“I must look like a crazy person,” I blurt out and paw at my hair.
“Not at all,” she assures me. “Now, I know very little about you other than you’re a new mum, yes?”
I slowly nod and let my nervous hands fall to my lap. I lace my fingers together to stop the compulsion to play more with my hair.
“Tell me about being a mum.”
Her voice is soothing, coaxing, calming. Whether it’s warranted or not, I’m lulled into feeling she’s someone I can trust, someone who will help guide me out of this dark period. The relief I feel is so intense that I burst into tears.
“Now, now,” she murmurs and holds out a tissue. “Whatever it is, we’ll work on it together. You’re not alone.”
What a wonderful thing to hear at this moment. She must be about my age, but she’s got a motherly way that I realize I’ve been longing for. I might be a mother myself, but I need to be cared for, too. I’m still crying, but it’s through a smile now.
When I’ve managed to collect myself a few minutes later, I tell Amelia everything. I pour my heart out to this woman, desperate to believe that she’ll be careful with all I’m entrusting her with.
I don’t know how long I’ve gone on when the words finally stop falling out of my mouth, but I suspect we’ve gone well over our allotted fifty minutes. Falling back into my chair, I take in a deep breath and on the exhale, I feel the most peaceful I have in a long time.
Amelia, on the other hand, looks a little concerned. She’s tapping her pen against her notepad, thoughtful.
After a silent minute, she looks up at me. “So, to sum up what you’ve told me,” she says, “in the last couple years, you returned home after living abroad for more than a decade so you could see your mother through the end of her life, you got married again after a rough divorce, become pregnant when you never thought you could, adopted a baby, and shortly thereafter gave birth?”
I tick through all those things in my head before nodding.
“And,” Amelia continues, “you’ve been feeling something you think might be postpartum depression, but you haven’t been able to share this with anyone. Not your husband. And not your best friend, who, if I have this right, had a years-long love affair with your husband while she was married to another?”
Again, I mentally check off the list she’s offered and nod. “Right. Oh, and my estranged father has just contacted me, too.”
“Oh?” She flips to a new sheet in her notepad. “You haven’t mentioned him.”
I’m exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted. The kind that feels well earned. I’m also amazed that we’re still going.
“Don’t you have another client? I don’t want to keep you,” I say and glance at my mobile for the time. It’s been ninety-four minutes since we started.
“Oh, thank you for thinking of that, but I’ve held this time slot open for a while now. There’s no one waiting.”
It suddenly occurs to me that there is someone waiting: Conor. He insisted on staying close by while I had this session. I’m sure he didn’t expect it to take this long.
“I shouldn’t take any more of your time.” I stand and wipe at my eyes.
Amelia puts aside her notepad and stands. She offers me her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Felicity.”
Though it’s the proper thing to say, it sounds so final and I nearly panic. “Will I see you again?”
“Would you like to?”
“I would like it very much.” In fact, I feel that I need to see her again.
“Does this time work for you? Shall we schedule again for Thursday?”
She wants to see me twice a week. I really am a mess. But I’m ready to try to get a handle on things and quickly agree.
When she walks me halfway toward the door to the outer office and stops there, letting me take the rest of the steps on my own, I hesitate. Oddly, I want to hug her. Or do something to thank her for letting me unburden myself. But when she just smiles at me and waits for me to find my way to the door, I remember that this is a business relationship, and our time is up.
* * *
Conor is standing in anticipation when I step out into the waiting area. He smiles, and I feel that familiar tingle. He’s far too good looking. And he knows it, which has always driven me crazy. But right now, I don’t care. I just care that he’s here.
I go to him, and he envelopes me into his embrace. I lean into him but he doesn’t falter. He works out religiously and his body his all defined muscle. But it’s his inner strength that I love so much. When we became friends again after I came home to Dublin, I thought I had him figured out. I thought he was this immature playboy who was content to chase girls and live on the surface of things. I thought I’d have things to teach him about love and commitment. But he’s been proving me wrong over and over. He’s wiser and more stable than I ever thought he was capable of being. To my surprise, I’ve been the one who has learned from him.
“Ready to go?” he asks and presses a kiss into my hair.
“We should get back. I—” I stop and pull away from him as a realization hits me. “I’ve never been away from them like this. I’ve never not been there.”
Conor takes my face into his hands and bends his knees so he can look me in the eye. “You are an amazing mother, honey. And you deserve to take the time you need to get back on track. Don’t start guilting yourself over this.”
Reaching up, I place my hands over his, squeezing. With a hard swallow and a nod, I do my best to consciously let go of the fear that was threatening to overtake me.
“We’ll make one quick stop on the way home, okay?”
“Where will that be?”
“You’ll see,” he says with a smile.
