Family law.My stomach twisted itself into a giant knot.
“I see.” I swallowed down the urge to throw up. Why was hurling always my default when I was upset? “You’re here because you’re Jeff’s attorney.”
Any goodwill I’d managed earlier dissipated. It was a cheap trick for that bastard husband of mine to hire someone from the hometown I’d fought so hard to forget. In the week since we split, I’d done little more than drown my sorrows in junk food and reality TV.
I’d wallowed. Meanwhile, Jeff already had a divorce lawyer with a fierce reputation and an emotional connection to me. No wonder he’d barely managed to send his estranged wife a few texts and calls but never come to find me. He was already planning his escape. As if he were the one who needed escaping.
“You can tell your client to go straight to hell, Ethan.” A dam of tears threatened to burst behind my eyes. Pressure built in my throat. “I hope that cheating pile of dirt finds vomit in every pair of shoes he touches.”
“Go straight to hell?” Ethan clasped his hand over his mouth, and his eyes grew about three sizes. He was looking at me like I had sprouts growing out of my ears. “Vomit in shoes, CC? What are you talking about?”
“Well, that's what I did when I caught him in bed with another woman. I hope he told you that part when he hired you, because it sure makes trying to squeeze the nothing I have left out of me even harder.” My voice was becoming more shrill by the word. I wanted to stand, to kick Ethan’s perfectly round ass out of my office, but I was rooted to the chair I’d slept in since I left my house.
My heart was pounding ten miles a minute against my chest. I pressed my lips together and bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep the world from swimming around me. If I didn’t get it together, I was headed toward a breakdown. What’s worse, I was gonna going to lose it in front of a put-together old friend.
What would I tell one of my patients right now to help them? My mind was blank. It had been so long since I’d treated a panic attack that I didn’t know the answer. I wasn’t a great therapist on the best of days,let alone under duress. My dust-filled, coffee-devoid office was a testament to that.
Aside from Ethan, I’d only seen one other person in the past week and that had led to disaster. A strange woman who rushed into my office for an unscheduled session. I’d fumbled my way through her bizarre issue, which left me with a throbbing headache impossible to ignore.
I’d gone home early, rather than manage the pain in my empty office.
That’s when I walked in on my husband having sex with his physical therapist.
“CC.” It took several minutes for me to register that Ethan was saying my name. I squinted at him, hoping to sharpen my focus. “CC, can you look at me? Can you take a deep breath?”
My throat was burning like I’d swallowed fire. All I wanted was to go back to my wallowing. Or to dive into the bag of emotional support M&M’s I kept in my top drawer. I fixed my eyes on him, attempting a very weak glare.
“What?”
“I’m not Jeff’s attorney. I’m not here because of him.” He reached across the desk, his large hands covering my fingers, which I’d been weaving in and out while my emotions spiraled. “I don’t even know who Jeff is, sweetie. If anything, I’m kind ofyourattorney now.”
Oh. His thumb stroked a path along my hand, and I let myself focus on it, willing my body to breathe again. The nausea in my belly was replaced by a warm flush of embarrassment that clawed its way up my neck and into my cheeks. After a very long moment of tense silence, I extracted my hands from his and pressed my palms tight against my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m not in the best of places right now.”
“Don’t sweat it, CC. I’ve been through a few divorces myself.”
“A few, huh?” I lowered my hands to look at him, relieved to find his joking smile waiting for me. He slid his thermos toward me, and I took it with a nod of thanks, drinking down the bulk of the contents until my belly jostled.
I wasn’t okay. Nowhere near it. Not only had I made a fool of myself, but I’d massively overshared. Plus, Ethan had said the d-word. Despite Jeff’s infidelity, I hadn’t reached that conclusion. I was at acomplete and total loss as to what to do next. I wasn’t thinking divorce. At least not yet.
I was headed to a bad place. And a hotter-than-hot local celebrity lawyer had a front row ticket to my downfall. Awesome.
Wait. What did he mean he wasmyattorney?
To hell with it. I opened my desk and dug into the candy bag.
“So, why are you here?” I shoveled the perfect chocolate morsels into my mouth and chewed. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you, but, you know, it’s been thirty years without so much as a social media ping.”
“That it has.” Ethan’s gaze lingered for a moment, then he hefted his briefcase onto his lap.
Most of high school was a distant memory. The therapist part of me had long ago surmised it was my coping mechanism. I’d shut down all thoughts of the quaint hometown where I grew up rather than deal with the trauma of losing my mother and having my heart shattered senior year. The one-two punch had been enough to send me packing, never to return or think about Treater’s Way again. It was only thirty miles from my home in New Orleans. Might as well have been three-hundred.
What I knew for sure was that Ethan and I never dated. We’d never been anything more than casual friends with a mutual interest in working out that led to a few mornings a week in the gym or a race around the track.
Still, if it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t showered in who-knows-how-long and probably looked borderline homeless, I might have thought there was longing in the way he admired me. And that, above everything else, had me wondering why he was here. And just how bad I looked.
I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. I rummaged through the cabinet until I found a travel pack of toothpaste and a toothbrush. I scrubbed sleep out of my eyes and ran damp fingers through my mess of knots.
