by C. L. Stacey
Say Love
Copyright © 2017 CL Stacey
All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.
Editor: Chelsea Kuhel of Madison Seidler Editing Services
www.madisonseidler.com
Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations.
www.okaycreations.com
Formatter: Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
table of contents
title page
copyright
dedication
one
two
three
four
five
six
three years ago
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
present day
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
epilogue
acknowledgements
about the author
For the rule-breakers,
for being brave.
Time, like money, is precious. You need to spend it wisely, because once you do, you’re never going to get it back.
Fortunately, for me, I’ve got all the money in the world. But time? Not so much.
I’ve been promised a sixty-minute session, just as the other clients are given. So far, I’ve wasted ten.
That’s six hundred seconds wasted on surveying my surroundings, taking in all this man’s framed credentials on the walls instead of talking about the actual reason I’m here.
Session? Client? Credentials? That’s right, I’m here to see a fucking shrink.
I don’t want to be here. I told myself I didn’t need to be here. But the nightmares persist, so here I am.
As much as I hate to admit it, I can no longer deny what’s true.
“I need to talk to someone,” I said to Bethany, my trusted assistant, two mornings before. The look on her face was priceless. For me to be able to say those words aloud speaks volumes, and it ended up working Bethany into an absolute frenzy. “And make sure it’s a man. I don’t want to fuck my therapist,” I warned her.
After intensive research, Bethany came across a name. Jason Kellerman, a highly recommended psychologist, who agreed to take me on last minute—for a hefty price, of course.
When my eyes complete their thorough search of the sizable room, I conclude that Kellerman is trustworthy enough. He certainly looks the part of a dutiful counselor, with his sweater vest, peppered grey hair, dark brown eyes, and his Dr. Phil mustache, under a far less dominating nose. Dr. Phil’s got a monster honker, a lot like Mr. Potato Head. Dr. Phil’s also got a scary-ass set of teeth, but not this guy. Normal, nonthreatening set of chompers.
Yea, I definitely don’t want to fuck you.
Dr. Kellerman has been patient since the moment I sat down, never saying a word to interrupt, giving me all the time I need to get comfortable.
“So this is where it happens?” I ask, smoothing a hand over my tie.
“Where what happens, Mr. Carlisle?” Kellerman answers my question with another question. I heard shrinks tend to do this quite a bit.
Fantastic.
“Where people come to spill their secrets, Mr. Kellerman,” I answer.
“People come to me when they are troubled, yes.” He nods. “Everything you say will remain confidential. This is a safe place, Mr. Carlisle.”
“How confidential are we talking?” I press. “Are you obligated to report what I say to the authorities?”
“Depends on what you say.”
At least he’s honest.
When he senses my doubts, he redirects the conversation. “The last thing I want is for you to set limits for yourself, so I would like for you to put that out of your mind for now. Try to focus on the reasons that brought you here.”
I divert my gaze from the doc to the digital clock on his side table. Ten more minutes have passed.
“Would you like to share those reasons with me, Mr. Carlisle?” His question pulls my attention back to him.
I’ve used twenty minutes out of the sixty I’ll be billed for. I may as well give this a shot.
“I’ve had recurring nightmares that I can’t seem to shake,” I begin.
“Very well. Let’s discuss them,” he advises.
The events of that night slowly play through my mind, like scenes from a movie. Me, running back into Jackson’s building. Me, catching a glimpse of Brad ushering my friends into the elevator. Me, ordering the staff to alert the authorities right away. Me, boarding the elevator. Me, hearing the gun go off as soon as the doors opened onto the penthouse floor. Me, running as quickly as my legs could carry me to Jackson’s room. Me, Brad, Jackson, Lexi… and blood. Everywhere. Then it was just Brad and myself, wrestling, until the gun went off again.
Suddenly, my tie feels like a noose around my neck. I pull at the knot and clear my throat. “There was an… incident a few weeks back.”
“An incident?”
“A shooting,” I clarify.
Kellerman scribbles something down on his yellow notepad, and I pause to give him time. I just fucking started, what the hell is he writing? He shakes his head when his gaze rises to meet mine again. “Continue, please.”
“I was with two others,” I proceed. “One is a business partner, the other is a client. The shooter was an ex-employee of my partner. Brad Davis was… deranged, unwell. He’d been stalking my client for two weeks prior to the shooting. When I found out who he was, I took matters to my partner, at which time I learned of his sudden termination. I wanted to eliminate all possibilities of him ever harming her…” I stop, overwhelmed.
“Her?”
“My client,” I clarify for him again.
“I see. But Mr. Davis ended up hurting her anyway,” Kellerman finishes my thought for me. I nod a single time. “You’re blaming yourself for something out of your control, Mr. Carlisle. You can’t hold yourself responsible for another man’s actions.”
