The Sessions (Covenant Series) (2 page)

“See you dahlin. Oh and I
will
be visiting you more once Mr. Micah gets settled in, I hope you know.”

Sarah
slipped her purse strap on her shoulder, leveling a frigid gaze on Lisa. “Do what you like. But make no mistake. He is my patient and friend. I will
not
allow you to hurt him in any way. Just so you know.” She pushed her chair in with her hip, a little too hard, holding her friend’s laughter filled gaze long enough to let her know she meant it.

“Jealous already, geeze.” She giggled and Sarah rolled her eyes and walked off.

Jealous? More like terrified for him. The world was a cruel enough place and he seemed to have had quite enough of that for several lifetimes. She’d just barely begun to get past his surface shell and knew there was a
shit load
of pain and trauma lurking in that beautiful head of his. Yes, she would admit, he was damn gorgeous, to a ridiculous point, but that had nothing to do with it. Fine, maybe it added a tiny bit to it, she wouldn’t play naïve, but the man was viciously broken, and that lit a fire in her therapeutic bones to search out and destroy whatever it was keeping him from living the way he deserved.

Her stomach knotted at recall
ing his most recent confession.
“I don’t celebrate birthdays.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.
“Never really had any. Why start now?”

That was horror door number one. Horror door number two:
“I don’t believe in God. But if there is one, I’m very pissed at him.”
His disbelief didn’t bother her as much as the horrors that no doubt led to it.

Horror door number three:
“Can you please ask them to take the mirror out of here?”

All
these doorways into his nightmare waited. A nightmare he hid well. Judging by his calm, sweet temperament, he had been doing the hiding thing for a long time and was quite at ease with it.

Sarah knocked on Dr. Kadfrye’s door.

“Ah, come in Sarah, I have news about your patient. He’s going to be released in a week.”

“One week?” Not two.
“Really, that’s fantastic.” Sarah went to the filing cabinet and opened the top drawer, moving with professional calm. “And what is the plan for our Mr. Morgan?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. He mentioned moving to Bell Downs. Where you live.”

“Yes, of course, I suggested that might be a good idea.”

“
I only agree because it’s you.” He sat at his desk and put on his glasses. “You will continue sessions with him one time a week for the first three months and…” he looked up at her with magnified brown eyes, “…we’ll go from there, play it by ear?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The doctor opened his drawer and dug around. “Now, I know you were planning to try and start up a private practice my dear—”

“Oh, it can wait, if Mr. Morgan needs extra time, I don’t mind putting that off.”

“Of course not, I was thinking he might be your first patient.”

“But…isn’t that conflict of…

He waved a hand. “Not if I release him with the right paperwork, it’s fine.” He finally found what he was looking for—a role of tums—opened it up, and popped more than she could count into his mouth.

“Ulcers flaring up?”
Excitement zapped through her stomach at the idea of having Micah as her in-home-patient and it made her mouth suddenly watered for a few of his antacids.

He scrunched his face
and his puffy red bulldog cheeks bounced. “One word. Audit.”

Sarah
cringed and nodded. “Ouch.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay with this plan of action, he seems to have bonded with you and I hate to break that connection.” He angled a serious gaze at her and took off his glasses. “I don’t have to tell you that we’re dealing with an extremely troubled man. I wouldn’t do this except for the fact that at an apartment complex such as your own, there’s security
and plenty of people, less…risks?”

“Oh doc,” she sighed.

He shook his head with absolution. “Don’t give me that. With your heretical ideals you’ve cooked up for private therapy, you can’t be too cautious,” he mumbled. “As it is, I’m tempted to add watching Patch Adams to the apprentice syllabi.”

“
Micah’s harmless. You know I’m good at sensing that sort of thing.” She tapped her nose and smiled mischievously. “Can smell trouble.”

He laughed raucously
, more noise than mirth. “I know, I know, you always peg the condition before anybody else.” He beamed at her, looking proud. “It’s your gift, I’ve always said. Anyhow, it also helps that you take your job more serious than any other professional I know. I have confidence there won’t be a problem with the two of you.”

Sarah couldn’t help but feel he spoke of exactly what Lisa was suggesting she do. “None at all, I assure you.”

“Fantastic. After all, you’re a beautiful young woman and he’s a handsome young man, one should never foolishly underestimate the command of nature.” Sarah deferred with an understanding eye roll.

“Well,” he stood up abruptly and patted his white coat pocket before yanking open his drawer and pulling out his ID tag. “Work calls.”
He clipped it on and held out his hand. Sarah let the old family friend pull her in for a one arm shoulder hug. “Always a pleasure my dear. Oh, and how is that online research coming along?” They walked to the door. “Do you suppose you’ll be able to continue that in addition to starting your private practice? I can put somebody else on that if you like.”

