by Sammie Joyce
She eyed me warily but I didn’t miss the spark of interest that seemed to mimic my own as she sized me up.
“Aren’t you a little young to be a therapist?” she asked bluntly and I smiled. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that same question and I doubted it would be my last either.
“I’m twenty-seven,” I assured her but she didn’t seem comforted by my words.
“Please,” I said again, gesturing for her to venture in. I moved to close the inner door myself. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“Got anything stiffer?” she muttered and I turned back toward her, reevaluating what I saw.
“Is day drinking something you do often?” I asked. Her frown deepened and she folded her arms over her chest defensively.
“I’m not a drunk,” she snapped and I shook my head.
“No one said you were,” I replied lightly. “I’m just making conversation.”
“By asking if I’m a lush?”
I wasn’t put off by her growls. If anything, her tone and demeanor made me more attracted to her and it bothered me endlessly.
She was a client, not a date. I had no right to feel that way about her.
Why, then, couldn’t I stop staring at her?
“Why don’t we take a step back,” I offered conversationally, retreating to my aerodynamic chair and casually crossing an ankle over my knee. “Before we get off on the wrong foot.”
Her expression seemed uncertain but I again flashed her a warm grin and whatever she saw in my face seemed to alleviate some of her anxiety.
“Sorry,” she muttered, flopping onto the settee, her brow furrowing. “I-I don’t really want to be here.”
“I got that,” I replied. “Why are you here then?”
She exhaled and shook her luxuriant brown waves, sinking back against the chaise.
“I can’t believe you really have a shrink’s couch in here,” she said but I got the sense that she didn’t realize she was speaking aloud. She turned her attention back to me.
“I was ordered to attend counseling sessions from my board.”
“Your board?”
“I’m a nurse,” she explained and another spark of excitement ignited in my gut.
She just keeps getting better and better.
I warned myself that people were never what they seemed, especially not humans but I couldn’t reconcile that this woman was suffering from mental illness or posed any threat to me in any way. And I trusted my gut. It had served me well more time than I could count—both in the office and out in the wild.
Still, I knew I had to keep my wits about me.
“Why did they order you to come?”
Vivian sighed and shook her head. I thought she mumbled something under her breath but when I strained to hear, I didn’t make it out.
“Vivian—may I call you Vivian?”
She shrugged and nodded, her chocolate eyes meeting mine.
“Vivian, everything you tell me here is confidential unless there is a very real threat of you hurting yourself or someone else, in which case, I have a legal duty to disclose.”
“I’m not hurting anyone!” she cried, seeming offended that I’d suggested it.
I don’t believe you are either, Vivian.
“Good. In that case, nothing you say will ever leave these four walls,” I assured her. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me why you think you were asked to come here.”
“Ordered to come here,” she corrected me.
“Ordered, right.”
She sighed and sat up, folding her hands in her lap. Her nails were short and neat, her fingers long and slender. I eyed the white knuckles of her hands and I could see she was embarrassed by having to be there with me.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with going to therapy?”
Her head jerked up and she gaped at me, shaking her head vehemently.
“Of course not!” she breathed. “I’m a nurse at St. Charles Bend. I understand the importance of counselors.”
“Just not for you?”
The corners of her pink lips twitched and I chuckled.
“I won’t be offended if that’s what you think,” I assured her. “There’s still a stigma attached to people going to therapy, even in this day and age.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” she insisted. “I just don’t need it.”
For the first time since her arrival, I felt a fission of alarm. Anyone who was fighting therapy this hard was either indignantly sane or hiding something.
“Someone seems to think you’ll benefit.”
“They won’t let me go back until you sign off and say that I’m fit for work.”
I blinked, surprised by the revelation. There was nothing unbalanced about this woman, nothing that screamed danger but I could also sense that she was holding onto something that she didn’t want to let go.
“I see,” I said slowly, even though I wasn’t sure I did. “Well, why don’t you walk me through it.”
Vivian gritted her teeth and nodded.
“I’ve been screwing up at work,” she supplied with surprising openness. “Nothing life threatening but enough to raise flags and put me under review.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not reacting fast enough. I freeze sometime and forget where I am.”
I frowned.
“Have you been physically tested? Had a CAT scan and—”
“It’s not neurological,” she sighed, a tinge of pink touching her cheeks. My brows raised higher.
“No?”
“No. It’s…” She paused and I could read the humiliation on her face. “I saw something a few months ago and I have flashbacks of it at the most inopportune time.”
I exhaled slowly, realizing that I’d seen this before, usually in doctors and medical staff.
“You saw someone die?”
“Brutally,” she replied quietly. “H-he had been ripped to shreds and…”
She pursed her lips together and looked away.
