My heart expanded in my chest cavity. God, I’d missed them.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, son,” he said.
“The money.”
Joe offered a simple nod. “What about it? It’s yours. It all became yours when you turned 25. I just have to sign off.”
No. No. No. No. This suddenly felt all wrong. I closed my eyes.
“I don’t want the money!” I nearly shouted as I laced my fingers behind my head. My eyes flashed open when Joe touched my leg.
“OK. It’s OK, son. I won’t sign anything. Tell me what you need.”
I stood. An anxiety attack lingered as my pulse raced.
“Kieran. Let me help. We don’t have to use your money. I’ll loan you some cash. What’s it for?” Joe asked standing as well.
Finally, I spat out, “I need $30,000. I’m buying a car and I need it in cash.”
He nodded. “You have several cars and the bike.”
“It’s not for me.”
“I can do that then. Maybe not cash but a cashier’s check. Can I ask who it’s for? Are you in some sort of trouble?” he asked, following me to the door with a concerned frown. Vivian must have been listening because she joined us in the entryway.
“No trouble. It’s for my therapist, Megan something or other. Thanks by the way, “ I said sarcastically. “No real therapy so far, just pretty much bickering back and forth. Been real helpful.” I winked so he knew I was kidding…sort of.
“What makes you think she needs a car?” Vivian asked, and this surprised me.
“Hers broke down. She was late for our appointment. Lives in a crappy area. She needs a reliable car,” I explained.
“Just a fair question Kieran. What makes it your responsibility?”
I shrugged. “I don’t have time to burn. She wasted forty minutes of my time before the appointment then I had to take her home. I have better things to do than run her around.”
Vivian fought a smile and I wondered what she found funny.
“How about you come by the courthouse tomorrow at 8? I’ll have it for you then,” Joe said.
“You’ll also come for dinner this weekend?” Vivian chimed in, with pleading eyes.
“Sounds good,” I agreed, nodding at Joe and placing a kiss on Vivian’s cheek.
Chapter 8—Megan
When I pulled into Joe and Vivian’s driveway in the brand new car, I was waffling between anger and appreciation. My hands shook with hope that I could keep it but trembled with fear that it would be taken away.
My car was fourteen years old and I’d driven it for seven. My dad had bought it for me when I turned 16; that was the one time I was home for a few months.
I couldn’t say I wasn’t ecstatic this morning when I walked out to find an envelope in my old car with a car key in it. The note simply read: New car. Gray Accord. Sell the old one. Lock the doors. Usiah watched me with only a smile and a shrug.
The only people I knew with money were the Phillipses. Joe wanted me to sell that car months ago. But Vivian took my side, knowing that it had a connection to my father and that I would do so in my own time. Though I had been ready a few months ago, the money wasn’t there right then to do it.
The magnificent house that I called home for a year and a half was everything I wanted when I was a little girl.
When Vivian answered the door, her surprise showed.
“Sweetheart. What brings you out all this way?”
I quickly gave her a sideways inquisitive look. Did she really think I wouldn’t have figured it out?
“Vivian. Was it you?”
She swooshed me inside.
“Was what me?”
“The car!”
She knowingly smiled.
“See! It was you!” I shouted.
“Honey. It wasn’t me. I promise it wasn’t.”
I rolled back on my heels.
“Really? Was it Joe?”
After shaking her head, she said, “Joe better be telling me if he’s doing something like that. You want some coffee?”
“No, I don’t want coffee. Vivian. I can’t keep it. I know you did it. Things like this don’t happen to people like me!”
She whipped around on me. “Sweetheart, don’t ever speak of yourself poorly. And I have absolutely nothing to hide from you. I’ve also never lied to you and I promised once it wasn’t me. End of story.”
I knew Vivian well enough to know that was the end of the story. So neither she nor Joe had bought the car. My father would never dream of such a thing. Usiah? He drove a black Escalade. Hmmmm.
* * *
My cell phone rang from the shotgun seat. Ruthie.
“Hey, Ruthie,” I answered.
“Hey Megs. I need your help.”
Great…if Ruthie needed help that meant I would need help. She conjured up the world’s worst ideas, and her wacky plans always somehow included me.
“What’s up?”
“Double date. Don’t say no! His name is Lucas. He’s really hot. I mean really hot. He’s new in town and works with Jerry.”
Her boyfriend Jerry was the VP at a bank. Boring!
“Fine!”
“Really? You’ll do it?” she shouted and I pulled the phone away from my ear.
“Ruthie, I always do it. And, don’t give me a second to reconsider. When?”
“Tomorrow!”
I fumbled the phone. “Tomorrow?”
“Stop whining. Put on a sexy dress and we’ll meet you where?”
“Jerry still won’t come into the hood, eh?”
Straight Arrow Jerry was what I called him. And if this guy was a friend with Mr. Clean Cut then my guess was he would put my feet to sleep.
“The hood?” Ruthie said. “Whatever, white girl.”
“I’ll be out of there in five months. Meet me at my office at 6.”
Ruthie and I had been friends for only two years. We met in an abnormal psych class where I actually caught her cheating off my paper. We laugh about it now but I still claim to be the brains of the duo.
