“It’s, uh—quiet.”
Brooks smirks. “What the heck even is thisquietyou speak of?”
I snort. “Trust me, it’s not all it’s glammed up to be.”
Brooks nods. “I think you’re right. I’m certain that, after a while, I’d be lost within it myself. I’d miss my family too much. Thankfully, it’ll be a while before Tallulah moves out, and even then, I’ll still have my husband. And I don’t say that to rub that in at all, so don’t think that. Having a partner is just the truth of my existence, though, and I wish it were your truth as well. I know with all your other history with Trista-Lynn, it can be hard to think about romantic relationships… but, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask, have you given any thought to your love life?”
I shake my head. “You and I both know I’m too broken for that.”
“You’re not,” he disagrees. “Before we stopped working together, we had set a goal for you to work on being open to partnership again. We talked about starting with body image and being comfortable in your own skin first, before tackling emotional intimacy. We agreed on working on self-love first, remember?”
My molars grind again, anxiety starting to fizzle within me. “I don’t really want to talk about that.” Because I don’t. As far as he knows,Trista using me is theonlyreason I haven’t moved on in the intimacy department. I almost spilled everything to Evan the day of my panic attack at the barbeque—I should have, he deserved my truth—but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to relive that shame. I don’t want to now either.
Brooks leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know it’s awkward having this conversation in person—withme, even—but, Gordy, I still care about your well-being all the time. Pretend I’m anyone else besides Evan’s husband, someone totally unbiased. And, whoever my new identity is, picture me being on the other end of a computer screen, just for this exercise.”
I whoosh out a steadying breath, trying to do as he asks.
“What stage are you currently at with trying to become comfortable with intimate physical touch?” he asks.
“Still just masturbation only.”
Brooks’ brows furrow. “You make it sound as if that’s a menial thing, and not a giant hurdle you’ve overcome…”
“Itistrivial,” I scoff. “What thirty-eight year old wants to admit that anything more than jerking off sends him into a panic attack?”
“You need to train your mind to see it differently, Gordy, because itisan accomplishment and a stepping stone to moving forward. The right person will understand,ifyou let them. I know your default is to guard yourself, and Icompletelyunderstand why, but you’ve got to trust that not everyone’s going to use you like Trista-Lynn did. There will be someone who can handle you with the care you deserve.”
Almost immediately, the doofus I woke up glued to the other night comes to mind. The one who protectively held me in his arms, no doubt having come in to stop me hurting myself during one of my terrors, and who, even in his half-conscious state, rubbed my back until I drifted back off again. Gannett, who has literally begged meto offer him mere crumbs of my past hurt, and yet who I haven’t been able to trust it with, even though I know, in my soul, he wouldn’t hurt a goddamn fly.
I mean, the man has been coddling aseagull, for Christ’s sake.
“Outside of that, as far as connections go, would you be willing to try working on fostering friendships first?” Brooks asks, drawing me back. “I feel like that’s a solid stepping stone. Something gradual.”
“Who the fuck would want to be my friend, after what I did to Evan?”
Brooks looks me dead in the eyes. “Me. Evan too, believe it or not. Regulars at the pub you’ve gotten to know. Surely there must be people at the gym. Trust me, the only one holding this eternal grudge against youisyou. Start letting people in. If they define you by a mistake you made in your past, then they aren’t worth your time. Let them see who youcanbe now.”
I offer him a placating, “I can try,” but I know I really won’t. I’m just… tired. Tired of putting in the work to no avail; I only ever feel like shit. Tired of trying when all I’m met with are setbacks and regressions, over and over again.
Brooks must believe me, though. He offers me a small smile. “That’s all wecando. Listen, I don’t want to seem like I am passing the buck here, but I really do think that you should continue to see someone for treatment. Maybe even arealdoc, like a psychologist, who can prescribe medications in conjunction with the therapy. You told me before there were some meds that had helped you in the past. I can recommend someone, if you’d like. Not saying that I won’t be just a text or phone call away either, but, I don’t know, I think it might be beneficial to see me as a real person in your life, and not a clinician. Heck, our kids are dating—how weird is that?”
“Very.”
“If things pan out for them, we’re going to be a part of each other’s lives for the long haul. I just want to see you get better, Gordy. I always have, whether it was professionally or personally.”
“I know.”
“We’re having a second Christmas gathering over at Wagner and Vickie’s the day after tomorrow. Gannett’s girls will be back. There’s an open invite, if you feel up to it.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Brooks stands and starts heading for the door. Before he leaves, he turns back. “Merry Christm—oh my gosh! Gordy! You have a seagull in your house!” he yelps.
I turn around to find Gannett’s trash chicken hanging out on my kitchen island. All I can do is shake my head and sigh. “I do. That fucker barged right into my life, and I can’t seem to get rid of him.”
Not unlike his handler.
“Gordy?” Evan tilts his head, greeting me at the door of his parents’ place two days later. “Surprised you showed up,” he notes, but not in the bitter way he used to address me in years past.