“It’s so stupid,” she muttered when she found her voice. “I mean, I’m a nurse. I’m trained for this.”
“No one is trained well enough to see violence,” I explained gently. “You know that.”
She raised her head slowly and met my eyes, the pain and embarrassment clear as she looked at me.
“I just can’t get it out of my head,” she murmured. “I mean, I see mangled accident victims, gunshot wounds, stabbings, beatings but this…”
“Did it happen at work?” I asked but I already knew the answer before she shook her head.
“No,” she sighed. “I-I was out…with my brother.”
“That’s likely the reason it affected you so much worse.”
She eyed me, waiting for me to elaborate.
“At the hospital, you’re prepared for the worst,” I explained. “It’s like you go in there with an armor of protection on, like a solider or a police officer.”
Her face relaxed slightly as she took my words and seemed to accept them.
“I just wasn’t expecting it.”
I nodded. She sank back and peered at me with those hypnotic brown eyes and I could feel my face flushing under her scrutiny but I knew the healthy bronze of my skin wouldn’t give me away.
“So now what?” she mumbled. “Do I have to undergo some deep therapy for PTSD or something?”
I grinned.
“I don’t think you’ll need it but let’s start with some basics, all right?”
“Like what?”
“Breathing exercises. It sounds to me like you’re having mild panic attacks when these situations arise. Let’s focus on your breathing and brining you back from wherever your mind wants to take you.”
Her eyes widened and hope filled her expression.
“Really? You’re not going to ply me with drugs or electroshock therapy?”
I laughed aloud, knowing that she was only hal
f-joking.
“No wonder there’s still a stigma attached to therapy,” I teased. “I hope you don’t tell your patients things like that happen in sessions. You’re going to put us all out of business.”
“I would never!” Vivian sounded aghast and I chuckled.
“I’m just kidding. I didn’t think you would.”
I rose from my spot and ambled slowly toward her but she didn’t seem intimidated by my presence in the least. She, too, rose and I noticed how I towered over her.
“Okay so face me,” I said, trying to keep a professional note in my words but it was difficult when she smelled like lavender and vanilla. “Have you ever taken a yoga class?”
She scoffed.
“I barely have time to sleep,” she replied.
“Well, these breathing exercises are akin to what you might learn in one of those classes. All right now, deep breath, in through your nose.”
Together, we inhaled.
“And hold it for five seconds…four…three…two…one…and out through your mouth.”
She exhaled in a whoosh of breath and I could see her shoulders fully sink as she did.
She’s carrying stress but that’s all it is. She’s the most put-together woman I’ve seen in a long time.
“And again. Inhale through your nose…”
We went through a series of five tasks and when we were done, I asked her to sit again, which she did without argument. She offered me a softer smile this time.
“Will there be a pop quiz next week?” she joked and I shook my head.
“No,” I replied, weighing my words. “Unless you want there to be.”
She grimaced, not understanding what I was suggesting.
“No thanks. I’ve done enough schooling.” She flipped her smart phone around in her hand and noted the time. “So should I just make an appointment for the same time next week?”
“No, Vivian. I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“You want me back this week? It’s already Thursday!”
I chuckled.
“No, Vivian. I don’t think you need to come back. I mean, I’m always here if you want to talk but in terms of being cleared for duties, I don’t see any reason why you can’t go back to work.”
Her eyes almost bugged from their sockets as she leapt to her feet and impulsively threw herself into my arms. I was taken aback by the action but I couldn’t resist inhaling her sweet scent before she immediately composed herself and pulled back, her jaw slacking.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry!” she choked. “I-I just expected to be coming back for six sessions or more while you delved into my daddy issues.”
“Do you have daddy issues?” I asked jokingly but she flushed.
“NO! No, I was joking. Totally joking.”
She held up her hands and crept backward like she was walking on eggshells.
“Thank you, Dr. Rhodes.”
“Marcel,” I chuckled. “I don’t have a doctorate and Mr. Rhodes makes me sound really old.”
“Marcel,” she echoed. I liked the way she said my name.
“I’ll call over to St. Charles myself,” I promised her. “But in the meantime, don’t forget the breathing exercises. If they don’t work or you’re still feeling overwhelmed, I want you to make another appointment. Can you do that?”
“Yes! Yes, of course,” she promised, her smile reaching each ear. It was only then that I saw the deep dimple on her left cheek.
Damn.
“Thank you,” she muttered again, holding my gaze as she paused in the doorway.
“Glad I could help,” I replied magnanimously. “Good luck, Vivian.”
She didn’t pull her eyes away for another second but when she finally left me alone in my office, I felt a twinge of regret in letting her go.
Are you out of your mind? I asked myself. She’s a client and she’s human. Get your head far, far, FAR away from Vivian Hunt.
