“Sure. Ms. O’Fallon. What I meant to say was I’m fine with you being my shr—therapist. But when we’re done with these sessions, if you’re still interested…”
“I don’t date my patients, Mr. Riley.”
“Understood. Please, call me Graham.”
Trying to hide her nerves, she bent down to pick up her note pad and pretended to be deep in thought until she could regain her composure. “So tell me, Graham, why is it that you’re here?”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve read the statement Global Air sent me, but I’d like to hear why you think you’re here.”
“I know I’m here to appease the court and the airline. Social media captures a pilot punching a passenger, and there’s going to be hell to pay. I’m doing everything that’s asked of me, no complaints and no questions asked.”
“Do you believe you have an anger problem?”
Graham laughed. “Not in the slightest.”
“Do you get easily irritated or frustrated?”
“Me? No. Never. Not much bothers me.”
“Do you consider people less worthy than you and therefore give yourself permission to act as you see fit?”
“Not in the least, Dr. O’Fallon.”
“So tell me about that night. What happened in the moments before your altercation with Mr. Stockton?” Maggie scribbled notes on her pad as Graham retold his version, which was pretty much identical to the police report and the statement given to her by the airline’s attorney.
“Were you having any relationship issues that may have occurred before that night? A break up with a girlfriend or altercation with a lover?” She reddened at her question.
“No and no. I don’t have a girlfriend. If I did, I wouldn’t have accepted your kind offer to show me around town.”
Damn her alabaster Irish skin. Maggie ducked her head and pretended to scrawl again.
“Could you be suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome? Something from your past, maybe? We can’t always control when our feelings or memories surface. Is there any history of abuse in your family?”
She watched as his easygoing demeanor changed. His body tensed and he sat up straighter. “All I was thinking about that night was getting home to my condo, reconnecting with friends, and having a cold beer. I was one flight away from ending a ten day trip and nothing sounded better than slipping between my cool sheets.”
Dear God. Surely she looked like a sun burnt teenager right now. Focus. “Mr. Riley.”
“Graham.”
“You avoided answering my question.” She didn’t mean to sound like an interrogating cop, firing out questions in rapid succession trying to trip him up, but the man had tripped her up. If he could cause her discomfort, she could turn the tables.
“You’ve asked me about a dozen questions in the past ten minutes, and I don’t see how that’s going to prove I don’t have anger issues. Look, I’ll attend the ten classes that have been court ordered. I don’t mind. I just want to put this situation behind me, get my wings back, and fly my planes.”
Avoidance. Definitely hiding something. “Mr. Riley, if you truly believe you do not have anger issues, why concede to the classes?”
“Because I’m not one to fight an issue. If that’s what I need to do, so be it. See?” He held up his hands. “Not a confrontational guy.”
“Even if you could clear your name?”
Graham shrugged and crossed he ankle over his knee. “I’m easy to please. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
With those dark looks, she could believe it. His short-cropped dark hair made his light blue eyes stand out against the five o’clock shadow he wore so well. With the toe-curling smile and crooked grin, he probably had a woman waiting for him in every state.
“I’m glad to hear you’re not prone to violence, but sometimes we repress feelings and memories from the past, and have little control over when they’ll come out and show themselves in our dreams or language, and sometimes, behavior.” She was good at her job: poking and prodding just enough to get her patients to unleash their denied, suppressed anger, and then helping them deal with their feelings.
Men like Graham Riley were used to using their looks and charm to get out of precarious situations, including therapy. She knew when a patient was giving her canned answers, responses they thought she wanted to hear. And she’d bet her license that the sex god in front of her who nearly spilled his coffee on her chest was hiding more than a girl in each state.
Again Graham stiffened. “Nice try, Doc, but you’re not going to break me of any trapped secrets. I know you’re hedging for me to bare my soul about my childhood. That’s been dealt with and I’ve moved on. I only wish the rest of you would see that as well.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Then you’re the only one. You don’t seem the type to watch the gossip channels or follow social media much, however, I wouldn’t have said that a few hours ago after the way you so freely offered your number.”
Maggie clenched her teeth, biting back an unladylike retort. Wouldn’t it figure, the first time she was so brazen with a man he ended up on her therapy couch?
“You must have read the opposing arguments. The dirt the media has dragged up?”
“I only read the official report, I don’t watch much television and refuse to follow any social media. Would you care to explain?”
“Not really, but since you’re the only one in America who doesn’t seem to know…” Graham unfolded his long legs and stood. He began to pace the room, his hands deep in his pockets. “Long story short, my dad used to attack my mother and…me on a regular basis. One night he came home drunk and accused her of having an affair. He beat her, then smothered her with a pillow. I attacked him and pounded on him until he let my mom go. He must have sobered up for a second and realized what he’d done. Next thing I know he goes to his bedroom and calls the cops on me. It didn’t take them long to get to our trailer. My mom had 911 on speed dial.”
Maggie gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Normally she’d react more professionally, but she didn’t except such a horrid tale to come from chiseled lips that could curve into an ovary-smashing smile.
