Uncut (Unexpected Book 4)

by Burgoa, Claudia

  Those intense eyes dig inside my soul and I have to think fast before he learns more about me. That part I hide from everyone who doesn’t recognize me. The part I’m ashamed of, the part where he learns I’m not Thea Dennis by birth. That my full name is Agatha Catherine Levitz. The daughter of former friend and drummer of DS, Martin Levitz. When I turned eighteen and after leaving the rehab facility, I legally changed my name to Agatha Dennis. For now I prefer to keep every little piece of my past hidden. If he knew any or all I bet he wouldn’t give me a second glance.

  “Dr. O’Neal decided to stop being my counselor supervisor,” I blurt out for the first time since the asshole told me he couldn’t jeopardize his own license on someone like me. “I need fifty-three more hours before I can apply for my license.”

  “Counselor?” He cocks an eyebrow as he tilts his head. “What kind of counselor, like a shrink?” I nod. “You’re a shrink?” I bite my lip and nod. “Are you able to counsel with a minor in psych?”

  I let out some air, I’m so stupid. Hiding a part of me is revealing yet another part. “No. I have a master’s degree and a doctorate. I specialized in addictions.”

  My entire body is covered with clothes, yet I’m bare, open, and scared that he can see through me. He rubs his stubble as he looks at me with that deep glare, continuing to study me. I want to run away, push him out, or . . . for the first time, let someone into my life. It’s so freaking cold inside that maybe if I allow him in, it’ll warm me up a little. It would be nice to have a friend to share shit with, wouldn’t it?

  “My pretty butterfly is a smart chick,” he chides with a wide grin. “So you need a shrink to help you get some hours, or something?” I nod. “Let’s focus on the Nix books. I have an entire manuscript waiting on an MP3 file for you to type, edit, and make sure is ready to publish.”

  We spend some time discussing what he wants me to do, how much he plans on paying me, and at the end says the strangest thing. “Email me your résumé. I might be able to help you, or find someone who can help.”

  “I—” He places a finger on top of my lips. I laugh and push it off. “I don’t think it’s necessary. I can search for someone else. It’ll take me some time, but there’s always someone who’s willing to give a hand to a young counselor.” Maybe next time I shouldn’t disclose my background, unless asked.

  “Humor me.” He winks at me. “The worst that can happen is not getting you any help.” No, the worst will be him learning everything that's wrong with me. “I have to go, Butterfly. Send that over soon. I’ll have the file sent to you by noon.” Matt brushes some strands of hair behind my ear and kisses my cheek. “Have a good night.”

  The faint sound of the phone wakes me up. I extend my arm to answer it without checking first who’s calling me.

  “Matthew, can you explain that résumé you sent over?” My father’s growl comes through the phone. I try to scrub the sleep out of my eyes while checking the alarm clock. Damn him! He always seems to call when I am dead asleep. “A ‘check out this résumé’ did fucking nothing for me. You do know I plan to run a serious practice, right? What am I supposed to do with someone who has zero experience?”

  “Morning, Pops.” My words come out after a big yawn. “Look I forgot to explain everything over the email—it was late. This girl has some kick-ass degrees that include some counseling shit. She needs more hours before getting her counseling license. Whatever that means. Thea says she needs someone to supervise those hours before she can work.” That should be some lingo only counselors understand. Which is why I didn’t ask more about it and believe Pops would know right away. “As she can’t use her degree, right now she’s working at Reed’s, and she’s going to work with me on a project.”

  “What kind of project?” I can almost see the knowing and hugely aggravating smirk on my dad’s face. Ugh, of course he’s asking that, and I have no answer for him. Why the hell does he call when I’m only half awake? “Are you sleeping with her?”

  “Dude, I never mix pleasure with business.” The butterfly wouldn’t be a casual fuck, so I don't explain further.

  “I’m not a dude, Matt. I’m trying to figure this out, Son.” The line goes silent and I double-check that he didn't leave me hanging.

