The Only Shark In The Sea (The Date Shark Series Book 3)

by Gladden, DelSheree

  “Of course.” She sounded like she meant it, but Natalie didn’t plan on calling Guy for help any time soon. Not only did she not have the same connection with him as she did with Vance, he already had enough on his plate with taking over Vance’s patients, his wife going through chemo, and their son to take care of.

  Before hanging up, Guy gave Natalie the information about the group therapy session and insisted she at least give it a try. They met every Monday night at seven. She glanced at the time and winced. That was only four hours away, which didn’t give her much time to try to convince herself to go. He wouldn’t hang up until she promised to attend that night’s session, so Natalie eventually gave in and promised to, at the very least, show up and sit there.

  The rest of her day was pretty much a wash.

  ***

  Natalie checked her phone again. Vance hadn’t responded to her since the funeral, and she really had no other friends who might call other than Sabine, but she was desperate for an excuse to walk back to her car. Guy wouldn’t actually know if she didn’t show up. She could lie if he asked. Sighing, she forced herself to take a step forward and look through the window in the door.

  She wanted to change. She wanted to get better. That was the whole reason she had called Guy in the first place. Even with everything that had happened in the last few weeks, her desires hadn’t changed. They had intensified, if anything, but with a different focus.

  Before, Natalie would look at families and couples and wish she was capable of living a normal life. That hadn’t really changed, but there was suddenly a more immediate reason to change. Guy was right that Vance needed help. She didn’t have any confidence at all that she was the person to give it, but she had to try.

  Her fingers felt numb as she reached for the door handle and gripped it. She watched her knuckles turn white before she was able to make herself pull the door open. When she did, every pair of eyes in the circle of chairs turned to stare at her. It was nearly enough to make her bolt right then and there. She did let go of the door and scramble backward when a middle-aged woman stood.

  “Are you Natalie?” she asked.

  She could feel the panic rising as she nodded. Her breaths were getting shorter and shorter.

  “Dr. Saint Laurent called me earlier to let me know you’d be coming tonight,” the woman said. “I’m Leslie.” She didn’t try to move any closer or attempt to shake Natalie’s hand or anything like that. She gestured toward an empty chair and said, “You’re welcome to move your chair as close or far away from the circle as you feel comfortable. It’s also up to you whether you want to share anything or not. Our group is very low pressure and we do everything we can to accommodate each other’s unique needs.”

  Natalie was relieved when the woman took her seat again and directed everyone’s attention back to her so they weren’t all staring at Natalie any longer. The session seemed to make an attempt at resuming. Given that it was a group of people with serious social issues, it was awkward at best. The jerky start-stop of conversation was oddly comforting to Natalie. After a while, she made her way over to the chair and pulled it a good five feet away from the nearest person before sitting down.

  Leslie was the only one who seemed to notice her join the group. Well, she was the only one who acknowledged it, anyway. More likely than not, the others were all hyperaware of everyone in the room like she was, but pretended to be invisible. That was pretty much Natalie’s tactic as well.

  “Milestones,” Leslie said, “are very important in this group.” She seemed to be talking to Natalie. “The milestones are chosen by each individual, a goal they would like to reach within a certain amount of time. It can be anything from saying hello to someone to having low level physical contact.”

  Everyone in the room shuddered.

  “You can tell the group your milestone, or you can write it down and I’ll keep it private,” Leslie continued. “No one is required to choose a milestone, but I think we can all agree that having a goal to work toward is important.”

  A few heads nodded.

  “Would anyone like to comment on the progress they’ve made toward reaching a milestone?” Leslie asked.

  No one raised their hand. The entire group sat in a silence that was strangely not awkward at all, until a deep voice across the circle from Natalie finally spoke. “I asked a question…during a safety meeting…at work.”

  A general murmur rumbled around the room. Natalie knew nothing about the man who had spoken or what his particular social difficulties were, but she knew how daunting it was to speak up in front of other people, and found herself nodding in appreciation of his achievement as well. Leslie was more vocal.

  “Leonard, that’s wonderful.” She beamed at him, pride as thick as if she were his mother coating her expression. “Did you ask about the first aid kits on the trucks?”

  He shook his head fiercely.

  “Well, you’re working your way up to it,” Leslie said. “Would anyone else like to share?”

  A few more people gave up random information about the progress they had made on their milestones. Natalie wasn’t sure what most of them were talking about, but Leslie seemed pleased with everyone’s progress when they reported in. Before Natalie knew it, the session was over. As soon as Leslie closed things up, the people in the circle bailed as fast as they possibly could. Natalie wanted to do the same, but her escape route was cut off by Leslie striding up to her with a smile.

  Stopping short of actually reaching her, Natalie folded her arms across her chest and met Natalie with a cheery gaze. “I’m so glad you decided to come, Natalie. I think this group will be very helpful to you.”

  “But, you don’t know anything about me,” Natalie argued.

  Leslie’s expression changed. She wasn’t haughty or condescending, but the odd expression on her face made it clear she was trying not to chuckle. “Natalie, I’ve been doing this so long, I learn a lot about a person just from their walk to the circle.”