I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror as I thought about her being with dull, mind-numbing Jerry for years. But in the two years I’d known Ruthie, I’d been man-less. I’d told her about my past. I’d told her damn near everything. As I tossed my phone back to the passenger seat, I knew that in my whole life, she was the first friend I knew I could keep. And if that meant enduring a brutally painful evening with a dork…I would. All the one-time-dates I’d been on with Jerry’s boring friends were exactly that…one-time-dates!
I stole another glance in the mirror at my office then pretended to choke my neck—hating myself for even caring what I looked like prior to my appointment with Kieran. I’d gained one more client this week so I was up to seven. Only two did I see twice a week. Kieran was one, and Kieran was today.
Professionally and with a logical mind, I tried to justify why I felt what I did, closing my eyes and mentally working it over in my brain. Kieran was strikingly handsome. No, not handsome, hot. Gorgeous. He was the type of guy you’d see on a billboard in a pair of Calvin Kleins. The Marky Mark of the millennium. The David Beckham of the real world. This speckled-brown-eyed god thrived on making me uncomfortable, which I think added to the attraction; plus, given that my vagina had never been occupied, this was the first time I’d considered sex for recreational purposes only. The fact of the matter was…Kieran didn’t dig girls like me. His type was more of a….Barbie. Big hair. Big boobs.
Resting my hand on my chin, I wondered what his intentions could possibly be. The only thing I could come up with was that he simply wanted control over what I said to the court, and I refused to give him that power.
Though I knew I could control myself, I found it irritating that I thought of him when I got dressed this morning — and as our session drew near, I watched the clock as it ticked.
“Mr. Scott?” I said, knowing that it irked him.
His right eyebrow shot up but he stayed seat
ed. There was no one else in the lobby. He wore a baseball cap backward on his head. Oh holy hell…I needed help to simply breathe.
“Mr. Scott?” I repeated.
He flipped the page of the People magazine with no movement.
So, allowing him to push my buttons…I did the one thing any mature therapist would do—I semi-stomped toward him, yanked the magazine away, curled my finger in a come-here motion and turned around. The sound of his knees popping led me to believe that he was following. When I heard my door close behind me, I sat and waited for him to take a seat.
“How’s it going, Doc?” he asked with a sexy drawl.
A slight smile touched my lips at his nickname for me. My heart skipped a beat each time he said it.
“I thought we agreed to forgo the nicknames?” I said.
The trivial eye roll of his was becoming habit.
“You seem grumpy. Everything OK?” I asked.
His silence caught me off guard. I liked him better being inappropriate than quiet.
“You get your car running?” he asked, totally ignoring me.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Ignore what I ask. Ignore what I say.”
He shook his head, disagreeing with me. “I never ignore you. I just may not respond.”
“Same thing, Mr. Scott,” I said putting emphasis on his name.
After quietly releasing a pent-up breath, he said, “Everything is fine. Not grumpy. I like Doc. I don’t like Mr. Scott. Your car?”
This man was infuriating. It wasn’t that my other clients were open books, because they weren’t. But they talked. They seemed to utilize the process for what it was here for. As much as I didn’t…shouldn’t talk about myself, I knew that would get him to open up more. So…I did.
“It still isn’t running. But someone bought me a new car, oddly enough. So, right now, things are good.”
This time both eyebrows shot up. “Someone bought you a new car? What’s his name?”
“What makes you think it’s a he?”
“Well, for someone to do that, you must mean something to them. Or maybe you’re just that good in bed. I’m guessing that would be a he. Your boyfriend?”
I hurriedly shook my head. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, then winced, regretting the words that came out too quickly. “I don’t know who did it.”
He sat upright, leaning toward me. “You don’t know who bought you a car?”
“Not yet. There are only a few people who know I was having car trouble. Unless you did?”
He instantly pursed his lips together and gave me another infamous eye roll. I wondered how many times his mother said to him, “don’t you roll your eyes at me.” It was obvious he couldn’t afford a new car any more than I could. The well-worn leather boots and threadbare jeans were pretty indicative. He probably spent every dime he owned on the Harley.
“Hopefully it’s something you at least like.”
“Are you kidding? I love it and the relief it brought me at every single stoplight knowing it wasn’t going to die!” I laughed.
His smile was warmer and I needed to stop this derailment of therapy!
“So tell me, how’ve you been, Kieran?”
His smile took on an ornery look when I said his name.
“I’ve been good, Doc. I see you every other day it seems. There isn’t much to tell.”
“Twice a week, but I hear what you’re saying.”
“I work. Come here then work again.”
“What do you do when you aren’t here or at work?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Ride my bike. I play in a pool league too. How about you?”
GRRRR!
“No pool league but I love playing pool,” I replied, keeping it simple. “Are you good?”
“I’m not…bad. You should come watch.”
Unethical. Change subject.
“Where do you ride your bike?”
“Around.”
My eyes narrowed with what I’m sure was a menacing glare. “You want me to lose my job, don’t you?”
“Me not telling you where I ride my bike is a road to the unemployment line?”
