A Model Romance (True Love Book 3) (16 page)

I melt into the mattress beneath me, I feel ready to pass out for a few hours or days. I hear her clear her throat in a not so subtle gesture. I open my eyes, and she’s holding my pants with one finger around a belt loop. Wow. I’m being kicked out. This is a new one.

“It was nice to meet you, Wickham, but it’s time to go before you get too comfortable.”

I slowly rise to my feet; my body is limp and exhausted. I shuffle into my pants, and haphazardly throw on my shirt. I suppose I know now how most women feel after sex with me. Getting kicked to the curb feels a little cold. It’s early morning, and there’s a nip in the air. The cold wind buzzes with electricity. Thankfully, she’s not too far from a train station, so I catch the early one that stops near my place. I dive headfirst into my meager bed, and fall sound asleep.

When I wake midday, my head feels clear and I feel renewed. Last night was the first indulgence of any kind I’ve had in months. It’s been said that time heals all wounds, and I hope that’s true. I do notice a strange sensation, though, an emptiness after last night. The sex was fucking phenomenal, but there’s something off. Pam was great, but I still feel unsatisfied. That session last night should have left me feeling perfectly happy, but I don’t. Anxiety creeps up my spine, and I suddenly feel awash with emotion. All the shit I’ve been trying hard to overcome in the past few months bubbles up and I can’t stop it.

The thoughts are relentless. “You don’t deserve to be happy … you don’t deserve pleasure … you ruined your brother’s life …” I feel queasy and lightheaded. I break out into a fierce sweat that drips off my chin. I go to the sink to splash my face with cold water, but it doesn’t help. I feel like I’m going crazy.

* * *

My shift was horrible this week. We had a number of calls, and I’m wiped out. Some of the guys were acting like assholes toward me and I have no idea why. I’ve worried someone will hear through the grapevine what I did, and my career will be over. Dad went back to work, I heard, after taking personal time to help with Lach. There must be buzz about why I haven’t been around his station to see him. We used to get together at least a couple of times a week. Our lives as firefighters are too interconnected to screw around with. If one guy messes with someone, he may as well mess with everyone else, too. It’s a brotherhood in every sense of the word for the men
and
the women.

On the first of my days off, I search for the shrink’s business card. The anxiety is keeping me up at night, and I’m barely able to function. I feel like a quitter having to talk to someone, but I’m all alone. If I don’t, I’ll snap.

The doctor has an opening the following day at noon. I have a feeling I’m encroaching on a lunch hour, but I think the receptionist is trained to hear for signs that could sound like an emergency. My boss may have tipped off that he had referred me to her and they’ve been waiting for me to call. Either way, I’m grateful.

The office is downtown in a nondescript medical building. A small sign reads, “Dr. James and Associates,” with no other telling information. Discretion is preferred in this line of work, I suppose. The office is small, but tastefully decorated. A mousy receptionist greets me upon arrival.

“Hello, Mr. Dunmore, Dr. James is expecting you. You can go right in,” she says, motioning to the door down the hall. A small embroidered placard dangles from the doorknob. I’m guessing it’s the shrink’s equivalent of a sock on the doorknob in college. Do not disturb.

I open the door, and a familiar scent catches my nostrils. It’s sweet, with a little spice. Fuck. Me.

“Hello there, Wick. It’s nice to see you again,” she says as her gorgeous long-legged body rises from behind her desk.

Our good Dr. James is the woman I fucked the other night.

I stand locked in place. This can’t be appropriate, right? I don’t know what the rules are, but there has to be some rule about not seeing a shrink that you’ve fucked.

“Do you mind closing the door so we can have some privacy?”

Well, maybe there isn’t. I close the door, and approach one of the empty chairs in front of her desk. No way in hell I’m lying down on one of those couches.

“I understand your hesitancy, Wick. Don’t worry I won’t be treating you. I saw your name on my schedule, and knew it had to be you. How many ‘Wickhams’ can there be?”

She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not going to happen. I feel my nerves fraying with every word she speaks.

“Anyway, I wanted to talk to you, in an unofficial capacity of course, before I refer you out to someone else. I enjoyed our time the other night. I was sorry to kick you out so quickly, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I hate to give anyone the wrong impression.”

“No apologies. I respect it. Hell, it was a weird turn of events being on that side of the door for once. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I’m going to go. I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

“If you could, you wouldn’t have called me to begin with. I’m not going to treat you, Wick, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. If you’d like to call for some friendly conversation, I’m happy to listen. Anytime, please,” she sounds sincere.

I shake her hand, take her card with the personal number she scribbled down for me, and get the fuck out of there as fast as possible.

Chapter 15

It’s getting worse. I’ve called out my last two shifts, feigning that I may have mono. My boss hasn’t asked for any proof, I think he knows what up based on my behavior the last time I was at the station. I can’t sleep at night, and I’m a walking zombie during the day. Dr. James–Pam–has called and left a couple of messages with names of other doctors I can see. She’s offered herself as a friend; I’m going to take her up on it. I have to talk to someone.

We meet at a coffee shop a few blocks from her office. She wanted to meet on a Saturday so it would feel more casual. I see her sitting outside wearing big sunglasses, a large coffee on the table in front of her.

“Hi, Pam. Thanks for meeting me today.”

“It’s my pleasure, Wick. Just two friends having some coffee, right?” she asks, trying to ease the awkward nature of the meeting.

