Smother (29 page)

“Okay.”

She blinked, expecting a denial instead of agreement. “Okay.” Reese cleared her throat, eyes nervously shifting around the room. That was easier than she’d anticipated. “What are you looking for?”

“Drawing.”

“I gathered that. Which one?”

A scowl darkened his face. “You won’t know what it is even if I tell you.”

“Really?” Reese’s mouth twitched with irritation. “I know all of your drawings. Which one is it?”

“Bird,” he muttered.

She pointed to the wall. “I hung it up, remember?” That was her bird, and if he was going to give it away or dispose of it, or even tattoo it on someone, she was going to see red.

When he crossed the room to reach it, she ran to block him and demanded, “What are you doing?”

Leo’s mouth pulled down as he looked at her. “I’m taking it down.”

“Why?” Reese crossed her arms, aware she might be overreacting.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he reached over her and pulled the drawing from the wall. He offered it to her. The tension mounted, swirled around them, pushed them together.

“What are you doing?” she said again, this time in a beseeching manner.

“Giving it to you.”

“Why?”

“It’s yours.”

Hope bloomed in her chest. “You said it wasn’t.”

“I lied.”

Eyes narrowed, she plucked it from his hand. “Lying isn’t very nice.”

Amusement washed over his features and he stepped away. “You weren’t ready for it then.”

“What’s changed? Why am I now?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her as he headed toward the hallway. “You finally learned how to use your wings.”

“Birds have wings, not people.”

“We all need to fly,” he called, disappearing into his office.

She smiled, remembering another conversation, another time, another way of thinking. “You also said we all fall,” she grumbled.

“Doesn’t mean it has to hurt when we land.” His voice was faint and muffled with a wall between them, but she heard, and her smile deepened.

Reese left, protectively holding the drawing to her chest in case anyone dared to try to snatch it away. Looking at it was not allowed either. It was heavy in her hand, a connection to her sister and what she chose to think of her, no matter if it was right or wrong. To her, it was right, and that was all that mattered.

Reese stared at the small tan building and wondered if she’d lost her mind, or just found it. She’d dialed the number on a self-bettering whim, and then subsequently planned to cancel the appointment at least ten times a day until the appointed day came, as it now had. Icy wind fluttered her short hair around her ears and she lifted the hood of her jacket up.

She took a step forward and hovered on the sidewalk before carefully taking another. It took less than a minute to reach the door but it felt like twenty. And then there was the opening part. Did she really have to open the door, walk inside, and talk to her? Was it really going to help? The answer to that was another question: what would it hurt?

Inhaling and exhaling loudly, Reese opened the door and stepped inside. The scent of cloves hit her, along with tranquil warmth. Low music played from speakers and wrapped around her like a tender hug. Abstract art in shades of grays and browns complemented the mocha painted walls they hung from. A cream-colored couch, loveseat, and two wingback chairs took over most of the room. A desk and chair were across the room from her, directly beneath a window. It was a serene space and Reese gave the owner of it props for succeeding in creating a safe, welcoming environment.

A door opened and a slim, short brunette walked toward her with an encouraging smile on her face. She wore tan slacks and a lavender buttoned-down top, her image polished and confident.

“Hello. You must be Reese.” She offered a hand. “I’m Amy Jones. We spoke on the phone last week.”

Reese looked at the hand. The skin was pale, the nails short and painted an iridescent cream. “Hi.” She quickly shook the hand, noted the coolness of the skin before dropping it.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Tea? I might even have some soda if you’re interested.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Let’s go into my office.” Amy gestured to the doorway she’d walked through and Reese’s legs turned to lead. When she didn’t move, Amy looked at her, waiting. “Coming? I won’t bite. Promise.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she blurted. Her throat hurt from all the tension locking her in place.

Amy tilted her head. “I hear that a lot. It’s okay if you don’t know why.” She shrugged. “You’re here. That’s a start.”

“A start to what?”

“A start to dealing with whatever brought you here.” She beckoned to the room as she moved toward it.

Reese entered the room and her eyes took in the framed credentials on the butter-toned wall, and the lack of a desk. A counter by the door housed a microwave and coffeemaker. There was a small fridge below it. It smelled faintly of popcorn and coffee, the former causing a tightness in her chest as memories threatened to assault her. There were two oversized aquamarine-toned chairs and a round table between them set up in the middle of the room.

“My sister and I used to eat microwavable popcorn almost every day,” she said softly, eyes trained down.

“Please sit.” Amy gestured to a chair as she sat down. “What’s your sister’s name?”

Reese dropped into the chair, the strength to remain upright abandoning her. “Morgan.”

Amy took a pad of paper and pen from the coffee table. “We can talk about whatever you want. Do you want to talk about Morgan?”

“No.”

She looked up. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Can we—would it be weird to sit here for a minute?” Reese knew it was an odd request, and she didn’t really understand it herself. It had taken a lot for her to even bring herself here, and now that she was, talking seemed like too much, too fast.

Amy smiled. “Of course not. Or I can talk?”

Reese nodded, unbelievably grateful for her offer.

She tapped her chin and angled her eyes upward. “Let’s see . . . I’m thirty-three years old. I have a dog named Samuel. I enjoy popcorn and coffee too much, as you probably gathered. I plant a garden each year and then I neglect it. It’s a terrible, vicious cycle I can’t seem to break. I want to be a good gardener, but I’m not.” She paused and looked at Reese. “Am I boring you?”

