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One
Langston
“Mr. Clark, now that you’ve reunited with the one who got away, can you give our viewers an idea of what you two plan to do for your honeymoon?”
Fredrick’s eyes shifted to the reporter, who shoved the microphone in his face. He squinted, his gaze stern. “What is your name?”
“Morgan Kelly with Fox Fifty-One.”
“Ms. Kelly, when I announced my engagement, I made the mistake of offending someone I loved, cherished, and adored for thirteen years of my life. It was a lack of respect on my part, so I’d like you and your viewers to know my current fiancée is not the only woman I’ve loved.”
He looked into the camera. “Cynthia Clark was my first love. My sons, Derek, Malik, Tristan, and Langston, are my second loves.”
He smiled at the reporter. “So, when you ask about my current fiancée, make sure you understand that first, hmm? And to answer your question, no—we don’t plan to give you any insight into our honeymoon. But be on the lookout for an announcement about the new Radius XTR sports car coming this summer!” He winked and slid into the backseat of a black SUV.
The smiling reporter turned to face the camera. “Well, you heard it, folks! That’s a change in tune from the proposal we all witnessed a few months ago. And it looks like his announcement about new models from Radius will be as much as we’re getting from billionaire Fredrick Clark.”
* * *
Langston’s eyeswere glued to the television as he watched his father’s driver pull away from the reporters. In the reception area of Jones Therapy Center, he stood with his hands inside his suit pants pocket. A bell rang, and the receptionist reentered the room with a smile. She was tall and Italian with black mascara from an eighties movie, thickened and aged.
“Mr. Jones will see you now.”
He followed her down a narrow hallway adorned with various accolades and degrees hanging on the wall. They stopped before a wooden door, and the receptionist knocked softly before opening it.
“Mr. Clark is here to see you,” she announced before leaving him alone in the office with Malcolm Jones LMHC.
He sat in front of the desk, noticing the dim lighting and the scent of lavender in the air. Mr. Jones leaned back in his chair with his fingers interlocked and his eyes perusing Langston. He spoke softly. “How are you today, Langston?”
“I’ve been better.”
“What’s bothering you?”
Langston cleared his throat and inhaled as his gaze drifted over the decor.
Mr. Jones’ office was a combination of a garden and a library. Potted plants resembled something between a palm tree and a cactus. The greenery was spaced out, placed in each corner of the room, and a replica of Michelangelo’s statue of David stood in the middle. It was surrounded by large textbooks on psychology and philosophy. The layout was pristine, with a few knickknacks and souvenirs from his worldwide travels. The only pictures on the wall were of a family with a smiling man, a woman, and a teenaged boy.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping at night. I’ve tried everything from sedatives to meditation, but nothing seems to work. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“How long have you been having this problem?”
Langston inhaled a deep breath, and his eyes shifted back to the window. “A few weeks.”
“Are the methods we spoke about before no longer helping?”
“No.”
“Is your mind shut down when you try to sleep?”
“No.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Everything and nothing.”
“Be more specific, please.”
“Sometimes I’m thinking over my day. Others, I think about….” He paused.