  “What’s wrong, Pops?”

  His loud sigh comes through the line. “Your father is adjusting to having his parents close by, and I’m trying to hire counselors for the practice . . .” He pauses. I hear a few doors opening and closing and finally he continues. “Maybe retiring wasn’t exactly what your father should’ve done. Gabe needs a hobby.”

  I scratch my throat as I head to the kitchen for coffee. Unfortunately there’s nothing in the pot. I forgot to set it to automatic brewing.

  “If he needs something to do, I can find him a script or two to read over,” I say, searching for the filters to make a fresh pot of coffee. “Maybe we can do a project together. That should keep him in semi-retirement, but busy.”

  “That sounds nice, but only if you have time. I don’t want you to overdo it, Mattie,” he warns, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll call this girl and give you an update. Try to visit more often. I miss you, boy. Don’t forget Sunday dinner is at home this weekend.”

  “Miss you too, Pops.”

  I hate when he’s overbearing, yet I love it too. Pops is one of the reasons why I’m capable of overcoming shit. He always believes in me, even when he hates that I can’t make up my mind and sometimes can’t finish what I start. I’m passionate about a lot of shit, but the problem is, the passion often disappears too soon. Either because it dies down, or because I find something much better to put my heart into. My family and music are the only two passions I’ll never get tired of, that fill my heart. It does worry me that I’m a fucked-up case who might never accomplish anything, but as long as my parents love me, miss me, and know who I am, I’m not alone and I can continue my journey to find my real call.

  As I finish mailing my jewelry orders and change in case Reed needs help, my phone rings.

  “Everything okay, Reed?” I answer.

  “Hey, T. I am wondering if you have a few minutes.”

  I’m a fatalist by nature, and even when I work daily on having positive thoughts, his words freeze my entire body. Is he going to fire me?

  “Umm, yeah, is everything okay?” I ask, as I step outside into a typically drizzly afternoon in Seattle and walk a few steps toward the bar. Of course everything is okay. Don’t be such a downer, Thea. He needs you, there’s no way he’s going to fire you. Losing a supervisor doesn’t mean that you ran out of luck. “I mean, yes. As a matter of fact, I’m the one ringing the back door.”

  “Great! I have someone to introduce you to.”

  The door swings open, interrupting my brooding thoughts. Reed moves aside for me to enter and right in the hallway I spot a tall man who is watching me. His greyish hair is combed back, and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that enhances his green eyes. The man finally smiles at me. That smirk looks familiar, but before I can place it, he extends his hand. “Christian Colthurst-Decker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I stare at the hand, but my brain is paralyzed along with my upper limbs. This is the man my father talked about through my entire childhood. The guy who stole everything from him, including his happiness. For a long time I believed that tale, until I learned that my parents are takers and believe they’re entitled to everything.

  “He might have the name of a rock star, T, but he’s a simple man,” Reed says, giving a gentle squeeze to my left shoulder.

  “Thea Dennis.” I finally find my voice and the strength to meet his hand. “Nice meeting you, sir.”

  “Sir?” He shivers. “I’m not that old, am I?” He tilts his bushy eyebrows waiting for me to respond, smirk in place.

  “No, of course not, Mr. Decker.”

  “Sweetheart, no need to be so formal. Call me Chris,” he corrects, starting to walk toward the main door and indicating with his hand to fol
low. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

  Chris takes a seat by the far left corner table where he has a pad, a pen, and a bottle of water. He points at the chair in front of the one he’s sitting in and instead of sliding in, I look around, searching for Reed. But he’s nowhere to be found. I take a deep breath before slipping into my seat.

  “I got this earlier today.” He hands me my own résumé and I wonder why Matt gave it to his father. “At first I wasn’t sure why my son sent it over. When I talked to him, he said you’re working toward your counseling license.” I nod. “How many hours do you have left to fulfill?”

