"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Angel cried. "I didn't mean to do that to you."
"Then why did you?" Erik asked as he carefully inched toward the chair across from the bed. He could silently admit to himself his curiosity. Maybe a part of him wanted to hear Angel say he liked him in that special way, even though it was so terribly wrong. "Why did seeing Jon make you want to kiss me?"
"I wanted to kiss him, but he doesn't want me now."
Disappointment.
"How do you feel about that?" Such a lame response, but Erik didn't know what else to say. His mind hadn't stopped reeling. His heart and body hadn't stopped wanting, and his gut hadn't stopped reminding him how messed up their relationship had just become.
"Honestly?" Angel raised his head and his sad, dark gaze landed hard on the doctor. Erik nodded. "I want to get high now. I want to forget about Jon and forget about kissing you. I want to go to a motel room and get so high I don't wake up for days," Angel said in a low voice.
"That's not the way you fix the hard stuff, Angel."
"I know." Angel cried out a little louder, burying his face in his palms again.
Erik raked his fingers through his own hair, dragging them down until his hand reached the nape of his neck. He lowered his head and took a few slow, deep breaths.
"You need to channel those emotions into something else." He reached for Angel's sketch pad and offered it to him. "Here. Draw something."
Angel laughed. "Like what?"
"Whatever you feel like drawing."
"I want to draw you," Angel said as he slowly looked up from the pad.
Chapter Thirty-One
Erik crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his leather binder beneath them. Any psychiatrist would call it defensive and maybe it was. After the kiss and the realization of the now very obvious attraction Angel had to him—as well as the very dangerous attraction he had for Angel—he felt the need to be guarded. Erik needed to feel like he was once again firmly planted on the safe side of the ethical gray line.
Erik crossed his legs ankle to knee and sat back in the chair. His gaze was filled with concern as he searched Angel's face. "Why do you want to draw me?"
"Because I like the way you look."
Oh, I like the way you look too, Erik thought as his eyes drank in the dark, mysterious beauty of Angel. He shifted in his seat. Clearing his throat, Erik tried like hell to push thoughts of Angel, the kiss, and their discussion about sex out of his head.
"You're attracted to me?" he asked.
"No. I mean, yeah…" Angel sighed as he tossed the sketchpad to the foot of the bed. He slid all the way back, leaning against the headboard as he pulled his legs up to his chest. "It's not what you think."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know."
"Angel?" Erik slid the chair a little closer to the bed. His stare narrowed on his patient. "I need you to be honest with me. You have to talk to me for this to work."
In the soft, golden glow of the table lamp, Erik saw the shadows roll over Angel's pale skin as he ground his jaw. The kid's eyes closed, his thick, dark lashes brushing the high curve of his cheeks. Pink lips parted as if Angel wanted to speak, but didn't know exactly what to say.
Dear God, the boy is absolutely beautiful, Erik thought.
No.
No, he couldn't think that way. He couldn't look at the kid that way if he still wanted to be his doctor, and Erik did want to be his doctor—very much so, in fact. He owed it to Jon and owed it to Angel to see this through to the end. He'd made a promise to help Angel and that's exactly what he planned to do.
"Talk to me, Angel," he said in a low, almost pleading voice.
Angel hugged his legs tighter against his chest. At first, he didn't speak and something about that hurt Erik's soul. He thought they'd broken through this barrier already. He thought Angel trusted him enough to talk to him about everything, but apparently—
"When I would go out hooking…" Angel finally said, interrupting Erik's internal tirade. The kid took a deep breath. Erik watched Angel's throat as his patient swallowed back whatever feelings kept him from actually speaking. "I would go back to the motel to get high, but I would also wait for Jon to show up because I knew he would have sex with me and I knew he loved me and… well, I guess it made me feel better about my life and the bullshit I did. I thought if someone like Jon could love me—even with the habit—then anyone could love me."
"Like your parents?"
"I guess."
"And that's what you find attractive about me? You want to feel loved and you think I am capable of loving you?"
Angel shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know what it is. I guess…" Angel raised his head and cut his cold, dark eyes toward Erik. "I guess I wanted to be back in my motel room with Jon. I wanted everything to be how it was, when Jon still loved me."
"And kissing me gave you that same feeling again?"
Angel nodded.
"Look," Erik said, placing a hand on Angel's ankle. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand back. "I'll do everything I can to make you feel better, to help you through all of this, but you can't do that again. You can't kiss me like that. It can get me into serious trouble, okay?"
"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want you to get into trouble." Chewing his lip, Angel looked down at the bed, at the sketchpad Erik bought. The kid reached out and ran his fingers over the cover, the edge of his lip curling into a subtle smile. Erik loved the pure innocence in Angel's face, loved that the drug addict had started to fade away, allowing the true angel in Angel to shine through. The sight alone made his heart beat slower, then faster, and made the world around them disappear into a tunnel of darkness.
In an almost child-like voice, Angel whispered, "I still want to draw you."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Angel."
"I'll behave, I promise." Angel raised his head. His plump pink lips were slightly parted, his eyes pleading. "You can sit over there and I'll stay right here. Please… let me draw you."