9
As Conor leads me through a maze of alleyways and side streets, I have no idea where we’re walking. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m content to feel the warmth of his hand on mine as he tugs me along. Speaking with Amelia, unloading the burden of things I hadn’t even known I was harboring, had an instant effect. My steps feel easier, my eyes less heavy. A lightness has returned to my being. If this is how I walk away from every session with my therapist, I’d be glad to go every day, just so I can get through this thing that has been dragging me down.
“Here we are,” Conor says and gestures to the royal-blue door in front of us.
I recognize the café as the place where Conor and I first met upon my return to Dublin.
“Feeling nostalgic?” I ask with a smile.
“A bit. Anyway, you need to eat something.”
We go inside, and I take in the familiar black and white checkered flooring, clean white walls, and mismatched kitschy floral-patterned vinyl tablecloths. It all adds up to make a cozy spot for a quick meal. We even claim the same table we had that first time, the one right in front of the window.
As is commonly the case, the female waitstaff fight among themselves to determine who will be the lucky one to serve Conor Quinn, rock god. Though I’m virtually invisible when I’m at his side, he causes a stir wherever he goes, and I know he gets a thrill out of it. But he’s also deft at minimizing the intrusion it causes, including now when he charms the young woman who won the battle to be our server with his sexy smile while ordering more food than either of us can eat, along with a pot of tea.
“So, why here?” I ask when we’re left alone.
“I dunno. I suppose I was thinking of simpler times, back when we first found that spark.”
“Then? We were just friends then.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You wanted to tear the very clothes off me on that day.”
I laugh, remembering how he had caught me looking at him with lust in my eyes. Though he was game to flirt, he wasn’t really interested in me on that day and I remind him of that.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you were engaged to another woman at the time,” I say simply.
He leans back in his chair and studies me.
“Fee, the minute we sat down here together—no, the minute I saw you shaking the rainwater off yourself just outside that door,” he says and gestures to the front of the café, “was when it all started.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, but it’s just not true. You were only playing games for the longest time.”
He smiles, conceding the point—at least partially.
“Okay, maybe I didn’t know that day that you’d be the one I’d marry. But I knew without a doubt that I needed you in my life. I knew it. And that’s why I say it all started here.”
My chin trembles as I fight back tears. I didn’t know I had any more tears to give at this point.
“Unless, actually, we want to go further back and count that confession you made to me. You know, the one where you said you still think of me?”
Here I am again, smiling through tears. And laughing. Conor’s always been good at knowing when to lighten the mood.
“I can only imagine,” I say. “I mean, you were with one of the most beautiful supermodels in the world, but here I was—plain old me—mentioning that you cross my mind on occasion. Must have created quite the temptation for you.”
My effort to downplay things goes nowhere.
“It was everything, Fee. Honestly, it was the thing that started me on questioning if I could keep going with Colette.”
I nod and sniffle.
“So, really, I thank God that you never stopped lusting after me.”
“You’ll never stop being led around by your ego, will you?”
“Better than being led around by other things, isn’t it?”
Before I can respond, our tea and food arrives in the shaking hands of our waitress. Her cheeks are bright red as she hurries to settle everything. Conor notices her nerves and helps her place the teapot in the middle of the table before she dumps it all over us. Then he takes the girl’s hand and gives it a squeeze.
“You all right, love?” he asks.
She squeaks and nods. Literally, squeaks. Just like a mouse.
I cover my mouth, so she doesn’t see me smiling.
Like the proverbial lion with a mouse, Conor licks his lips and fixes the poor thing in his hungry gaze. “We’ll take a photo before we go, yeah?”
She manages another squeak and scampers off.
“You know, it might be better for you to not acknowledge some of these girls,” I tell him.
“Why would that be better?”
“The ones like this girl, they’re petrified of your attention. They want to be near you but can’t handle what it means to actually interact with you.”
“Meaning they might want to just admire me from afar?”
I smile because he sounds disappointed by the idea of not being able to solicit a reaction from the girls who drool over him. “That wouldn’t be as much fun for you, would it?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he admits, and I shake my head.
Conor is a flirt, but it’s harmless. As wildly as my emotions and insecurities have swung lately, I do believe he’s committed to me. Just look what he did today. He skipped going into the studio, took the initiative to bring back Lizzy (whether she’s my first choice or not, she’s dependable), and is spending the day looking after me.
I lean forward and offer him my open hand. He takes it in both of his and smiles at me.
“I love you so much, Conor,” I tell him. Before he can return the sentiment, I continue. “And I’m so sorry that I’ve fallen . . . down.” I’d rather think of last night as falling down than falling apart, because the recovery of the former seems so much easier than the latter. “I’m so ashamed of the fact that I’ve let you down. I’ve let the babies down. I want to be a better wife and a better mother.”
Now he takes my hand and presses his lips to my skin for a long moment. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing to be ashamed of. Please let that go. You have to know that I don’t expect perfection. There’s no need to try to be this—this ideal wife and mother you seem to have in mind.”
“You mean I don’t have to be like Sophie?”
“What’s that mean?”
