“Probably because you’re thinking with the wrong head. Let’s focus on what this one wants,” she said with a roll of her pelvis.
The way he grunted in the back of his throat and closed his eyes gave her a thrill, that she could affect him so much with so little. Coming out of his brief moment of euphoria, he leveled her with a look that she imagined he gave subordinates right before having to repeat a command. “Who is he?”
Fuck! She couldn’t do this—be with another man, especially in the apartment that held so many memories—if Erik kept bringing up her husband. Former husband, she corrected herself. “No one. Now stop making it a big deal, okay?”
“Olivia, I asked out of casual curiosity and expected a simple answer in return, after which I planned to act on all the things that’ve run through my mind in the last four hours, if not the last four weeks. You’re the one making this a big deal by avoiding the question.”
“Just because I don’t want to give you a verbal slideshow of every photo in my apartment doesn’t mean I’m avoiding anything,” she bit out.
“He your ex-boyfriend? The one you wanted me to help you get over that night?”
She had no idea how to respond to that. Distraction hadn’t worked. Denial? Deflection? Some other D word? Telling him the truth wasn’t an option. This might only be one question, but it always led to a whole slew of questions, and she wasn’t ready to have that conversation with her new—or potentially new—lover. It would ruin everything.
Men were territorial creatures, like domestic dogs, running around and marking what they considered to be theirs to warn off others.
But Erik…he was so much more than that. Fiercer, more intense, more loyal. His call sign fit him perfectly, for he truly was a wolf among dogs. How would he react when she told him she’d belonged to someone else as completely as she had to Brett? As ludicrous as it was—it’s not like she’d done anything wrong by being previously married—she knew she wouldn’t blame him if he showed any discontent because she already had the crazy feeling that Erik belonged to her more than Brett ever had.
Oh my God, what am I thinking? That can’t be right. No, no that’s just…insane.
Releasing a heavy exhale, Olivia stood up and paced several steps away before facing him again. She had really fucked this up. She should have ended the date after the sunset cruise while they were still ahead. The agreement was for three dates, not hookups. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all.”
Erik rose and ate up the distance between them with two strides of his long legs. When his hands closed over her shoulders, she wanted to both break away and fall into his arms. Her body begged her to stop listening to her brain and give in to what it craved more than anything else in that moment. But it wasn’t her head that kept throwing down roadblocks. It was her confused heart warring between remaining faithful to a husband who was no longer here…and wanting to be absolved of doing that very same thing.
“Livvie, don’t shut me out. Not after finally starting to let me in.”
She huffed. “I’m not shutting you out, Erik. We’d have to be ‘a thing’ for me to do that, but that’s not what this is. We hooked up once and we enjoy each other’s company. Don’t make it out to be more than that.”
His hands fell away, and the muscles in his jaw ticked in agitation. Olivia hated watching the molten passion in his eyes harden, but she had to stand firm. She’d been fooling herself that she was ready to let go, and until she did, Brett’s memory would always be a third wheel in any relationship she had.
“Whatever you say, Doc.” Erik strode across the apartment and yanked the door open. He started to close it behind him but turned back at the last second. “I’ll be in touch so we can work out the plans for our second date.”
“You…still want to go out with me?” Her pulse raced like she was in the middle of running the Boston marathon and not standing in her living room, her body as immobile as the furniture around her.
He let out a quiet chuff of what she could only describe as mirth borne of frustration with a single shake of his head. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than some issue with a guy in a picture to shake me. Sweet dreams, Livvie.”
Chapter Ten
All things considered, Erik didn’t hate his sessions with Dr. Marion. He’d liked the older man before all of this, and now he also respected him as a fellow veteran even if he was a fucking jarhead. Erik tried not to hold that against him.
It helped that Marion knew what it was like to be in combat, in enemy territory, never knowing if each day you woke up might be your last. It helped that he understood how being deployed in a war zone for any length of time required a person to mentally compartmentalize things in order to do his job, no matter how hard or fucked up that job might be, when the time came. Without hesitation or reservation. When Erik had difficulty iterating certain things about his experiences downrange, Marion knew how to gently prod the words from him.
Probably the aspect that made Erik the most comfortable—as comfortable as he could be in a situation where he was required to repeatedly relive his nightmares and failures—was the sense of formal address and command. When given the option of using the man’s title as doctor or major, Erik chose the latter. You can take the man out of the military, but you can’t take the military out of the man. He guessed that’s why he and the boys operated their team on Rescue 2 the way they did. It felt natural, like part of their government-issued DNA.
True to his military style, the major was a no-bullshit kind of guy. Instead of saying things like, “Tell me, how did that make you feel,” he grunted and then stared until it got so awkward, Erik felt compelled to fill the silence by elaborating till he was fucking blue in the face.
Interrogation 101. Crafty bastard.
But just because Erik liked the major and felt more comfortable talking to him than he would most people didn’t mean therapy was all sunshine and endless ammo. Fuck no. Mostly it downright sucked ass. He wasn’t there to talk about their football games in the desert, or the music video parody they made to Nelly’s hit song “Hot in Herre,” or the time he shook habanero hot sauce into Dozer’s mouth when he fell asleep on detail. (Fucker got him back good by shaving off one of Erik’s eyebrows during rack time. Made it damn hard for any of his men to take him seriously with only one goddamn eyebrow.)