It still wasn't a good idea, despite Angel's promise to behave, despite keeping distance between them. For Erik, the decision to stay and give the kid what he wanted wouldn't be a good one. But for his patient, it was the best thing he could give him right now.
"Okay," he said. "I'll stay and write my notes in here, but as soon as I finish, I'll have to leave. You understand that, right?"
"That's fine. I just don't want to be alone right now."
"I know you don't," Erik said as he opened his leather binder.
He didn't have a single file folder with him, and honestly, he didn't have any notes to make because he sure as hell wasn't going to tell anyone about that completely unethical, completely unexpected, completely heart-stopping kiss. No, Erik would store that moment in the depths of his memory bank and hope to God it never made a re-appearance.
In silence, Angel sat on the bed sketching him while Erik jotted little notes down in his binder. Only the sound of a pencil scratching across paper filled the air between them. Occasionally, Angel would reach out and grab a different colored pencil from his kit. A glimmer of excitement shone in his eyes and Erik could swear it was contagious. Every time he looked up and saw that unpolluted sparkle of joy, it brought a smile to his face.
Why did we have to meet under these circumstances? Erik silently wondered. Why couldn't you have been a cute boy at the coffee shop or a bookstore? Why do you have to be my patient?
Clearing his throat, Erik shifted in his chair as he tried to distract his mind from thinking of Angel in that way. He couldn't. The longer he sat there and watched the kid, the more he wished things could be different. Those thoughts could cost him his patient, not to mention his license. Those thoughts could also cost Angel his recovery.
"I need to go," Erik said in a gravelly voice as he fumbled with his binder and stood from his chair. "It's late. I need to get home."
"Wait. I'm almost finished." Angel drew a few more lines, then rubbed
his thumb over the paper to perfect the shading. "Here," he said as he ripped the page from his sketchpad. "Keep it."
Without looking, Erik tucked the page into his binder. "Thanks," he said. "You should try to get some sleep tonight and I promise, I'll be back to see you tomorrow." And before Angel could say another word, Erik tore out of the room and straight to the parking lot.
He couldn't face anyone. If he talked to any of the staff right now, he wouldn't be able to hide the guilt. Home. That's where he needed to be. "Just drive yourself home and forget today ever happened," he mumbled as he climbed into the driver's side of his little red beater.
Erik tossed the binder into the passenger seat and slammed the car door behind him. His hands clenched the wheel at two and ten. At the moment, he could only manage staring out over the rusted red hood of a car that barely got him from point A to point B, or let his stare wander up to the setting sun while he thought about where in the hell he'd gone wrong.
Life had been perfect at one time. At thirty years old, he'd had a budding private practice and had inherited an excellent clientele from his mentor who, one day, up and decided to retire. He'd been with the same loving man for six years. He'd had everything he could've asked for and then some. What did he have now? An ex-partner who wanted to re-emerge into his life and a patient with a crush that he kind of, sort of, in a roundabout way, felt the same about.
The corner of Angel's drawing poked out from the leather binder beside him. Enough of the sketch showed that it caught Erik's attention. Lifting the edge of the binder, he pulled the page out into full view. Even without looking closely, he knew every little detail would be there. Sure enough, when he held it up to get a better look, it was even more amazing than he could have imagined. Angel had captured every single detail—the crease in his pants, his rolled up sleeves, the frown lines above his brows and the messy sprigs of hair he'd swept out of place. Angel managed to make him look beautiful.
"Why me?" he asked with a sigh. The kid had to be off limits. Bottom line. No sense in getting all wrapped up with him, right? But damn it, he wanted to.
It was all becoming a little too much to deal with, more than he could handle alone, and he knew if he didn't lean on someone soon, he'd end up hitting rock bottom again.
He fished out his cell phone, scrolled down until he found the name of his sponsor then pressed the little green button that, at the moment, he considered a life-preserver.
"Melody?" he said after hearing her soft voice. "It's Erik. I need to talk."
Chapter Thirty-Two
As soon as Erik spotted Melody's long, tawny curls with their bright pink tendrils woven throughout, he smiled. He loved that he could spot her from across a dark, crowded room, loved her larger-than-life smile and her cheery attitude. From the crowd of mundane khaki, her personality beamed in neon. She sat in the corner at a small table with two chairs, hovering over her coffee and reading the newspaper. A giant tattooed iris colored the rounded edge of her shoulder.
An iris, for her mother.
Erik had been with her the day she'd had it done, two days after her mother's funeral. Mother Iris's illness had been the one defining moment that made Melody give up the bottle in the first place. The woman she loved more than anyone had battled liver disease for many, many years before Erik had ever come into the picture.
Melody turned in her seat, her waist-length pink and brown curls whipping about her body. As soon as she spotted Erik, she thrust her arm into the air, fingers waving. Her bright pink lips spread into a wide smile. Erik couldn't help but smile in return.
Hugging his leather binder against his chest, Erik wound through the crowd of people milling about the tiny coffee shop. He worked his way through the maze of tables until the impact of Melody throwing her arms around his neck stopped him in his tracks.
"Ohmigosh!" she squealed. "Erik, it's been too long. You look so good."