He’s looking at me with curiosity, as if the idea had never occurred to him that in contrast, I am a very pale shade of the vibrant portrait of a wife and mother that Sophie presents.
“Just that she’s basically Mary bloody Poppins, isn’t she?”
“Mary who?”
“She’s practically perfect in every way, is what I mean.”
Conor rolls his eyes. “I thought you two were friends?”
“Yes, we are friends. It’s just so hard to live up to her standards.”
His brows crease as he considers this. I can see why. I’ve made it seem like she’s been judging me, and I’ve fallen short in her eyes. And we both know that isn’t Sophie’s style.
“She just sets a very high bar, is all,” I say. “Everything’s so easy for her.”
“You know how you get around feeling like that?”
“How?”
“Stop comparing yourself to her.”
“Yes, well, it’s hard not to when I see how well she manages everything.”
“She’s not actually perfect, you know?”
I give him a dubious smirk. “She’s a tall, blonde, supermodel who looks like she never had one baby, let alone two.”
“That doesn’t make her perfect. It makes her genetically lucky.”
“She cares for her two children—mostly on her own—like it’s nothing.”
“More likely she keeps her hardships to herself, is all.”
“She makes her own organic baby food.”
“Waste. Of. Time.” He scoffs. “You can buy the same thing, just as natural and healthy.”
Since he’s countering everything so well, I up my game, saying, “She makes sure she never goes more than a couple days without giving Gavin an orgasm, no matter what.”
“Well—” Conor stops himself, and I can see that this revelation flusters him. It’s not only unusual for me to share Sophie’s confidence in this way, but it’s also a sharp contrast to our own sex life, as I admit next.
“I haven’t made the first move with you since before I was pregnant.”
“I know being pregnant wasn’t always easy.”
He’s regained control of himself and so I move on. “She’s never had to see a therapist because she couldn’t manage the very good fortune of having two small children at once.”
“Everyone’s got their issues.”
“What is hers, then? Honestly, I can’t begin to imagine—”
“Jesus, she cheated on her husband. How’s that for not perfect?”
“With you! She cheated with you.”
“Even worse, isn’t it? Her own husband’s best friend.” He tsks disapprovingly.
This forced incredulity he’s adopted purely to make me feel better is so ridiculous that it actually works. I smile, shake my head, and then laugh.
“It’s nice to see your smile,” he says.
This sweet sentiment is eerily reminiscent of what he told me a few years back when we were right here in this same spot, and I was having it rough with my mother. It meant more then than I was ready to admit. It reminds me of the unexpected sequence of events that led me to becoming friends with him again, of how he forced me to let down the protective walls around my heart, and how he’s always tried his best to care for me. I know that I have so much good fortune, but that has just made admitting to my struggles all that much harder. I just hope he keeps holding on.
10
Conor
I had decided to let Felicity take the lead in talking to me about what was going on with her. But our conversation after her therapy appointment was incongruously light and devoid of answers. It was clear there was no use in trying to coax details from her. So, I let our conversation flow without applying any pressure on her.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t frustrated by it, though. Once home, Felicity went straight for the ba
bies, eager to nurse them and relieve the swelling in her breasts. I need some kind of release, too. Conscious of pursuing the right kind of release, I ignore Lizzy’s lingering gaze and go upstairs to change into workout gear.
My mobile buzzes as I’m lacing up my trainers. It’s Gavin, so I answer without delay.
“Hey, Gav.”
“How’s things?” he asks.
“Fine, good.”
I hear him laugh. “Glad all is fixed.”
“I didn’t say that, did I?” I snap. Jesus, Felicity’s mood swings have rubbed off on me.
“Have time to make it to the studio today?”
He’s ignoring my rude reply and I’m glad for it. “No, my head’s not there. I need to go for a run.”
“It’s lashing down.”
“I don’t care. I just need to go.”
“Come by and I’ll go with you.”
The offer is Gavin’s subtle way of showing his support. He’ll employ my technique and will wait for me to offer up my thoughts rather than push. That and a good, hard run sounds exactly like what I need, and I agree before ending the call.
Back downstairs, Felicity looks like her normal self. She’s on the sofa, holding Ella as she nurses. I stop and watch her for a moment from a discreet distance. She looks so natural, so at ease and content. But that’s not the whole story. There’s something churning inside of her that led to me coming home last night to find her disconnected and neglecting our children. What if I hadn’t come home at that time? How long would those fussing babies have gone without proper care?
“Going out? In this rain?” Lizzie asks.
She’s come from the kitchen and has Romeo over one shoulder as she taps him firmly on the back, eliciting a burp out of him.
“Well done,” I tell him with a smile.
“You’ll catch your death.”
“Ah, I’ll be fine. I can handle myself.” I give her a wink to make the comment suggestive. Old habits die hard, don’t they?
She leans toward me ever so slightly. “I’d love to see that. Next time.”
Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6) Page 5
