Page 6 of Wynter

“It’s pronounced its-a-gir-eh,” I tell her. “But Xavi is fine.”

“Xavi Izaguirre,” she says cheerfully, getting my full name right this time. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Sorry about earlier.” I’m about to elaborate when I finally process the rest of her words. “Wait, you’re covering for Dr. Bernard?”

Aurora nods.

“As a therapist?” I pale and gesture toward the filing cabinets. The same cabinets that hold every single thing I’ve ever told Doc. Who’s seventy and pretty old-school, so he scribbles on steno pads the whole time I’m here.

Which means somewhere there are stacks of paper about my ice block issues. And my anxiety. And the fact that I make a fool of myself every time I see Zoe Wynter. Not to mention the time I accidentally pictured my old lady neighbor while I was jerking off.

“I haven’t looked at your files, Xavi,” Aurora assures me when I keep staring at the filing cabinets in horror. “I thought it would be best to wait, since you didn’t return my calls.”

“You called?”

“Of course. Dr. Bernard asked me to contact all his patients. He had to take the first flight home. His daughter’s in the hospital, but she got out of surgery this morning and she’s going to be just fine. I can ask him to call you to reschedule the moment he’s back in town.”

I shake my head. Partly because my session really can’t wait, and partly because calling me isn’t going to work. Getting paid by the article barely leaves enough money for rent and food, not to mention Shifter Insurance. The latter pays for any incidental ice block damage as well as my weekly therapy. But that means right now my cell phone only works over public wi-fi. Which means my apartment, the library, Jewels Cafe, and the north-east corner of the Herald office. Yes, my boss is that cheap.

“Would you like to stay for your appointment?” Aurora asks.

I nod.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” She gestures toward the couch.

“Thanks.” I sit down on the familiar leather instead of lying down the way I usually do with Doc. “Sorry I thought you were Dr. Bernard earlier. I assumed he drank a potion, or he was a chameleon. It made sense at the time.”

Aurora’s eyebrows furrow.

“I guess it is kind of farfetched.” I rub the back of my neck. “But this is Silver Springs. You never know who anyone really is.”

“That is an interesting observation,” Aurora says thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that I thought you were Doc?” I shake my head and glance up at the clock. I just wasted over half my session as an ice block, which only leaves twenty minutes to summarize my problem and find a solution. Assuming there is one.

“That’s odd. The clock was working fine a minute ago.” Aurora purses her lips. She checks her tablet and her frown intensifies.

“It looks like it’s working fine to me,” I tell her. Except for the fact that it’s ticking—both literally and metaphorically—and my time is running out. “I really need your advice, Aurora.”

“And I’m here to help.” Aurora wraps Doc’s blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “When you first came in, you mentioned something about a newspaper. Are you a journalist, Xavi?”

“I am. For now, anyway. If I don’t get this article to my boss by Wednesday morning, I can kiss my job goodbye.”

“So you’re having trouble writing an article?” Aurora asks.

I nod. My anxiety spikes, my fingers tingle, and I take a few calming breaths. “My boss finally, finally, assigned me a front-page piece. Which could make or break my career. But if I don’t blame Zoe and her boss for the robberies, my job will go to someone else. And if I write the piece the way he wants it, Zoe will hate me. And then she’ll definitely never agree to go out with me.”

“So you’ve asked her out before?” Aurora asks. I notice that, unlike Doc, she’s not writing anything down. Which actually helps me relax. And open up.

“I haven’t. I’ve wanted to. So many times. But when I see her, I always freak out and run out of the room. It’s either that or turn into an ice block.”

“You mean freeze up?” Aurora asks.

“In a manner of speaking.” I gesture at the floor where I’d shifted earlier. It’s dry—my shifted form doesn’t melt—but I don’t think either of us has forgotten me shifting and her playing peek-a-boo. “I always ice block when I’m anxious.”

“All right. Let’s work with that.” Aurora leans forward in her seat and pulls the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “What does turning into an ice block feel like?”

“What?” I frown.