  “Fifty-three. I passed my test already, but it’s hard to find . . .” I drop my gaze to the table, tracing each letter typed on the white paper while making up my mind about letting him know my background. Then I lift my head and frown. “No offense, but why would this matter to you?”

  His lazy smile never leaves his lips, but his gaze narrows. Without a word he pulls out a business card.

  Dr. Christian A. Colthurst-Decker. PhD. Psychologist/ Counselor.

  I make sure to tighten my bite before my jaw drops. I had no idea this man was a doctor like me.

  “I’m opening a counseling practice, and I could use someone who specializes in addictions. However, I can’t have an unlicensed therapist,” he says, motioning toward my résumé. “Reed says great things about your character. He vouches for you, and believes I should give you a chance. Do you have a supervisor for the hours you’re missing?”

  I shake my head. “Every time I find a supervisor, they end up hating my style, or saying they can’t jeopardize their license because of me.”

  “What exactly is it that you do to jeopardize their license?”

  “The way I find a counselor is through a teacher, or a classmate. The last one was through a church where I volunteered on Sundays. The wife of the deacon thought I’d be great helping foster children. I explained my issue to her and she found a doctor who helped me for about fifty hours. But, he found out I worked at a bar . . .” I trail off, shaking my head.

  “What was the problem?”

  “I’m a recovering alcoholic and an addict,” I whisper, closing my eyes for a couple of beats. “I guess he couldn’t believe I was clean when I handle alcohol for a living.”

  Chris assesses me closely. “How many days?”

  “Eighteen hundred seventy-one.” My voice quivers. I’m afraid it’s not long enough for him.

  “How old are you?”

  “Almost twenty-seven.” I hope he doesn’t ask me when I started. Because that’s just the opening for him to leave.

  “I was still deep in shit at your age.” There’s a nostalgic tone attached to his words. “Alcohol mostly. Thea, your specialty fits, but I’m concerned about your experience and the state license.” My body slumps and my heart slows down as I wait for him to tell me more. Maybe he won’t hire me, but he might have suggestions. “Would you be willing to work as a receptionist while working toward your license?”

  Is he serious? A receptionist. I’d do that and more. For the past few years I’ve taken orders from drunks, cleaned vomit, let men pinch my ass, and more. Why wouldn’t I accept to answer phones and tell people to wait for their turn? His phone buzzes. He checks it and clenches his jaw.

  “I have to go.” He rises from his seat. “I hope you’ll consider accepting the position as a receptionist and stay committed to becoming a full-time counselor. We’ll work it out. I’ll supervise you until you have enough hours to apply for your license.”

  I want to jump out of my seat, hug the man, and maybe dance around the bar, but I don’t. I stand up and use my calm voice. “Of course, I accept and I will do my best. You won’t regret it.”

  “Perfect. I'll email you the details and a list of documents I need,” he says touching the screen of his phone. “Sorry. I really have to leave, but we’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you, sir. You won't regret this, I swear,” I repeat waving as he heads to the back door.

  Reed crosses the threshold toward the bar several minutes later and smiles at me as he opens his arms. “You got it. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

  I smile broadly, my heart is lighter, and my shoulders loosen. I propel myself toward Reed and give him a hug. “Thank you, thank you, for vouching for me.” I know this was Matt’s doing, but Reed recommended me for the job too.

  “I’m glad it worked out, T. You’re a great bartender, but I’d rather see you soar on something you’re passionate about.”

  “I’ll still work for you,” I offer, because I don’t want to leave what is familiar. “Even if it’s only during weekends.”

  “We’ll see about that, T. For now, let’s take it one day at a time.”

  That’s easy. The story of my life for the past five years.

  One day at a time.

  The bar is at full capacity again. Not normal, even for a Friday night. I’m in my post taking orders, mixing drinks, and keeping an eye on the door. Matt hasn’t arrived yet and tonight we need him to pacify the crazies—his crazy fans. I fear that his adoring fans are going to destroy the place.