I sit and order coffee from a super-caffeinated waitress, and wait. I’m not sure if she wants me to start, or if I let her take charge. We sit in silence until my coffee arrives.

“I would have never pegged you to be a frothy drink kind of guy,” she says, as she laughs at my delicate looking concoction.

“I’m trying to be sophisticated here, gimme a break.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you sound like a sexy Shrek?” She laughs loudly, and the patrons at the next table glare, clearly annoyed. She rolls her eyes and gives them a “fuck off” look.

She’s my kind of woman.

“Would you rather go somewhere a little more private? My place isn’t too far from here,” she points down the street.

My dick swells.

“No, sir, not happening. Put it back in your pants, Wick. If I’m going to be a friend, then see me as a
friend
, not a sexual partner.”

“Do you have any idea how hard, I mean
difficult
that is?”

“Yes, Wick, I do. I’m attracted to you as well, remember? We can do this. I know we can. I can help you sort through some of your problems. I know a little about your history. I counseled your father a few months back. I won’t disclose what we discussed, but I’m no longer seeing him. Want to go to my place?”

I’m stunned. My
dad
went to a shrink? He must be in more pain than I realized, which makes me feel even worse.

“Yeah, please. Thank you, Pam.”

Her place looks considerably different in the daytime. At night it was warm and sensuous, but now it’s bright and airy. That helps; I was worried I’d have a boner walking in and remembering that night. She sees right through me.

“It’s OK, Wick, to remember I mean. It’s only natural; we did have a good time. Have a seat, I’ll grab some muffins, I’m starving.”

“I’m not sure about this, Pam,”

“Wick, I enjoy helping people, it’s what I do. You’re in pain, and you need someone to talk to. I can’t see you in the office, but I can try to help. You guys mean a lot to me. My dad was a firefighter.”

“What? Where?”

“In Boston, where I grew up. He was killed in the line of duty. They were trying to put out a fire at a meth lab, and it exploded. Took out my dad and one of his best friends,” she sighs. “I was eleven. It was hard on me and my brothers. The only reason I made it through that time was by seeing a therapist. I knew then that’s what I wanted to do with my life. You guys have a hard job, and it tries the best of families. Add a tragedy, and it can be devastating.”

She tears off some muffin, but doesn’t eat it. She ponders it, rolls it around in her fingers, and drops it back to the plate.

“I suggested to your father that I’d like to do some counseling with your family all together, but I never saw him again. Have you spoken to him?”

She’s digging right in, going straight for the gut.

“No, but I think you already know that.” My words come out garbled, something is stuck in my throat.

* * *

I can’t seem to get enough. I feel guilty that I monopolize every minute of her day when she’s not working. The last few weeks have been the most educational of my life. I’ve never had a friend who I could speak to about such emotions. I was never close enough to women, and my brother was my go-to for everything. She’s been pushing me to contact my family. I gave up trying months ago, thinking that if they were ready they’d come to me.

“It’s time, Wick. You know deep in your heart they want to see you, and you them.”

Monday morning, I decide today is the day. I’m not going to call, I’m going to the house. I’ve missed my family so much, and I can’t live with the pain for one more day. I’m grateful for Pam pushing me as much as she has.

My body starts to shake as I turn down our street. I see Dad’s pickup, and my mom’s Buick in the driveway. There’s a sleek BMW out front, really out of place in this neighborhood. I pull behind Mom’s car in the driveway, and I wait. I crane my neck to peer in the windows, and I see Dad walk by. C’mon, Wick. You can do this.

My legs feel like jelly as I walk the short path to the front door. I don’t think I’ve ever rung the doorbell of this house in my life. I press the small plastic button and wait. I hear voices, probably arguing over who will get the door. It swings wide, and I’m face to face with my mother. She screams and throws her arms around my neck.

“Wick’em! Dear Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

I start to cry, involuntarily. I’ve missed her like breath in my lungs. She pulls me by the hug into the house. I look over her little shoulder, and see Dad and Lachlan staring at me, both white as a sheet.

“Hamish! Get over here. It’s our boy!”

Dad walks toward me with shoes made of lead.

“’Ello, son.”

He grabs me while my mom’s death grip is still in place. He just about squeezes the life out of her, as he wraps his arms around both of us and tightens.

I never understood the story of the prodigal son when I was younger. I thought it was bullshit that the spoiled son came back home and the dad makes a feast to welcome him home, as the other brother got nothing. I see it now. I’ve had my suffering and learned the lesson, but there’s the brother, looking at me, who I can’t ignore.

You expect parents can forgive you for your wrong doing, but a sibling you could lose for life. Looking at Lachlan now, I have no idea what he’s thinking. One thing that made him such a great pitcher was his poker face; there was no way to tell what was coming next. Mom and Dad break away from me, so that I can approach him.

His arm is still in a sling, and I can see pins sticking out along the side of his upper arm. Tears begin to flow again, and I grasp him as hard as I can.

“I’m so sorry, Lach! I never meant to hurt you, I love you!”

I feel his warm arm surround me, and he pats my back. I collapse with relief and joy.

We talk for hours, and Lach and I spend the night. Mom can’t stop crying. He gives me a chance to tell my story, and what’s gone on in my life since, which isn’t much. He is finishing his undergraduate degree in December, and then he plans to take the LSAT for law school. He’s even started to see someone. She’s a physical therapist assistant at the practice where he goes for rehab. He jokes that he’s not ever going to ask me to follow her, and the arrow strikes hard through my chest.