No, he was there to talk about the “bad shit” he’d worked to keep on lockdown since the day he signed his release papers. That meant tearing open the ugly scars to expose the wounds and hating himself when he cried, showing weakness almost every fucking session. But, like the major reminded him every time, without that continued progress, Erik would never make it back to active duty with Rescue 2. So if he had to hate himself a little every week to get back in rotation, he’d deal with it.
They’d already gone through all of that this session, so Erik felt on edge and restless to get the hell out of there and head to the firehouse. He’d been going there a few times a week to work out with the boys during their tours. Being at the house both calmed and upset him, but at least they hadn’t had any calls while he’d been there.
“Let’s talk about the present for a bit,” the major said. “You and Olivia saw each other over the weekend?”
Erik braced his hands above his knees, pressed back into the couch, and adjusted his position. As difficult as it was to talk about his time in Iraq, he’d almost prefer that than broaching this topic with Marion. Failure didn’t sit well with him, and that’s what Saturday ultimately felt like. One step forward and two leaps back. “Yes, sir, we had our first date.”
“And did you talk about yourselves, get to know each other better?”
Thinking of how to answer, he scratched at the beard growth on his jaw and made a mental note to trim it down later. Now that he no longer had to be clean-shaven for work—anything more than a mustache was prohibited because it affected the seal of a SCBA mask—he sported anything from a five o’clock shad
ow to full-on scruff depending on his mood. Since his mood had pretty much been shit since his failed evening with Olivia, he hadn’t bothered with it at all. Another day and he’d be reaching hobo status.
“Son?” the major prompted.
Clearing his throat, Erik answered honestly. “Some. I told her I wanted to know everything about her. She laughed like I’d meant it as a joke, but I didn’t.” One of the things that unnerved him was the realization that he’d happily listen to her tell her life story, beginning to present. Livvie took all his hard and fast rules—about women, dating, and permanency—and fragged them all to fuck, like she’d tossed a grenade at his feet. Normally, he would’ve been Oscar Mike—on the move—covering as much ground as possible before he got caught in the blast. But with Olivia, he didn’t seem to care what the woman blew up. “She told me about her family and how she became a psychologist, basic things like that. She was hedging, though. There’s something important she’s not telling me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It might be her job to read people, but I honed my own skills in the service, much like I expect you did, sir.”
“True enough,” Marion said with a nod. “Important like what?”
“I think it has to do with her ex.”
“Ex?”
“Ex-boyfriend. The one she’s trying to get over. I think he messed with her head about something and she doesn’t want to tell me.”
“I see,” the older man said against his steepled fingers. “And did you tell her about you? Your family, your time in the service or as a firefighter?”
“Not exactly.” The major stared at him until Erik felt like a bug under a microscope. He sighed. “Not at all. I changed the subject.”
“Why? Don’t you think she deserves to know you like you want to know her? You can’t expect someone else to open up if you won’t do the same.”
“I couldn’t, not then,” he said, swallowing hard. More staring. Fuck. “Something she said…it triggered me, and she noticed. Hazard of dating a shrink, I suppose. She was kind and let it drop without making anything of it.”
“So it was a minor reaction?”
Erik drew his brows together and recalled the minutes in question. “Now that I think about it, I don’t know that it was necessarily minor. I mean, I remember feeling like I was getting sucked into the memories, the tunnel vision started…but then her hand was on my face. Her touch grounded me somehow. Like a lifeline, pulling me back to the present. I think she actually kept me from sinking.”
“That’s good, Erik, but we need to work on you keeping yourself from sinking. Olivia isn’t a service dog. You can’t have her with you twenty-four-seven.”
And ain’t that a shame.
Dr. Marion pushed a disapproving, bushy gray brow toward his receding high-and-tight and put a stop to Erik’s line of thought that had been on its way down in a hurry. Hell, was the man a psychologist or a psychic? Thankfully, the doc didn’t comment, and Erik wasn’t about to share.
“Keeping the guidelines we’ve established in mind,” the doctor continued, “tell me how you think the rest of the date went. Did Olivia seem…present? In the moment with you?”
At his first session, the major had made it clear that due to his connection to Olivia as both her boss and godfather, hearing Erik talk about any part of their relationship would be walking more than one “fine line.” Erik had agreed that any discussions involving her would remain focused on him. In other words, asking the good doctor for any inside intel on the enigmatic woman was a definite no-go, as was going into even the vaguest of details about anything physical that happened between them.
That’s why Erik wasn’t sure as to how questions about Olivia’s demeanor related to him, but what the hell did he know? He wasn’t the one with the fancy degree hanging on the wall. “She started out that way,” he said, “but everything went to shit after we got to her apartment.”
Concern flashed in the old man’s eyes before he covered it up with his usual mask. “How do you mean?”