Sarah sighed. “You don’t have to spoil me John
. I know you made promises to the old man, but really, I don’t like being coddled.”

He appeared o
ffended. “I am not coddling you, I happen to know and think you are well worth the letters at the end of your name.”

“What,
C-h-i-l-d?” She smiled and batted her lashes.

He
harrumphed boisterously as an attempt to laugh before whispering, “It
is
ironic that you should have such a last name in this particular scenario, but no, dearest, the MD letters.”

She leaned her head on
his arm, missing her father and his playful affections. “Soon, we’ll add DCP.” She smiled up at his wide curious eyes. “Doctor of Cyber Psychiatry. A real quack.” Sarah wondered then. “What made you decide to release Mr. Morgan?” She nearly slipped and said a week early.

He inhaled a deep breath and looked up, c
learly considering the question a very serious one. Actually, he took all questions seriously. It was quite difficult to joke with him. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, I did this for him as much as I did it for you. I knew you were ready to venture off on your own and it just seemed like the perfect timing. And well, when he mentioned moving there the last I spoke with him, it sort of…
dinged,”
he bugged his eyes, animating the light bulb moment. “And as I’ve said, you two have formed a therapeutically promising bond we don’t want to waste.”

“
Yes. And thank you for the charity.”

“Now didn’t I just say—“

Sarah laughed, “I’m joking, doc. Really, you need to learn how to do that more, you know.”

“
I’m sorry my dear, it’s just the world is fraught with problematic pain, I have a difficult time finding very much
funny
anymore
.
” He aimed a weathered brown gaze at her.

“Okay, now you’re making me feel sadistic.” She shoved him a little. “Get to work before you send me spiraling into a vortex of guilty despair.”

“Oh dear, I wouldn’t want that.” He attempted a smile for her sake, making him look like he belonged on the fifth floor as a patient.

“See you later. Oh,” Sarah whispered, “how is he supposed to…you know, pay for stuff?”
She knew he got a check from the government for various mental disorders that really weren’t that serious, more a chemically related thing, but surely it wasn’t enough?

He eyed her with raised brows. “Well as you know, he’s a writer.”

“Yes, he likes to write stories.”

He held the door jamb and leaned his head in. “Apparently he gets
money
for it.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Like…how much?”

“Enough for him to not bat an eye at pricing.”

“What pricing?”

“The bill here, the private counseling.”

“Won’t the disability take care of that? And wow, I’m astonished,” she whispered. “What does he write exactly?”

“As it turns out, no, disability won’t cover it. It doesn’t cover preventive maintenance, idiotic fools. And as for what he writes, I didn’t ask.”

Sarah stood there, wowing.
“Great then. Maybe I’ll see if I can find out. I mean that’s kind of cool that he makes money writing. Like novels?”

“I’m late darling, you will have to ask yourself.”

“Yes, fine. And thank you,” she called out, watching the penguin shaped man stalk off, shaking his pudgy hand above him in a wave.

She turned back to the office, smiling.
A writer, huh? Wow. Full of surprises, he was.
Wonder what he writes? Horror probably. No, my guess would be…fantasy stuff. An escape, a back door. Judging by what he reads, it could be any genre, he seemed to read across the spectrum. Wonder if he read…romance.
She snickered at the idea.
Don’t recall seeing one of those in his stacks.

Chapte
r Two

Sarah knocked on Micah’s room door softly. At this time, he was probably reading. He read a lot.

“Come in
.” His voice carried strong and smooth. Always seeming tempered.

“Good morning
Micah. I heard the good news.”

He was
already standing when she entered. He gave her a tiny smile. “Hello.” It was always the same with the initial encounter, whether she came to him or he to her, a mysterious guilt cloaked him. Like a person who lived their life never able to do anything right no matter what, waiting to be scolded. He seemed aware of its oddity and usually managed to shrug it off after a few moments, but the fact that it was there, embedded into his reflexes was evidence of severity and longevity.

She smiled back,
as warm as she could manage before moving into the five foot personal space she’d graduated herself to. Initially, she kept a ten foot distance and progressively closed the gap, only making physical contact when absolutely necessary. Which had been never. Aside from the needle she jabbed into his shoulder the first night there. But it was important in a hospital setting to establish a slow and gradual trust and respect of personal space. The progress was well won, and she sometimes wondered if he knew she were slowly closing in. She couldn’t wait to start home therapy with him. She’d be able to adapt methods to fit his specific needs as they surfaced. She’d also be able to exercise her gift of discernment freely.

He flicked
his pointer finger sort of her way. “You’re biting your lip again.”

