“Why the hell are you going there and not Sharks?”
“Full. Can’t get in,” I mutter as I hobble toward the door.
“Christian’s best friend works there. I can get you in.”
I turn to face her, giving her aseriously?look. “Your husband hates me. He will not help me get in there.”
“He will because I tell him to. I’ll call you later.”
My mind wanders back to “Daddy Issues.”To the reason I’m broken in the first place. I shove the thought down into my stomach as I hobble to the door. Lucy slides her hand in mine.
“I’ll see you lovely ladies later,” I say as I wave goodbye.
Britt gives me a knowing smile.
“Have a good time at therapy,” she says as she shuts the door.
Who the hell has a good time at therapy?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jordan
Maggie hasn’t talked to me all weekend. No surprise there, considering I missed our anniversary dinner. Yep, I’m an asshole. I wish I cared enough to do something about it. I’m not sure if her not texting me means we’re no longer together. I’m also not sure why I don’t care.
Maybe because I know she should be with someone else—someone who treats her right. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with her—rather, what she’s doing with me. I don’t deserve her, that’s for sure. She comes from a good family. She’s smart, beautiful, and driven.
I’m just here, taking up space, miserable and looking for something I’ll never find in this lifetime.
What I wanted left me a long time ago, and maybe it’s my fault for not holding onto it better, but there’s not much I can do about it now.
I think back to when I last saw him, just last week in the bar.
All the wind was knocked out of me when I spotted him, and every part of my body wanted to go to him and tell him how sorry I was for not doing better, but that isn’t even close to what came out of my mouth. I guess I don’t deserve him, either. He’s doing great for himself, that’s obvious, and I’m just here, trying to survive and living my life the way I was always taught I should. The only way I know how, I guess. In misery. It’s what I saw growing up and haven’t known any different.
The drive to work this morning is shitty. I woke up in a bad mood, and hopefully that’ll change before I show up at work. The last thing my clients need is someone miserable to help them get better. They can use all the positivity they can get.
Once I get into the city, I go through a drive-thru to grab a giant iced coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a donut—my guilty pleasure. I shouldn’t eat them because they go right to my gut, but I’ll work a little harder at the gym for it. Maybe even do an extra day. Typically, I go five times a week, but when I eat like shit, I go more.
The food is gone by the time I get to the rehab and my coffee is half empty. I should have gotten two—it feels like it’s going to be a veryMondayMonday.
I get out of the truck and head inside, finishing my coffee before I make it to my room. I flip the lights on,then head over to my desk. My keys go in the top drawer on the right, and my cell gets dropped on top.
I’m typically here early, and the others will trickle in shortly. Most of us start at nine, but a few come in later to stay later, this way it gives clients the opportunity for later appointments, if they need it.
My days are packed full, client after client, and I’ve memorized my schedule at this point. I work with a good portion of my clients for months, and so I get to know them well. What I do need to check, and that’s only to be thorough, are the notes from their last visit and to see if their plan needs to be updated or if we should keep on the track we’re going.
There’s a knock on my door, which has me looking up.
“Morning, Brett,” I say, putting down the iPad just as the screen loads.
“Hey, Jordan. I need a favor.”
I smirk. “Didn’t I just do you a favor last week?”
Smiling, he walks into the room with his hands in his khaki pockets. He’s the manager and has been working here a couple years longer than me. He’s big on fitness and I’m pretty sure when he isn’t working, he’s in the gym.
“I’ll owe you,” he says.