“The cops show and I’m expecting them to cuff my dad, only they slap them on me and haul me off to jail. My mom was still breathing, barely. They brought her to Maine Med where she remained in a coma for three months. When she finally awoke, she called my temporary foster parents to bring me to the hospital. I stayed with her for thirty-three straight hours before she died. The family I stayed with didn’t want to take on a thirteen year-old. Thankfully Doreen and Keith Riley took me in. They were a sucker for a kid down on his luck. They legally adopted me, spent thousands for therapy, fixed me up, and gave me a life a kid could only dream of. And we all lived happily ever after. End of story.”
“And your arrest? What came of that?”
“You can google it.”
She needed time to process what Graham had just told her, but forced herself to remain professional, detached. “I was not privy to that information. Since you were so young, those records are sealed. They shouldn’t be available to the public.”
“Really? Because it took less than twenty-four hours for Stockton’s scumbag lawyer to characterize me as a son of an abusive alcoholic murderer. And of course, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I gave my dad a broken jaw and two broken ribs and have never laid a hand on anyone since.”
“That won’t stand up in court. You were a boy when that happened and you were defending your mother.”
“But this time I’m thirty-two and knew better. And I was in my uniform. I’m not too worried about losing my job over this. I’ll serve my punishment, do the therapy thing, and move on with my life.”
“You realize I can’t sign you off until we’ve had more sessions?”
“Sure. Like I said, whatever it takes.”
Maggie jotted down few not
es, including Google Graham Riley. Unfortunately she didn’t know his name from before he was adopted.
“Would you mind telling me your—”
“Davison. My parents were Robert and Audrey Davison. We lived in Waterville, Maine. Like I said, google it. You’ll find the story.”
Ashamed that he could so easily read her mind, Maggie played coy. “Thank you for the information, but that’s not what I was going to ask.”
“Okay. So what is it?”
Crap. Thinking quick on her feet, she said, “Your schedule. I need to make use of your time while you’re in Maine. I’ll need to squeeze you in for private sessions, and also schedule you in for the anger management group therapy sessions as well.”
She noticed Graham’s clenched fists, but he kept the grin on his face. “Sure. I’m open. You book me, I’ll be there. I already have your number, do you need mine?”
Clearing her throat, Maggie stood and motioned to the door. “Tiffany has your information in the computer. We can look at the calendar and schedule something that works for both of us.”
Graham stood toe-to-toe with her in the doorway, taking up her space, smelling like soap and man. “What’s good for you is good for me, Doc.”
Not wanting to embarrass herself with a throaty reply, she gestured toward the entry area where Tiffany sat at her desk. He raised an eyebrow and gestured right back. “Ladies first.”
She walked on shaky legs to the receptionist. “Tiffany, can you take a look at my schedule and do your best to fit Mr. Riley in one more time this week and for two sessions next week?”
“Sure.” Tiffany clicked away. “You have an opening Friday at eleven. Next week is pretty packed. People want to get in before taking July off. You don’t have any openings.”
“Mr. Riley.” Maggie straightened and took in his blue eyes. “Since you’re only in town for a few weeks, I can come in early or stay later than my regular office hours. Would you prefer a morning or evening appointment?”
He grinned and she knew he had something daring to say; thankfully he held it back and answered teasingly, “Are you a morning person? I’d hate to come in here and endure a grueling hour of therapy with you before you’d had your cup of fancy coffee.”
Tiffany giggled. “Ms. O’Fallon is a morning person. No need to worry about her.”
“Great. How about one morning and one evening session? Mix it up a bit?”
Tiffany printed off his appointments and handed him the paper. “We’ll see you Friday, Mr. Riley.”
“It will be my pleasure. Ladies.” He nodded and let himself out the front door.
Maggie relaxed her shoulders and let out a sigh as Tiffany fanned herself. “Holy mother of all that is beautiful, Maggie. That man is fine. Like give me a camera, strip off your clothes, and let me photograph you fine.”
“Tiffany.”
“Seriously. How did you hold it together? One hour in the same room? I’d be snuggling up to him on the therapy couch and—”
“Enough.” Maggie held out her hand. “Turn your hormones down to simmer. He’s here for two weeks and then it’s back to Texas or wherever he calls home.”
“That’s even better.”
“Tiff. That would totally go against the doctor-patient code of ethics.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not his doctor so…” Maggie glared at her. “Kidding. Geesh. Take a joke. You know me better than that.”
Yes, she did. Tiffany had been her receptionist since Maggie opened her practice eight years ago, straight out of college. Tiffany was a dedicated worker. They’d become friends, but Maggie shielded herself from getting too close. Not many people broke through her barriers.
The great thing about being a therapist was the safety of being on the other side of the couch. No need for her to relive her dysfunctional childhood.
Chapter Three
Maggie
Needing a dose of friend therapy after a long day, Maggie texted Mackenzie, undid the top two buttons of her blouse, and dug through her Coach bag for her sunglasses. After locking up the office, she slipped on her glasses and breathed in the fresh air. She’d always loved living on the coast, taking advantage of Maine’s four seasons.