“She wouldn’t tell me about a guy in a picture she had.” No response. Fair enough. That wasn’t a lot of info to go on. “She kept trying to change the subject, telling me it was nobody, but you don’t keep framed pictures of nobodies. I’d bet ten-to-one odds it’s her ex.”
Dr. Marion shrugged. “So what if it is? What difference does that make?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t want to make a big deal about it—I even told myself that if she said that’s who it was, I’d calmly put the frame down and leave the topic alone—but the more she didn’t want to tell me, the more I wanted her to, until I pushed her too far. She put an end to the night before we finished our first drink.” Then, because Erik knew what the follow-up question would be, he added, “And I’ve been an ornery son of a bitch ever since.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Marion’s eagle-sharp eyes drilled into him as he rubbed two fingers over his chin. Erik had learned it meant the old marine was turning things over in that big brain of his before imparting words of wisdom. “You’ve heard the phrase never judge a book by its cover, yes?”
“I’m pretty sure my two-year-old niece has heard that phrase, sir,” he answered wryly.
Dr. Marion grinned. “Exactly. It’s one we all know, and yet we forget the lesson more often than not. You’re here because you need help working through things from your past, but people who aren’t aware of your situation would probably never assume you need therapy, much less that you’re in it. Do you feel that’s a fair statement?”
It was true enough. Erik liked to think that no one outside of the department would suspect he was cracking up. “I suppose so,” he said, “but what does that have to do with Olivia or the fact that she wouldn’t even tell me about the guy in the picture?”
“The point I’m trying to make is that you shouldn’t make assumptions about the mental or emotional well-being of others. You’re living proof that you can’t look at someone and know whether they’re fine or struggling with something. In other words, you shouldn’t assume that something is easy to talk about simply because you think it should be.”
Erik cursed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and scrubbing his hands over his head a few times before peering back up at the major. “I acted like a total ass, didn’t I? I wasn’t thinking about why she wouldn’t tell me. I just kept pushing her.”
As usual, the man didn’t answer, but rather let Erik marinate in his own thoughts.
He couldn’t deny that it had pissed him off to be faced with the reality that Livvie had belonged to someone before him—not that she belonged to Erik now, but that wasn’t the point—and that that someone was still smiling in framed pictures with her that she apparently couldn’t bear to take down. His sense of propriety, when it came to her, was irrational, but then again, nothing about the way he felt for her was anywhere near the realm of rational.
Damn it, he’d known she’d been hurting. She’d said as much that first night in the elevator, that she’d been trying to get over someone. Somewhere along the line, he stopped being sensitive to that fact, as though the few weeks they’d been talking would have automatically cured any heartache incurred from her past relationship. Heartache. The idea that some asshole caused her pain made him violent. He needed to check that shit at the door if he wanted a shot at making things better with her.
Better. He wondered if that was even possible. Being defeatist wasn’t usually his way, but he couldn’t help feeling like his inability to connect with Livvie, to get past her barriers, was somehow intertwined with the darkness in his past. Like the universe had put the perfect woman in his path just to fuck with him, to tempt him with a future he’d never have. The kind of future the men he’d let down in Iraq would never have. The epic karmic payback.
Dr. Marion finally decided to speak, interrupting Erik’s thoughts that were starting to spiral downward fast. “I’m going to take my therapist hat off for a mo
ment, son, and speak plainly for your sake and Olivia’s.”
Erik straightened on the couch like a dog whose ears perked up. If it had to do with him and Olivia, he wanted to hear it.
“I know I agreed the dates with Olivia were a good idea—and I still think they can be, under the right circumstances—but if your intentions don’t reach beyond your belt buckle, I think it’d be best if you set your sights elsewhere. Understand?”
Okay, so not words of wisdom this time. A warning. The alpha in Erik wanted to tell Uncle Eddie to kindly fuck off in a not-so-kind way. But the man raised by Norma Grady—who pulled the hairs on her sons’ heads as punishment for saying or doing anything considered rude or lacking in compassion—understood and respected the protective nature Olivia’s godfather would have for a woman who was like a daughter to him.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Good.” A quick glance at his watch signaled the end of the session, and Dr. Marion went through the usual reminders and final thoughts. They stood, shook hands, and Erik made his way to the door.
As an afterthought, Erik paused with his hand on the doorknob and met his therapist’s steady gaze. “For the record, Major, I don’t have any intentions on going anywhere unless she’s with me.”
Surprise flitted over the old man’s face, but he hid it quickly. “That’s quite a statement, young man. Tell me, does my goddaughter agree with those terms?”
“I’m working on it, sir.”
…
Since Olivia’s last client of the day had canceled, she’d decided to leave the office early and work from the comfort of home. It had absolutely nothing to do with Erik’s weekly appointment being scheduled for that afternoon and wanting to avoid him after the disastrous end to their date.
Nope. She simply felt like going home. She loved her office at the Pru, but sometimes she enjoyed the quiet of her apartment, knowing coworkers wouldn’t disturb her if she needed so much as a restroom break. Her desk was in her bedroom in the extra sitting area space and faced the large windows that shared the same view of the harbor as her living room.
Hot for the Fireman Page 14