“You not telling me what I want to know is a fast pass there.”
“What is it you want, Doc?”
There was the Kieran I knew. The words, along with the sexy tone and the head tilt…Satan was alive and well and tempting me with the hottest man known to women. I wondered what his girlfriend might think of him saying these things. Which made me wonder…
“Do you have a girlfriend? Significant other?”
“Are you asking professionally or personally?”
This time, I pursed my lips though I wasn’t sure myself.
“No girlfriend. I’m free,” he chuckled.
“So, is that by choice or just not found the right one yet?”
His beautiful brown eyes zoned in on mine.
“Women are funny, Doc. I don’t think they dig me.”
“Ha! Any woman with a pulse would dig you,” I said, and froze. My mouth didn’t close, my brows pulled together in pure mortification and a whimper resonated up my throat.
I remember hitting a deer once. Even though it happened in a split second, that doe and I had a moment of eye contact that I could still picture if I closed my eyes. The doe’s eyes held fear and mine held sorrow. She knew, even though I didn’t want to be, I was her predator in that moment and she was my prey. And for the first time in my life, now I was prey. I didn’t want to be. It made me feel vulnerable and weak. Yet, in the eyes of Kieran Scott, I saw myself become his target. His head twitched to the side and his tongue darted out, moistening his lips.
“Any woman?” His hoarse voice asked.
“Mr. Scott,” I whispered closing my eyes. Defeat settled in. I was going to have to give him up as a client. I’d have to call Joe.
“Doc,” he whispered and the smell of beer blew over my face.
Had he been drinking? Startled, my eyes flew open. Our proximity had lessened. I stood but he grabbed my hand, then with the softest of pressure he placed two fingers at the base of my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I asked, still whispering
“Seeing if you have a pulse?”
Chapter 9—Kieran
When she ripped her wrist away from me, I couldn’t help but smile. Any woman with a pulse would dig you. I didn’t have to feel her wrist—that was rubbing salt in the raw, gaping wound. The blood that crept into her cheeks was answer enough. Poor girl was mortified. I glanced at my watch. We still had twenty minutes left but she was becoming predicable to me and…
“Our time is up for today,” she said, and headed to the door. Money! Could have called that thirty seconds ago.
I met her at the door. “I still have twenty minutes.”
She slid away from me over to her desk. “That is not accurate. I owe you fifty minutes. The last ten is utilized to decompress and document.”
“Decompress?” I wondered if that was another word for masturbate.
“Yes. Prepare for my next appointment,” she said, shuffling papers on her desk.
“Do you have another appointment?”
“My schedule is not your business, Mr. Scott.”
I grabbed her calendar that lay open on her desk. There was nothing on today except for my session and someone before me.
“You have no other appointment.”
Anger replaced whatever it was glistening in her eyes and she stood, her hands in fists.
“You’re right, Mr. Scott. I don’t have an appointment. I have a date.”
Those four words knocked me on my ass. Not literally, but I had nothing to say. Let me reword that—I had plenty to say but not one word formed on my tongue. I only watched as she slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed her jacket, slid between the desk and me and pulled the door shut behind us. After she ushered me to the front door, she stayed behind. I’d never been speechless.
While getting on my bike, I watched the Acura park next to her car. A couple sat in the front seat with a lone dude in the back. After sliding my Oakleys on I tried to get a better look. I figured this was her ride. It irritated the living shit out of me that the green, fucking monster was rearing its ugly head in my chest. I had never been jealous a day in my life. I had zero say over her. She talked to clients all day long. She could have been getting laid for the past two weeks. But this…watching her drive off with some guy, was a little tough to swallow.
Suddenly, she appeared from behind the bushes where the door was. Her dark denim jeans with a tear near her ass and one near her knee aggravated me even more. They hugged her ass like I wanted to at the moment. The little white canvas Converse made me smile. Some guys dug heels and I did too on occasion but I’d take those sneakers any day. The gray T-shirt she wore clung to her very noticeable rib cage. The girl needed to eat. She waved at the Acura. That was my cue and I started up the bike, revving the engine just a bit.
Her eyes flashed my direction as I lifted the kickstand and started rolling her way. The guy in the back seat along with the girl in the front piled out and met her on the sidewalk. The brunette girl was introducing her to the guy. First date?
My exhaust was louder than most so I killed it for conversational purposes.
“You all should come by Winks,” I suggested.
With an open mouth the brunette shamelessly gawked at me
“Who. Are. You?” she asked.
I nodded at Megan. “A friend of hers.”
Megan simply offered a crooked grin. I knew it would break her little confidentiality laws if she said I was her client.
“Yum-my,” the brunette said and the first date dweeb silently stood there shifting his feet in his khakis and pressed shirt.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Winks?” brunette girl asked. “We’d never get in on a Friday night. And the cover’s always expensive.”
“Well, it just so happens that I know someone there. Be there by 9. Todd will let you in. No cover.”
Megan was shaking her head, opposed to the idea, but brunette girl’s smile only brightened as she exclaimed, “Great! We’ll be there.”
Sessions Interrupted Page 4