Sarah smiled then laughed
, shaking her own finger at him. “You’re a hawk, I should hire you as my research assistant.” He was quite keen, noticing just about everything she did, things she didn’t even realize about herself. It sometimes threw her off guard. Like him observing she clicked her pen rapidly whenever she talked about food. Total weirdness in her mind, but he seemed to appreciate the oddity.

Sarah leaned an arm on the tall eating table
on wheels. “I think I’m excited about your release, are you?”

At the question, he turned
away from her, made his way to the lone chair next to his bed, seemed to consider sitting then passed it to stand at the window. “I’m nervous.”

Sarah
hurried to put him at ease. “Well I don’t see why, if you’re moving to my apartment- apartments,” she corrected quickly. Shit, she didn’t need to trigger his flight mechanism. “I’ll be there just as I said to ensure you settle nicely. I make a fine guard dog and I can be quite vicious over the things I protect.”

He remained
facing the window but she saw his reflection in the glass. He was smiling softly. Good. “The doctor suggested we do therapy at your home. Was…that your idea?”

Crap. L
oaded gun question with a catch 22. “The good doc told you before I could, did he?” Did he want it to be her idea? Need it to be? She wasn’t below fudging the truth for his sake if it made small things easier. But, maybe he didn’t want her trying to get too close. She wagered the former. “It was my idea, yes. I was planning to practice privately and the doctor suggested I begin with you and I thought since you were moving close to me, it would be convenient for both of us.”

H
e was silent for long enough that Sarah prepared to reassure him but before she could think up exactly how, he mumbled, “Glad I can help.”

Ugh, shit. “So am I, but don’t think I’m going easy on you. Be prepared to eat foods
that may be harmful to your health. ”

He
scanned the manicured grounds. “It’s a nice day out. I like cooking.”

“
Ha, well I can’t cook to save a flying rat, maybe you can teach me something.”

“Yes.
Like rats don’t fly?”

The comical edge to his tone put her back at eas
e. She’d navigated that potential abyss by the skin of her teeth. “It’ll be nice to learn, it’s something that has been on my to-do list for quite some time.”

“
That’s good.”

More easiness.

She glanced at her watch, sensing he was ready to be alone. “I’ll see you at 10:30, the usual time and place. Is there anything I can get for you?”

He looked down. “
Maybe a noose.”

Aw d
amn. “Will shoe laces do?”

He chuckled and finally turned. He didn’t meet her gaze but he was still smiling
, a genuine one. “Thank you. For everything.”

Joy bubbled in Sarah’s veins
that she was responsible for the progress of those words. “You may be sorry you ever met me once you taste my cooking. Or once I taste yours and you can’t get rid of me.”

His smile broadened, showing that adorable and rare as a shooting star dimple in his right cheek. “I doubt it.”

“Alright…” She gave an animated
I warned you
sigh as she turned to go, “suit yourself. And don’t be late for session. I was thinking you could do my nails.”

“Noooo,
” he said with a
please don’t make me
laugh.

“
Okay, fine, then, be that way.” She opened the door and without looking back, called, “See you in a bit.”

Before the door closed, she heard his usual quiet,
“Yes.”

****

Micah entered Sarah’s office, putting on his casual face, his controlled face as best he could. It was hard with her. She was so easy to be around. He had to be careful to not show more than she could handle. She thought—no doubt with all sincerity—that she could take his issues on. He knew better. Nobody could handle what he’d been through. But it’s not like he wanted her to.

She’d been slowly creeping into his personal space and he appreciated the tactic she used.
She wasn’t near ready for physical contact. He sat in the familiar chair and met her crystal clear blue eyes, amazed as usual with the clarity in them. He could see to the bottom of her pure soul. Spotless and without taint. Beautiful. And most alluring.

She clasped her hands together on her desk and leaned forward, her gaze brutally direct and bright. “I have a confession,” she began, immediately setting him on defense with the new approach.

Unsure of her angle, he proceeded with caution. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to hear confessions,” he said.

She pffed and waved her hand. “It’s not like that. I hear you write. I mean like for money and I was curious what sort of stuff you write.”

He released his breath, relieved it wasn’t something more personal. “Fantasy, mostly.”

“I knew it!” she said.

He smiled at her enthusiasm, feeling suddenly at ease again.

“You’ll have to show me something sometimes. What name do you write under?”

He shook his head and smiled, liking the sweet detective side of her. “Not telling.” He stared at the cup of pencils on her desk, using his peripheral vision to see what she wore beneath the doctor coat. Something light blue. Always light colors, no patterns. Pure. Soft.

“What?
Not telling!” she said, exasperated. “I thought I was your
pal!
This is outrageous.
”

God, he loved her antics. They were very effective.
“Maybe one day. I’m kind of…shy about it.”

