Page 43 of Everything But Mine

“It’ll be fine. I don’t need to come near Keith or my father. We’ll eat good food and have fun.” I smile at Amanda.

“Val, you’ll come with me?” Now it’s Diego’s turn.

“What?” she responds to him. “Why would I go anywhere with you?”

“Because I am delightful?”

“You’re delightless, is what you are.”

“Think about it, Val. Daray will be there, Eric’s half brother. It’s gearing up to be a full day of drama. Are you sure you want to miss it?” I ask. Diego helped me out, so I throw him a bone.

Val stares at me blankly, as if weighing the pros and cons of calling me out on what I’m doing. Then, she tilts her head to look at Diego. His cocky grin is replaced by wide, glossy dark brown eyes, more like a wounded golden retriever than the witted man I usually see. Val exhales. “What’s the dress code for this?”

Well, I guess the four of us are going to this wedding.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ERIC

Val’s office is exactly what I expect—walls painted in unapologetically bright colors and two overflowing bookcases crammed with self-help titles, and look at all the psychology shit I’ve read, I’m your therapist for a reason. We haven’t even sat down yet. We’re standing there staring at each other, my hands shoved into my pockets while her fingers clamp around a clipboard like it’s an extension of her body. She’s taller than Amanda. Though I still tower over her, that doesn’t faze her at all. Her black hair is braided into a severe high bun, secured with unnerving precision. When she meets my eyes just above the line of her cat-eye glasses, there’s a challenge there—and maybe disapproval, held steady and unblinking.

“Take a seat.” She gestures to a bright mustard couch opposite the window before choosing an indigo armchair for herself that looks intentionally uncomfortable. When she crosses her legs, her ankles show, casual and deliberate. “I honestly thought you’d fumble around on your own for a bit longer before reaching out.”

I press my lips together. “Let’s get this straight. You don’t like me because my dynamic with Amanda is, admittedly, unique.”

Her mouth curls—just a tiny twitch at the corner. “Don’t go all professor on me, Eric. This is a safe space.”

It isn’t. Not with her gaze tracking every movement, every word, weighing them all for weakness. “I’m not here to gain your approval, but⁠—”

“Good because I’m not blessing that mess.”

I swallow so I don’t clench my teeth.

“I’m self-aware enough to know I have some… difficulties. And you’re the best therapist in the Midwest, so⁠—”

She arches a brow and flicks the clipboard down against her knee. “Why do you care that I’m the best?”

I clench my teeth together when the answer lodges somewhere behind my ribs, and I have to crack my neck before I’m able to force it out. “Because Amanda deserves the best.” I shrug, minimizing it, even though the words cost me more than I want her to see.

She leans forward and places the clipboard on the low table between us. “Well,” she says evenly, “I think we’d both agree that, as it stands right now, that isn’t you.”

The words make me flinch, my gaze dropping to the carpet. The last time someone told me I didn’t deserve Amanda… No. I shake my head to vanquish the memory. “Is this how you help your patients?”

“The truth is the truth,” she replies. “You can’t rise above your circumstances if you refuse to confront them.”

I open my mouth, but she lifts a hand, palm out, stopping me mid-breath. “Let me clarify the nature of this.” She flicks her index finger between us. “You cannot be my patient. We’re too involved in each other’s social circles, and it would be ethically dubious.” She studies me for a beat. “This won’t be therapy, but if you choose to keep coming, I’ll use my training to help you identify your behavioral patterns and give you tools to interrupt them.”

“So you’ll tell Amanda,” I ask, “what we’re doing here?”

Her head tilts slightly. “Do you not want me to? Is your attempt to be better a secret?”

“For now.” I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, heat creeping up my spine. “She can’t know I’m spiraling over not being good enough for the baby.”

“And for her.”

My throat tightens. I nod once, contained and sharp. “And for her.”

“I can accept the fine line this puts me in,” Val says, “if you’re actually committed to doing the work.”