  “Busy night?” A low voice murmurs down my neck, sending a shivering wave that makes my entire body come alive. I spin around and find Tristan only an inch or so away from me, the whiff of his expensive cologne hitting my senses.

  “Hi,” I greet him. “You decided to drink directly from the bottle?”

  “Is that a poor intent to joke around?” I nod. “I’m here to help on this side of the bar. What do you want to do? Split the bar, or I take orders and you mix?”

  “You know how to mix?” I lean forward and narrow my gaze.

  “I do know my way behind the bar.” He winks at me. “Missed you this week,” he says, and I smile in response. I kind of missed him too. Last week he was able to be here with the exception of Monday night. However, on Sunday he left and couldn’t make it back until . . . today. “Let’s go for the team-work option, as that’ll give me a chance to be around you more.”

  Between the two of us, we clear the first round of bar orders in about twenty minutes, while serving the tables at the same time. As the orders continue to arrive, we have a system already working and neither one of us have to speak to each other. He’s right; he does know his way behind the bar. Halfway through the last orders we received, the usual background music ceases.

  “Because you asked for it, tonight we have a special performance.” Reed’s voice vibrates through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Decker family.” The audience’s momentary silence soon erupts into applause. Whistles and fan-girl screams take over.

  The Decker family? My eyes bulge as I finally move my gaze toward the front stage used for open mic. Christian Decker adjusts his guitar, a woman around my age is in front of a keyboard, and Matt is behind the drums.

  “Hey, everyone! Thanks for having us. We’re missing a member tonight—JC,” Chris Decker announces through the microphone, using that smile that never seems to leave his lips. A few grunts make themselves heard, but he claps and continues speaking. “But I think we can play a few songs without him.”

  Bodies around the bar turn toward the stage as the music starts to play. Hypnotized by the notes, the lyrics, and the beat of the drums, which make my body vibrate, for the first time I enjoy the live music in this place. Song after song, they keep playing and singing, the crowd applauding, and I’m in a strange daze.

  “They know how to work an audience,” Tristan mentions, as one song ends and they move around, I guess to start the next. “You okay in here, Thea?” I turn my neck and nod. “Good, I’m going to check on a few things. I’ll be back before they leave.”

  Two tall, strong men walk to the stage, whisper something to Christian, and then escort the only woman in the band out of the bar. I believe that’s Matt’s sister. Christian takes his guitar off and Matt moves to the center while holding an acoustic guitar. I lean closer to the bar, watching him
strum the strings. After the second strum, his eyes fall on me. “This is the last song for the night. We thank you all for swinging by on such short notice. In appreciation, I’ll play one of our newest songs.” He winks at me, takes a deep breath, and begins to sing.

  I’m afraid, scared

  I’m scared of falling in love,

  Scared of the pain and the rush,

  But I know it’s too late to stop,

  Because it’s her.

  (Chorus)

  It's in the tempo;

  It’s in the phases of the moon;

  A warning call; to the weak-hearted fool;

  This girl she's honestly flawless;

  The type of girl whose smile brings you to your knees in wait;

  She leaves me breathless; a lucky disaster I can't escape

  Will I be able to breathe without her again?

  Because she’s becoming my light, my warmth.

  The energy that keeps me awake.

  My heart burns slow for her, while she glows

  Her smile is replacing the blood in my veins

  (Chorus)

  It's in the tempo;

  It’s in the phases of the moon;

  A warning call; to the weak-hearted fool;

  This girl she's honestly flawless;

  The type of girl whose smile brings you to your knees in wait;

  She leaves me breathless; a lucky disaster I can't escape

  Something

  Something inside that girl calls my soul

  Something that whispers that I belong with her

  I need,

  I need to find the courage

  The courage to beg her to leap with me.

  A leap of faith to teach me to love

  . . . While you fall in love with me.

  (Chorus)

  It's in the tempo;

  It’s in the phases of the moon;

  A warning call; to the weak-hearted fool;

  This girl she's honestly flawless;

  The type of girl whose smile brings you to your knees in wait;