I close my eyes and for the first time in a long time, I just let it all crash into me. All of it. Breaking up with Dex. Letting go of a job I loved. Losing a baby. I let it all crash through me, and Dex just wraps me in his arms and keeps me there until the sun rises and a new day begins.
Chapter 19
For the second time ever, I wake up in bed next to Dex. He’s running the back of his finger over my cheek, whispering my name. “Jane? Hey, it’s time to wake up.”
“No it isn’t,” I moan into my pillow. “It’s Sunday.”
“You promised to come with me somewhere today, remember?” he whispers, running his finger from the back of my ear down the column of my neck. God, that feels good. We should skip whatever thing he wants to do so he could just do this to me for the rest of the morning.
“Come on, sleepyhead.”
I squint open my eyes and look at my clock and hear the tweeting of a flock of birds just outside my window. “It’s seven in the morning. And what the fuck are those damn birds so excited about this early?” I drop my head back down and close my eyes.
His lips press against my shoulder. They skate across my skin along my collarbone and kiss at the scoop of my neck. “Come on, please wake up and do this with me?”
I sigh and pull my head up again, this time leaning it on my open palm. “First, stop kissing me. It’s confusing.”
He hangs his head and nods. “Okay,” he sighs. “And what’s second?”
“Where are you making me go at this godawful hour?” I ask.
“Nope. I’m not saying anything until we’re there,” he says, sitting up and climbing out of the bed.
I sit up behind him, watching his body move. Still loving the liquid, boneless way he moves for a guy his size. He’s still wearing his jeans and shirt. I’m still in his jersey. We slept an entire night together in the same bed and he didn’t try to touch me sexually once. My stomach flips at the thought of him not wanting me anymore. But isn’t that what I wanted? To get over him? To stop it all from hurting so much?
I don’t seem to be doing any better without him. And since he’s Match 1, I haven’t actually been without him, have I?
He gives me time and privacy to shower and change. We drink coffee leaning against the kitchen counter in silence until he reaches for my hand and says, “Whatever happens after this. It’s okay. I just want you to know that, okay?”
Damn, whatever he’s got planned doesn’t sound fun. I stare down at his outstretched hand.
“And that I’m doing it because I love you and I really loveus,” he says.
I slide my coffee mug onto the counter and grab onto his hand. “Okay,” I say, breathing in deep. “Let’s go see whatever it is you’re talking about.”
The fucking asshole takes me to a therapist.
I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at the name on the door. Kathleen Swanson. There’s a bunch of weird letters at the end of her name. Specializing in something called thanatology. I can’t even pronounce that word in my head. I whirl around on him and purse my lips together. “What’s going on?”
He grabs me softly by the shoulders and locks his gaze on mine. “Okay, hear me out. If you suddenly start peeing green fizzy urine, how long would it be before you’d call a doctor?”
“Ew,” I cringe. “I’d be in an emergency room immediately. What does that have to do with someone who specializes in—” I point to the word thanatology that’s etched in gold lettering on the door, “whatever this word is I don’t know?”
Dex’s hand reaches up from my shoulder and presses under my chin. His thumb brushing past my bottom lip. “You’re mentally pissing green fizzy stuff, Jane.”
I try to take a step back.I’m mentally pissing green fizzy stuff?
His eyes turn glassy, “You can’t patch up the hole inside you by never talking about it again,” he whispers.
I clear my throat and shake my head frantically, panic climbing up my throat. “I’m not…I’m not going in there. I’m not mentally unstable. I’m not—” Visions of all kinds of nightmare scenarios scramble through my head, everything from being locked in a padded room sporting the latest fashionable straightjacket to having all the feelings I confided to therapist being used as a front cover piece forUPCLOSE.I mean, isn’t going to therapy just handing a stranger way too much power over my brain? And honestly, the only example of a therapist I’ve ever actually watched was Dr. Hannibal Lecter from Silence of the Lambs. And who wants Hannibal Lecter inside their head? Not this girl. He’d eat my liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
I struggle to get away.
“Jane Valerie Nash. You lost a baby.” His voice cracks and breaks over each word, stopping me cold. “You were alone and scared and confused,” his fingertips grip my face tighter and a tear spills down his cheeks. “I’m not going to let you live the rest of your life drowning with this alone. Please, Jane. Come inside and let me help you deal with this grief.”
He reaches behind me and opens the office door. His hand is at my back, strong and determined. Warmth fills my chest and heats my cheeks and all I can do it cry.
I’m not going to let you live the rest of your life drowning with this alone. Come inside and let me help you deal with this grief.His words echo over and over in my head. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe my brain is tied into great big mental knots that are just clogging up my head like all those dozens of wires and cords that tangle up behind my television, dvd player, modem, and cable box.