“My partner was going to let her in on everything later that night. We just never expected Brad to act so soon. But then again, none of it seemed planned… he was just so angry.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Lexi, my client, left her phone in my car, so I quickly parked to go in after them. That’s when I saw Brad, boarding the elevator with them.” I pick my hand up and run my fingers over my forehead. “It wasn’t an amicable split between Brad and Jackson, my partner, so I knew that nothing good could come from his visit. That’s when I notified building security of the situation, had them call the authorities, and then I boarded the elevator before anyone could stop me.”
Kellerman takes a break from writing, rolling his pen between his fingers as he simply watches me unravel before him. “You ran toward the danger?” I nod. “Instead of waiting until help arrived.”
“Lexi could have died,” I snap. “How could I live with myself if I had done nothing?”
He nods in understanding. “It seems to me that Lexi isn’t just a client.”
My mouth draws down into a frown. “She’s not,” I say, confused by his assumption.
“I only bring this to your attention because you’ve been referring to her as your ‘client’ this entire time.”
“She’s my friend,” I clarify for him.
“And you care about her,” he states.
“Of course,” I answer without hesitation. Kellerman scribbles something else, and I feel a flare in my temper. “It’s not like that. She’s my friend.”
Kellerman’s pen leaves the pad again when he pauses to meet my eyes. “Have you ever felt anything more for this friend of yours, Mr. Carlisle?”
A genuine laugh rolls up my throat. I was expecting the question, yet I still wasn’t prepared to hear it. It sounds ridiculous when spoken out loud.
Jackson would fry my ass—correction, he almost did fry my ass.
“She’s engaged to my business partner. Who is also a friend, by the way.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t my question…”
“No,” I cut him off with a sure answer this time. “Lexi is a friend, and I care about her very much, but a friend is all she’s ever been. Period.”
“Is everything okay, Mr. Carlisle? You seem bothered.”
My jaw hardens when I clench down. “I just don’t want you jumping to the wrong conclusion.”
“Seems like a pretty harsh reaction for a simple assumption,” he pushes me further.
Flashbacks from a whole other memory come to surface, and I feel that uncomfortable tightness in my chest. My fingers curl inward, sliding against the leather and then into my hand, making a tight fist. “She’s just a friend. I would never.”
“Some relationships are born from friendships,” he pointedly states.
“Yea, well, I tried that already once before,” the words involuntarily roll off my tongue, and I regret them the minute they do. I have Kellerman’s full attention now.
How did we even get here? I’m here to talk about my nightmares, not my love life.
Before Kellerman can fire off any more questions concerning the topic, I decide to nip this in the bud. “Relationships aren’t for me, doc. I once gave it a try with someone I trusted more than anyone. It didn’t work out. End of story.”
Totally invested in this chapter of my story, Kellerman tries to stop me from closing the book on it. “Can you tell me more about her?”
“I don’t talk about her,” I answer, leaving no wiggle room.
“This particular part of your past could have something to do with—”
“I don’t talk about her, doc,” I repeat.
With a look of retreat, Kellerman nods. “I apologize, Mr. Carlisle. Please continue with your story. What happened next?”
“As soon as the elevator doors opened to Jackson’s penthouse floor, I heard a gun go off… and yes, before you ask, I ran toward the danger.” I can’t fight the sarcasm in my tone, not that I was trying to. “Lexi had been shot,” I point to the spot on my shoulder, “she was bleeding out in Jackson’s arms. There was so much blood I thought she was going to die, and I just… lost it.”
Kellerman stops me by interjecting with a question. “Lost it how?”
“I was taken back to a place I keep buried, a place I never wanted to revisit. This is my nightmare, the part I can’t shake. I wake up and ask myself the same exact question.”
“What question would that be?”
“Did I kill him?”
“I’m confused, Mr. Carlisle. Are we talking false awakenings? Do you dream within this dream?”
“Do I what?” I don’t follow.
“False awakenings is a vivid and convincing dream about awakening from sleep, while the dreamer in reality continues to sleep.”
“Whoa, no.”
“What did you mean by being taken back to a place you kept buried?”
If I told him that, I’d be talking about her. I just told him that I don’t talk about her, but he keeps asking me to talk about her.
I refuse to talk about her, I can’t. That’ll stir up something ugly, and it took me way too long to fucking bury it.
My eyes dart to the clock again. “Times up, doc.”
For the first time since the start of our session, Kellerman sets his pen down. “In my professional opinion, I say that we are far from done here, Mr. Carlisle. I’d like for you to make an appointment to come see me again.”
When I stand, Kellerman follows suit. I button the front of my jacket and extend a hand toward the man. “I’m a busy guy, but I’ll keep that suggestion in mind.”