  Natalie’s face twisted in skepticism. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Leslie’s cheerful expression melted into one that was much more serious, one that instantly made Natalie nervous. It wasn’t unkind, though, or presumptuous. Neither was her tone when she started to speak. “Everyone here has difficulty interacting socially, but the reasons are all different. Yours is an old wound, one you’ve learned to compensate for fairly well, but one that still hurts quite a lot and has maybe been reopened recently.”

  “How could you know that?” Natalie whispered.

  Leslie’s compassionate smile was soft and welcoming. “Because it’s obvious that you’ve learned to deal with your disability well enough to function on a day to day basis, but all through the session you’d go back and forth between keeping it together and tightening up, like your thoughts kept slipping to whatever’s been happening recently.” She risked taking a step closer so it was harder for Natalie to avoid her gaze, but she didn’t attempt to reach out with more than her voice. “If I had to guess, I’d say whatever happened to you was family related, and you blame yourself.”

  Heat spread through Natalie’s chest as desperation to leave the room clawed at her. She was too curious to let it gain complete control, and even managed to ask, “Why would you say that? That I think it’s my fault?”

  “Whatever happened to you was clearly traumatic, or you wouldn’t be here, but you’re either very good at hiding the usual anger people feel when they’ve been victimized, or you feel at least some guilt—likely undeserved—about what you experienced.” Leslie frowned at her own words, clearly troubled by the idea. “If you ever want to discuss the details, I’m here to listen privately. Until then, I haven’t told you my thoughts because I want to look like Sherlock Holmes and impress you. I just want you to know that I want to help, and I do understand at least some of what you’re going through. This group may not be the most interactive, but I think you’ll find it to be much more supportive than you might think. I hope yo
u’ll come back next week.”

  When Natalie left work that night, she had intended for this visit to be her only one. Group therapy really didn’t sound like something she would be interested in at all. Leslie was a different matter altogether. There was something about her that inspired…something. It was different than the safety and acceptance she felt so instantly with Vance. Natalie wasn’t sure what to call it, but she suspected there was more to this woman than what was on the surface.

  “I’ll think about,” Natalie said, but as she walked away, she knew she’d be back.

  Chapter 16

  The Right Thing

  His phone had stopped buzzing days and days ago. Vance doubted it was because his friends and family had finally given up on trying to get him to talk to them. More likely than not, the infernal device had died. Isn’t that what everything and everyone did eventually? Amber liquid sloshed in the bottom of the bottle as Vance set it back down clumsily. His phone dying was his fault too. On purpose, though, not like Stephanie.

  A black feeling stabbed into the center of his chest at the mere thought of her name. He’d been using the bathroom in the guest room since that night because he couldn’t face walking into that room. Everything was still there, just as she left it. No, just as he left it. She was in too much pain to do anything but crawl into bed and curl in on herself as she faced the torment of dying alone.

  That night, he’d started toward the bathroom without thinking, only to be stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the pregnancy test still lying on the floor. He couldn’t remember what happened after that, but he woke up draped over the couch with an empty glass in his hand. He’d done his best to avoid both the bathroom and having an empty glass since then.

  The funeral was the longest time he’d managed to hold it together, and that hadn’t worked any better than hiding and drinking had. His memory was a little fuzzy on what exactly Natalie had said to him, but he remembered the feeling…the terrified, trapped feeling that told him he couldn’t hide forever.

  Thinking of Natalie had a strange, sobering effect on him. He was far from coming out of his alcohol induced haze, but thinking was a little easier when his thoughts focused on her. He couldn’t understand why at first. Was he supposed to remember something that had to do with her? He hadn’t answered any of her calls, just like he’d ignored everyone else’s.

  He thought about that for a minute, confused for a few seconds about why she would be calling him so much. He couldn’t figure out if she was calling as a friend…or a patient. Did it matter? Guy, Leo, Leila, Eli, Sabine, his family, everyone had been calling nonstop since that night. He pushed them all away, but Natalie seemed to keep sticking in his mind no matter how hard he tried to shove her away. Maybe it was what she’d said to him at the funeral, but a twisting in his gut called him a liar.

  Natalie wasn’t just a patient. They had become friends, even though he should never have let their relationship get so…connected. It was the only way to help her, though. That was what he’d kept telling himself anyway. He hadn’t let himself focus on the fact that he enjoyed talking to her and being around her then, and he shied away from thinking too deeply about it now. Maybe becoming her friend hadn’t been the only way to help Natalie, but it had been working.

  Vance set the glass down even though there was at least a finger’s worth of cognac still swirling around in the bottom. His last thought kept repeating in his mind. Becoming Natalie’s friend had been helping her, getting her to trust him enough to really open up and let him guide her. That’s what had been nagging at him since waking up on the couch, the reason getting Natalie out of his head was so hard. He had to help her. He’d failed Stephanie, but he couldn’t fail Natalie too.

  Stumbling up from the couch, Vance nearly toppled right back over when his head started spinning. He caught himself on the arm of the couch before actually falling then reached back to grab his cell phone. After several failed attempts to get the screen to light up, he admitted it was dead and went in search of his charger, tripping over the coffee table filled with glasses and bottles and a pair of dress shoes in the middle of the floor on his way.