In the fall she’d often drive up and down the coast, opting for the less densely populated areas where she could take in the vast array of colors. In the winter she would head inland and ski the slopes. There was no need to leave Rocky Harbor in the spring and summer. Beauty could be found at every turn. Whether it was the brick walkways lining the quaint streets, the tourists visiting the high-end, locally owned shops, or the waves crashing over the rocks near the harbor, there was always something to capture the eye.
Even though she didn’t inherit her father’s talent behind the camera, she’d learned to appreciate the beauty in things around her. Taking her time and soaking in some Vitamin D, Maggie leisurely strolled down the street to Coast & Roast. Mackenzie Pratt had been her best friend since fourth grade when she stood up to Billie Marshall who had tried to steal Maggie’s lunch. Kenzie, wiry thin and full off sass, pushed big bully Billie away and snatched Maggie’s homemade brownie back.
“Mopey Margaret doesn’t want her brownie. She said I could have it,” Billie lied.
“Nuh huh. You’re mean and bossy and no one wants to share with you. Leave us alone or I’m gonna give you a knuckle sandwich right between the legs.”
Maggie had never heard a girl talk like that before, and she was scared and a little impressed. After Billie stomped away, Mackenzie turned and plopped herself next to Maggie. “He’s so fat he shouldn’t be eating brownies anyway.”
“Thank you for getting my brownie back. You can have it.” Maggie pushed the delectable slice of chocolate heaven in front of Mackenzie, knowing the girl came from a large family and didn’t have a lot of money. She watched the girl’s eyes, as dark as the brownie, widen.
“For real?”
“Sure.” Maggie shrugged.
“You’re my new best friend.” Mackenzie tore into the brownie and talked with her mouth full. “This is the most awesomist thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Benny makes the best desserts. You can come over some time and she’ll make your favorite.”
Maggie smiled at the memory as she entered her best friend’s coffee shop.
“Sorry I missed you this morning,” Kenzie called from behind the counter. “I had to take a delivery out back.”
“No problem. I had paperwork to do anyway.”
Kenzie came around the counter balancing two raspberry iced teas and a plate of sugar cookies, and placed a quick kiss to Maggie’s cheek. “You look happy. Tell me about the guy you met this morning.”
“What? How did you know—?”
“Spies everywhere, Mags.” Kenzie winked as she placed their glasses on the coffee table and sat back into the overstuffed leather couch.
“That was nothing,” she lied. “I was thinking back to when you saved me from big Billie. That’s why I was smiling.” Maggie sat, pulling her feet under her butt.
“Benny does make kick-ass brownies.”
“You make kick-ass brownies.”
“Thanks to Benny’s recipe. I can’t bake much of anything else. Anyway, I know avoidance when I see it. You forget I know all your tells. Now, about the guy. Davey said you practically threw yourself at him.”
“That kid needs to get a life.”
“He’s my nephew and he’s a hard worker. I’m hoping instead of going to college next year he stays as my right-hand man forever.” She sipped her drink and gave Maggie the death glare. “Spill. Now. Before I take away your cookies.”
Knowing Kenzie would make do on her threat, Maggie snatched a cookie and sighed, sinking low into the couch. “The guy—”
“Incredibly hot guy, from what I hear.”
“Davey said that?”
“No, but his girlfriend Natalie was here and spotted him. She described him as freaking hot. Like super-hero hot. Those cool aviator
shades, navy shirt pulling across his ripped chest, and lips that were meant for…naughty things.”
“A sixteen year-old said that?”
“Not exactly. However, that’s what I gathered from her description.” Kenzie rolled the glass on her forehead. “I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about him.”
“Well, then, there’s nothing much to tell.”
“What did he do with the number you wrote on his cup?”
“Your teenagers need to get lives of their own.”
Kenzie laughed. “I know. Who would have thought they’d be living vicariously through you? A washed-up old maid of thirty-one who hasn’t had a date in months?”
Maggie scowled and stuck her leg out to kick her friend. “Brat.”
“Has he called?”
Technically? “No.”
“Texted?”
“Nope.”
“So what aren’t you telling me?” Kenzie took Maggie’s glass from her and placed it on the table. “You came in here all flushed and gave me some crap about remembering when we were kids.”
“I really was thinking about that.”
“Maybe. But that’s not what put that look of dreamy lust on your face. You’ve been thinking of sexy lips all day and are wound up because he hasn’t contacted you yet. He will, though. You’re beautiful, and who can resist a redhead who flirts in a coffee shop and scribbles her number on his cup? You’re so getting laid this weekend.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you. A little. I’m bound by—”
“Oh, handcuffs or silk ties? I like the sound of this.”
Maggie couldn’t help but laugh. “Doctor-patient privileges. Turns out he’s a new patient of mine.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. How did you figure this out?”
“When he showed up for his ten o’clock appointment this morning.”
“Shut the front door! What are you going to do?” Kenzie leaned forward in anticipation, bouncing with delight. She always loved controversy and complex situations.
“Nothing. Well, nothing on a personal level. It was a little awkward when he first came into my office. We left things…uh, well, I made it clear that we couldn’t get personal.”
Staying Grounded (A Rocky Harbor Novel Book 1) Page 3