"Thanks, Melody," Erik said cheerfully as she let go of his head. "Love the pink."
She dismissively waved her hand. "You know me. I love color." Melody sat down in the seat across from him, sliding a large cup of java his way. "So, you said you needed to talk. What's up, sweetie?"
"I've been thinking about drinking a lot lately." Erik took a long sip of coffee so he'd have an excuse for not looking her directly in the eyes. He should've been stronger than this, better than this. He's supposed to be a role-model and counselor, yet he could barely keep his own addiction in check. "Sometimes, it just seems like being a drunk is so much easier."
"Erik, that's a coward's way out and you know it. Now, tell me why you feel like you need to go back to the bottle."
His fingers traced the edge of his leather binder, and when he flipped back the cover, the sketch Angel had drawn stared back at them. Melody's eyes widened, jaw dropped.
"My goodness, look at the detail. That's beautiful. Who drew it?"
"A patient. A patient who kissed me. A patient who is attracted to me."
She slowly lifted her eyes from the page. Her brow arched and her mouth rounded into a silent "oh".
"Exactly."
"But you handled it, right?"
Erik laughed sarcastically. "If it were only that easy." He took another sip of coffee before sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms. His eyes searched her face for a long, silent moment. "A part of me wishes he wasn't my patient, Melody. I wish I'd met him somewhere else. God, I want to help him so badly, not only with his addiction, but with his heart. I want to show him he's worthy of being loved, not just used. I want to… I want to hold him and take care of him."
"But he's your patient, and you can't."
"Exactly."
"And that's why you want to run back to the bottle?"
"Yes. Well, no. That's not all of it." With a sigh, Erik ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, leaving messy tracks amongst the carefully gelled perfection. "Do you remember Marshall?"
"Your ex-partner?"
"Yes." Melody nodded. Erik's fingers toyed with his empty coffee cup. "He has recently popped back into my life, says he wants me to move back to San Francisco so we can be together again."
"Okay?"
"Melody, I realized the other night that Marshall drove me to drinking. I mean, I enjoyed the occasional cocktail every now and again, but he pushed me overboard. Being with him turned me into a drunk. Our relationship wasn't healthy for either of us. I don't think I can do it again."
"Then don't."
"Oh, sweetie, that's so much easier said than done. I have no willpower when it comes to Marshall." Erik looked up at the ceiling. It seemed so much easier than looking Melody in the eyes. Yes, he was ashamed Marshall had so much power over him and even more ashamed of the purely romantic reasons behind it.
"I still love him," Erik breathed, his voice filled with a confusion that made sense to him and him alone. "If I thought for one second we could be in a healthy relationship, I would go back to San Francisco, but I know better. I know if I go back there, I'll just be setting myself up to fall down again."
Melody reached across the table, laying her hand over his. She leaned in a little closer and said in a voice so low only he could hear, "Erik, you have to think about yourself this time. You have to put your needs and wants in front of anyone else's."
"See, that's the thing. I want Marshall back in my life, I really do. I never stopped loving that man, but I know he'll break me. I think it finally clicked for me the other night. I am nothing but sex for him. He thinks he loves me, but it's the sex he loves. I am safe and comfortable to him. He doesn't have to try with me, and he knows I won't reject him. That has to be it, Melody. Why else would he just pop up out of the blue like that?"
Melody shrugged just as Erik's phone began ringing. He looked down at the screen and mumbled, "Speak of the devil."
"Marshall?"
"Yep."
"Are you going to take it?"
Erik sighed. "Of course I am. I'll be right back," he said as h
e stood from the table and headed toward the door. About halfway through the crowd, he answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey, baby," Marshall said from the other end. Erik stepped out to the street, away from the noisy crowd of people, though there was a steady stream of cars zipping by. It wasn't a huge improvement in the noise department, but at least he could hear Marshall's devastating voice more clearly. "Where are you?"
"Having coffee with a friend."
"What friend?"
Erik wasn't so blinded by love that he didn't hear the curiosity in Marshall's voice. It almost made him laugh. "Melody. She's just a friend."
"Oh." Marshall paused. Erik knew Marshall's tendency to get jealous better than anyone. "I have good news."
"Yeah?" Erik turned so he could see Melody sitting at their table, watching him as he talked to the one person who could be his utter ruin.
"I'll be in town next week. I'm staying longer this time. Isn't that great?"
"That's… that's perfect."
"You don't sound too thrilled, Erik."
In all honesty, he wasn't, but he would never tell Marshall that. Erik hugged the phone to his ear as he paced a small circle near the edge of the sidewalk. Occasionally, he would look over to see Melody still watching him. "No, I just… I have a lot of things on my mind right now. I'm having trouble with a patient."
"What kind of trouble?"
Now how could he possibly tell Marshall about Angel? How was he supposed to tell his ex-partner—on-again-off-again lover—another guy found him attractive, that the other guy kissed him despite there being very clear rules regarding that type of interaction with patients? How could he bring himself to face what happened and approach it with dignity and professional thinking?
"He has apparently developed certain feelings for me and I need to deal with that as carefully and honestly as I can." But leave out the way I'm starting to feel about him.
Patient Privilege Page 14