“No.” Reese put her elbow on the armrest and placed her chin in her hand, the sound of Amy’s voice soothing. “Please continue.”

“I enjoy singing, but my friends tell me I’m horrible at it.” Amy laughed. “Do you sing?”

She shook her head. “No. I like dancing.” She realized she’d supplied information about herself at the same time she caught Amy’s knowing smile.

“I’m worse at that than I am singing. Think Elaine from ‘Seinfield,’ only more robotic.” Amy smiled. “I’m at karaoke any time they have it locally. I prefer to believe my friends are simply haters of my overwhelmingly beautiful vocal chords.”

Reese smiled. “That’s probably it.”

She laughed. “I know it is.”

She sank into the chair more, her body relaxing as Amy told her about her love of Brussel sprouts and asparagus.

It felt completely right to spend her first hour of therapy listening to her therapist talk.

She was nervous, a fact that stunned her. She supposed the more she let herself care about things, the more emotions she would allow in. Taking a deep breath around the swirling sensation in her stomach, Reese lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

It was immediately opened by a hard-faced Mick. The facial hair was back—a goatee without the mustache this time. He put one hand on the door while the other rested on the frame, keeping his apartment blocked off from her. She wanted to smile at that, but bit her lip to keep it unrevealed.

His brown eyes were cool as they met hers. “Nothing here for you, Reese.”

“I know.” She glanced down at her boots before lifting her gaze to his.

He studied her, sighing as his shoulders loosened. “What do you want?”

The hallway was deserted, no sounds or people to distract her from her course. She looked up and down it anyway before refocusing on Mick. Her fingers anxiously picked at the hem of her blue top as she blurted, “I’m sorry for using you. It was wrong—it was more than wrong.”

He relaxed against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “I told you not to use me to get at him and you did it anyway.”

She saw accusation in his expression, heard it in his voice. “I know. I’m not good at making the right decisions.”

“You really don’t have to tell me that.” Mick paused. “You’re bad for him, Reese.”

“I know that too.” Her voice was despondent, but she didn’t care. She lowered her eyes as the weight of sadness tried to pull her through the floor.

“But you could be good for him.”

Reese’s head jerked up and she frowned at him. “What? You just said—”

“I know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m just telling you what I think. Neither one of you will listen.”

“My dad—” she started.

“Helped me when no one else did—and he helped Leo. We’ll leave it at that. I know what I’m doing.” His tone was grim, telling her the subject matter wasn’t open for discussion. “Leo doesn’t anymore,” he added.

Mick’s eyes drilled into hers and told her things she didn’t know how to decipher. He nodded to the hallway. “You can go now. I really hope I never see you again.”

The door shut with finality. She stared at it, confused by their short interaction. She could take his words at face value or she could look into them more, analyze them, and come up with a double meaning. She did the latter.

Panic seized her and Reese hurried down the hall and steps, heart pounding like she needed to get to Leo before something terrible happened and she knew she wouldn’t make it in time. She stepped out the door too fast, slipped in ice, and landed on her tailbone. The pain was sharp and biting, but adrenaline didn’t give her time to grumble about it. She scrambled to her feet and walked as quickly as was safe, reaching Leo’s shop and tugging the door open.

It banged shut behind her and he glanced up. He looked normal, sitting where he usually did as he worked on his art. She stared at him as relief so intense her eyes watered hit her. Her legs shook as she stepped toward him, the space widening even as she closed it. He was always out of reach, just beyond her grasp. Her body—even her heart—might want him, but her mind always pushed him away.

Leo slowly stood, watching her as she approached. “Something wrong?”

“Yes,” she said in a trembling voice.

He waited, one eyebrow lifted.

“You didn’t put enough salt outside the apartment building. The sidewalk’s icy and I fell. I’m considering suing.”

He crossed his arms, the eyebrow hiking further up his forehead. “Didn’t you move out?”

She could make a snarky comment, say something to goad him, lie. Instead she chose the truth. It was rare, and scary. “I apologized to Mick.”

The other eyebrow met the first. He studied her a moment before turning away, head bowed as he moved his gaze to the drawing on the desk.

“I . . .” Reese took a deep breath. “It’s like this, Leo.”

He looked up.

“I know I owe you a thousand apologies, okay? I’ve treated you like shit again and again. You didn’t deserve it, not once. All you’ve done is try to be there for me, even when I didn’t want you to be—
especially
then. That’s part of the reason I’ve been so shitty to you. Anyone else would have had enough of me long ago, but not you. You just kept taking it. It scared me. I had to find the one thing that would make you go away.” She swallowed hard.

“I never found it. After everything I’ve done, here you are.” She paused, looking down so she didn’t have to see the way his gaze seared right into her. “I detest honesty, so . . . this is big for me. I don’t like admitting things. I don’t like opening up to people, and I don’t like sharing anything of me with anyone. I don’t get hurt that way.

“And this sucks for an apology, and it’s not even really an apology, but . . . I want you to know, if there was one person I would want to never have to apologize to, it would be you.” She finally looked up and all of her screamed to run, to get away from this man that made her want better things.