  His regular charger was plugged in next to his nightstand, but going into the bedroom was out of the question. Pretty sure he still had a spare in the office, he changed course and shuffled scattered papers and files around on the large oak desk until he found it and plugged it in. It seemed unusually difficult to fit the plug into the slot, but he shoved it in eventually and made his way to the guest bathroom to shower. There were several towels on the floor, but at least one was still hanging on a hook, and there was a spare, unopened toothbrush on a shelf. It was good enough.

  As he toweled off a few minutes later, his head felt marginally clearer even if it was still pounding. His next task of finding clothes to wear was stymied when he remembered that all his clothes were in his bedroom. The thought of having to look at the bed again nearly made him vomit. He contemplated putting the clothes he’d been wearing back on, but he was thinking clearly enough to realize he had no idea how long he’d been wearing them and they were most likely not suitable for public.

  Desperately hoping there would be something still sitting in the laundry room, he wrapped his towel around his waist and cursed the cold tile floors as he shuffled to the back of the apartment. Given how sick Stephanie had been and that Vance ruined more laundry than cleaned when he tried to help her with that particular chore, he shouldn’t have been surprised to find clothes still in the dryer and several shirts hanging from the rack above the dryer. The unwashed piles of laundry on the floor were ignored.

  The sight of Steph’s clothes mixed in with his still shocked him for some reason, like they should have all disappeared out of courtesy. Instead, they hung there accusingly, reminding him that it was his fault she would never wear them again. Guilt twisted him and he grabbed a shirt without looking before dragging a pair of jeans out of the dryer and bailing.

  He was dressed, mostly, by the time he made it back to the living room. The cold floors were still sending icy darts up through his bare feet because he hadn’t found any socks in the laundry room, and he wasn’t keen on leaving the house without boxers under his jeans, but there was no way he would open the bedroom door to get either. Ever. It took the last of his questionable brain power to dig a pair of old Toms deck shoes out of the hall closet.

  Part of him knew he probably looked ridiculous. If he’d had the energy to care, he might have done something about it. Instead, he disconnected his phone and left the mess of his apartment for the first time since the funeral.

  There wasn’t a doorman to offer condolences or call a cab for him when he reached the lobby. Vance lived comfortably on his income, but it wasn’t quite in the realm of what Eli made or Guy had by birthright. Trauma victims came from every walk of life, not just the wealthy, so Vance had always kept his rates lower than what he could have charged.

  His hand paused on the handle to the door of the lobby. It was the first time he’d actually stopped to think about his patients since that night. Did they know what had happened? Surely Guy or Eli had talked to his receptionist and made arrangements. It was startling to think of someone else seeing his patients, or them simply not having care while he’d been wallowing. Vance tried to work up the desire to go back to work and continue helping them, but only Natalie managed to inspire that much concern in the state he was in.

  It bothered him all the way to the café that he hadn’t cared to even ask about his patients or see what his friends had arranged. He’d never blown off a responsibility like that. He didn’t like the realization of how apathetic he’d become in such a short time, but he wasn’t emotionally or mentally capable of changing anything in that moment.

  Putting his faith in his friends to make sure things were taken care of, Vance pulled the door to the café open and was immediately assaulted by thoughts of Stephanie. It was enough to knock the breath out of him. Moving out of the doorway was i
mpossible. Someone trying to exit finally just nudged him to the side and stepped past. Unprepared for the impact of stepping back into the café, Vance was powerless to respond.

  This wasn’t somewhere he and Stephanie had frequented before meeting Natalie. He didn’t understand why he was reacting so harshly to this place. This was Natalie’s safe place. It had nothing to do with Steph. Not until his gaze seemed to be unwillingly pulled toward the booth he had sat in that night, did it begin to sink in.

  When he’d ran from Steph, this was where he’d come. He’d told himself that night it was just to make sure Natalie was all right, but even then, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t true that day either. Yes, he had promised Natalie that he’d protect and help her, but she was more than just another case. Vance didn’t really understand what she was to him. Then and now.

  Running to Natalie had been an escape. He hadn’t intended to tell her anything about what had happened with Stephanie that night. He hadn’t really intended to only talk shop, though, either. He’d wanted a friend—not to confide in—but one to feel something other than anger with. Natalie had given him that. She’d given him unexpected peace that night. He thought he’d deserved it, then, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  Natalie hadn’t even known about the reason for the fight or Stephanie’s betrayal until later, but somehow she had understood everything he was feeling in that moment, the self-loathing, the hurt and anger, the feeling that he would never find the kind of happiness he’d always craved, even the loneliness he’d felt while sitting in a crowded room. Somehow, she’d known every single one of those emotions, and Vance understood it was because she’d felt them just as sharply as he had that night.

  Even though Vance feared he didn’t deserve comfort on any level, he needed it desperately. Natalie had understood his pain that night. Would she understand now? He knew it was wrong to think like that. She was his patient. He was supposed to be helping her, not begging her to make him somehow feel better about his own failures and the anger he was still harboring toward Stephanie. It was wrong. He knew that. Like so many other things in his life, he just didn’t care anymore.