can’t be fixed with comforting words and cuddles. Sometimes you need something solid to hold onto, to ground you, and give you reassurance.
A notion pops in my head that may help her feel all the things she needs.
Well, fuck me sideways, that’s a brilliant idea, Maceo! Why haven’t I thought of this before?
“What time do you need to be at Lloyd’s build?”
Josephine collects herself and looks at her watch. “I’ve got an hour before Jared will be hounding me.”
An hour is plenty of time for what I have in mind.
* * *
We’re back at the headquarters, outside behind the mechanics’ shop. There’s nothing but acres of brush, wild grass, trees, and the Rockies surrounding us. I’m about ten feet away from Josephine, balancing bottles on a fallen log. I hike back through the tall grass to stand beside her.
She looks less than thrilled and adorable as fuck wearing the oversized ear protection muffs.
I pull her muffs back to talk to her since she doesn’t need them yet. “Don’t give me that look, baby. This will be good for you, I promise.”
Josephine looks unconvinced. “Exactly how is this helping me?”
“It helps in a number of ways. First, it’s stress relief—you get to take out your anger and aggression on something without hurting yourself or others. I know you run to relieve stress, but sometimes, babe, you need to bust shit up. You can pretend each one of those bottles is someone you want to feel your wrath. Jacob, Lorenzo, Esteban—hell, Pixie, you can pretend one of those bottles is me when I piss you off enough. You can lose your shit and it’s okay. And I know sometimes you like to angry-fuck me to relieve quick tension, but when I’m not available, this will be a good substitute.
“Second, you will learn how to defend yourself with a gun. You should probably learn how to handle one anyways since they’re all over headquarters—secured and locked up, or on our persons—but if you come across a gun, I want you to be able to safely check to see if it’s loaded and how to unload it. Learning how to use one will put you in a defensible position that you wouldn’t have if you don’t learn.
“And third, it’s fun as fuck,” I say with a wink.
Removing my Glock from my conceal carry holster, I hold it out for Josephine to see. It’s small and lightweight, making it ideal for a first-time petite user like Josephine, and it doesn’t have the kick-back like some handguns.