As he takes my hand, he continues to urge me, “Do try, Mr. Carlisle. These nightmares will persist until we get to the bottom of what’s going on here.”
“Duly noted,” I say in a tone that provides very little promise. Kellerman catches it, too. Knowing there’s a greater chance that I won’t return, he seems far from pleased.
Is he actually surprised? This session was unsuccessful—at least for me. I came here to find a way to deal with my current problems, not to think about her.
Coming here took a lot on my part, even though it was my idea. This was one of the most difficult hours of my life. Sixty excruciating minutes I will never get back.
The nightmares will wear out over time. I have to believe that. I don’t intend to put myself in this situation ever again, unless it’s absolutely necessary.
As soon as I get outside, I’m pulling my tie through the collar of my shirt. What a waste of time.
I start the car and get ready to pull out when my phone rings through the speakers. My eyes drop to the screen on the dash, and I press the hands-free button on my steering wheel as soon as I see Lexi’s name.
“Is this a booty call?”
Lexi’s laughter fills the space, bringing a smile to my face. “Gross,” she says.
“Yet you can’t stay away,” I quip.
“I need a favor, perv!”
“Ah, figures.” I chuckle. “What’s up, what do you need?”
“So, I have a physical therapy appointment, you know, for my shoulder…” she starts.
“Yea.”
“Jackson has a board meeting, and he keeps telling me that he’ll skip it to take me, but I don’t want him to. Can you take me?”
I don’t hesitate before answering, “Of course I can.” Then I hear Jackson’s voice in the background, arguing with Lexi about how he should be the one to take her. “Hey, Lex, put me on speakerphone.”
“Okay, you’re on.”
“Darling?” I call for him.
“Bitch,” he greets me back.
“Pick up your balls and head to your board meeting. I’ve got this; don’t worry about it.”
“See? We’ve got it. You should go, I’ll be fine,” Lexi reassures him.
“But,” Jackson begins to protest.
“Don’t worry about Lexi’s butt, I’ve got that, too.” I brace myself for a threat, because I know it’s coming.
“Caleb, I swear to God—” Jackson shouts from across the room.
“Good Lord, he’s kidding!” Lexi cuts Jackson’s threat short.
My mouth stretches wide in my attempt to stifle a laugh. “Where are you, Lex?”
“The penthouse,” she replies. “PS? You’re an asshole.”
“I know. I’m coming,” I tell her as I pull out of my parking spot and merge in with traffic.
I step off the elevator to see the two lovebirds cuddling on the couch in front of the flat screen. They both turn to greet me, only one out of the two wearing a welcoming grin. I’d give you a chance to guess, but I don’t think
you need it.
“Caleb,” Lexi greets sweetly.
“Sugar plum,” I greet back, hoping to get a rise out of Jackson. I do. He shoots me a scowl, and I tip my head back on a nod. “’Sup, rude?”
“You’re wasting your time, I’m not leaving Lexi,” Jackson stubbornly states before returning his attention to the flat screen.
Lexi rolls her eyes and rests her head back against the couch to stare up at me. “He’s going,” she says, angling her cheek to me when I bend to give it a kiss.
“OW!” I yell when a sharp pain shoots up my arm—from Jackson punching the shit out of it. “If you want one, all you have to do is ask.” I make a show of leaning in, and Jackson jerks his head away from me. “What, now you want to be shy?” I goad.
While it may be hard to tell with what only seems like shared hostility between Jackson and I, we’re total bros. This is how we express our appreciation and respect for the other, through both physical and verbal abuse.
We’ve become very close in the past few months, more so in the past few weeks. The constant bickering, and shit-talking, and teasing… it’s our version of normal.
“Okay…” Lexi stands to her feet, and Jackson quickly follows suit. “Enough of this, I’m over it. Can’t you two just be normal, for once, and greet each other with a friendly hello? You wasted five minutes of my time. That’s five minutes we could have spent driving my broken ass to the doctor. Let’s go, Caleb,” she says to me.
Sometimes Lexi doesn’t get us, either.
Lexi turns her head back in Jackson’s direction. “Goodbye, fiancé. Go to your meeting,” she gives a stern order.
The expression on her face quickly catches up with her tone when Jackson attempts to argue. “What did I just say?”
“Go to my meeting…” Jackson mumbles despondently.
We all have our weaknesses, and Lexi is Jackson’s. He could never deny her a single thing; the word no doesn’t exist to him when it comes to her. He may try to pretend that it does from time to time, but everyone knows that Lexi’s got the upper hand, and the little lady rules with an iron fist.
I’d pity him if I didn’t find it so endearing. While I believe that money can buy happiness, I consider their love to be priceless… and that’s not something to pity.