“You?
Shy? I refuse to believe that.” She tapped her pencil on the desk rapidly. Interesting. She usually did that type of thing when they broached her personal life.

“Extremely,” he said.

A few seconds passed, the pencil tapping stopped, and she leaned back in her chair. “How are you feeling, Micah.” The sudden turn of subject along with the drop in her tone from playful to soft and exotically sweet, jerked his insides and his cock. He’d trained himself to think before he answered her questions, but damn it was difficult with her for several reasons. He wasn’t used to hearing sincerity and silky voices dripping with empathy for him. Nor was he used to this type of confrontation with women. Yes, she was his therapist, or doctor, but that’s not how his mind saw her. And spending three months with her every day had taught him one thing. He had to have more of her. “I’m feeling much better, thanks to you.”

He forced himself to meet her gaze, mostly because he had to see what that did for her. He wasn’t disappointed. The light in her eyes said his answer warmed her down to her toes. He liked doing that for her. He liked even more that his answer was utterly true.

“I’m so glad to hear it. Would you like to talk about anything particular?”

Yes, he would. Her. But he knew better than to try. And yet… “You know, I’m supposed to trust you, and you worked hard to gain that in our professional relationship, but…” He knew without looking that eager sincerity replaced the warmth in her eyes and the doctor in her now peered at him. He met her gaze. “I feel like I need you to trust me too.”

She smiled seeming to like that.
“That seems reasonable. How can I help with that?”

“What is your favorite color?” He knew the answer was lavender, or he was willing to wager everything on it. Which he did, on a bet with himself.

She smiled a little with a narrowed gaze, trying to understand his angle and yet gracious enough to play along. “Purple. Well…light purple.”

“Lavender?”

She seemed slightly surprised. “Ha. I seriously wouldn’t expect most guys to refer to it as that.”

“Most guys,” he mumbled,
liking that she put him in the broad category and yet not.

She became worried over his words,
not understanding them, worried she’d offended. He loved that about her, how attentive and caring she was on every hand with him. “Not that you’re like most guys, I mean, you are, and yet not.” She clenched her eyes a second and sighed, “You’re different in a good way.”

He chuckled, tickled
over her fretting, it was so very unlike her. “I understand.” He was also immensely warmed at how she meant it, that she regarded him unique in a good way. When the question tables were turned, she was a new woman, wasn’t she. He liked that. A lot. She was strong with a vulnerable side. He couldn’t have been more elated to discover that. He wanted to get intimately acquainted with all her vulnerabilities.

“Your favorite
fabric?” He sprung the question before he lost his nerve, holding his breath with the semi-intimate question. His wager was silk.

“I like…cotton.”

He looked into her eyes, almost positive she lied. “Cotton? Interesting.” Her panties were probably silk and she didn’t want their relationship to take the wrong unprofessional turn in
her
mind. She had no clue how arousing that was to him. Her goodness and that she might be that weak with him.

He directed his questions to safer grounds. “Favorite ice-cream flavor?” Strawberry.

“Strawberry.”

He smiled. “Favorite
day of the week?” Monday. Because she loved work.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t laugh, but can you believe I like Mondays?”

He feigned surprise, raising his brows. “You’re kidding.”

She
snickered cutely, like she thought it silly. “No, I’m not. I love my job.”

He pl
ayed with the hem of the sad blue hospital pants. “I would’ve never guessed Monday.”

“Pff, don’t feel bad, I wouldn’t either.”

“Career woman?”

She leaned back in her chair. “Absolutely and entirely.”

“No dating?”

She gave a burst of a laugh, pointing at him. “Last personal question for you, mister, or you will owe me a pen name.”

He held up his hands. “Last one.”

She
gave a long sigh. “No dating.”

He waited for m
ore but she didn’t give him any. Damn. He was nearly willing to use his pen name to negotiate. “Me either.”

“I imagine being a professional writer keeps you busy.”

He nodded, keeping his eyes down. “Yes.”

“Will you be needing anything when you move to the apartment? Do you have any idea which one you’re moving into yet?”

“Apartment 14 C.”

“Oh, that’s only one building away from me.”

It was the closest he could find to her. “Is it? Good, I’m rather lazy.”

“You and me both then. At least it’s
still close enough you can save my life if I set the place on fire while attempting to cook.”

“Something tells me you’re not at all the bad cook you make yourself out to be.”

“You would be so wrong there, mister.”

“Ha.”

“Ha all you want, but I don’t lie about that.”

“Oh?
” He looked right at her. “What do you lie about?”

She
gasped a laugh. “Only about things that count.”

“There are lies that count? I don’t get it.” This was rather upsetting news about her.

“Well, I mean, if you’re hiding at my house from the big bad wolf, I’m not going to just say, hey, he’s here, let me hand him over to you.”