With a grunt, I flopped back behind my computer chair and reopened my computer to check on my afternoon schedule but instead of opening my calendar, I found myself Googling Vivian.
“Are you leaving for lunch?” Courtney asked and I almost jumped out of my skin as my receptionist appeared in my office.
Guiltily, I slammed the computer closed and jumped up, grabbing my coat from the closet.
“Yep,” I muttered, feeling my head growing hot.
“Pick me up a sub at Subway?” Courtney yelled after me. I waved to indicate I’d heard her but I didn’t turn around, lest she see the shame on my face. I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid.
Forget about Vivian Hunt. It’s not like you’re ever going to see her again.
But despite the fact it would mean another session of her being my patient, I did hope that I was wrong and that I hadn’t seen the last of the beautiful nurse.
3
Marcel
Long after my last appointment left for the day, I found myself thinking about Vivian Hunt and the session we’d had.
Was it really a session? I asked myself, knowing full well what I was doing. I was trying to convince myself that the woman hadn’t been a client, that she’s stopped by for a social call. It was BS and I knew it, but the attraction I felt toward her was far greater than anything I’d ever experienced before.
It doesn’t matter. She’s a human and a client. You have no right thinking about her in any other terms.
With everything going on with Anticlaw, I couldn’t entertain the thought of pursing a human, client or otherwise. I didn’t want to think about what the repercussions of such a thing would lead to.
Courtney popped her head into the office, her coat and purse already on.
“I’m heading out,” she informed me. “Need anything before I go?”
I shook my head and rose from my desk. I wasn’t doing any good sitting there and stewing about an impossible hypothetical situation.
“No. I’m heading out too,” I told her and she nodded, pausing at the threshold.
“Vivian Hunt didn’t make another appointment,” Courtney said and just the sound of the nurse’s name gave me a shiver of pleasure.
“She doesn’t need one,” I replied. I’d already called St. Charles and faxed over a letter of clearance to reinstate her for work. Courtney blinked at the unexpected answer.
“Really?” she asked dubiously. My brow knit slightly.
“Do you know something I don’t know?”
Courtney shook her blonde bob quickly and flashed me a smile.
“No, of course not, Marcel. You’re the therapist. I’m just surprised. Usually you don’t give a clearance to someone until you’ve met them at least twice.”
A combination of defensiveness and concern shot through me as I eyed her.
Did I excuse Vivian without being a hundred percent certain just because I was attracted to her?
It seemed unlikely but Courtney did have a point. I typically had a two-visit rule to be sure.
“There was nothing wrong with her,” I replied, shooting my eyes down to my desk as I pretended to busy myself collecting my computer.
“You know best,” Courtney said brightly and I knew she wasn’t questioning my professionalism, even if I was feeling slightly uncomfortable about my own decision.
“Have a good night,” Courtney said brightly, turning away and I bid her the same, waiting for her to leave before heading out after her.
I left the low-rise commercial building that had housed my practice for the past three years. I shared the space with another therapist, a woman who had been in the field fifteen years longer than me. One day, Megan would retire and I’d take over the space—or at least that was the plan. Who knew what the future would hold?
I got into my burgundy Lexus and headed toward my house on the north side of Bend. I had purposely purchased a property out of the way for those nights when my urge to shift became irresistible. I had a corner lot on four
acres near the Deschutes River and on the border of Tumalo. The house itself wasn’t huge but for one person, it was more than sufficient.
As I drove, I found myself distracted by the construction of a new commercial complex being erected and I realized immediately who was working on the site. It wasn’t quite the end of the workday, at least not for Matt, who I found almost as soon as I pulled onto the lot.
My friend stood with a clipboard in his hand and a hardhat, barking out orders to his crew. He didn’t notice me until I was almost standing at his side.
“Gods, Marc, you scared the hell out of me,” the wolf chuckled when he caught a glimpse of me in his peripheral vision.
“Don’t tell the pack that you’re so easily frightened,” I teased. Matt snickered and clapped me on the back.
“There’s a reason they made you a Protector and not me,” he replied lightly. “You’re just unflappable.”
There was no bitterness in his tone but I knew how much Matt had wanted my much-coveted position on the Protector team. Unfortunately, the competition had been fierce and with Dalton and Inigo in the running, and the test had been close enough. The Council had extended the wolf spots to three in our case just because the race had been so close. Matt was strong, one of the strongest in his pack but he hadn’t been able to hack it.
“I wouldn’t say unflappable,” I replied dryly, giving him a half-hug before releasing him. It had been a while since I’d caught up with him and it somehow seemed fitting that I’d chanced upon him that afternoon with my thoughts being so disorganized. Matt Lewis had always been my confidant, after all.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at his cell to check the time. He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Is it Anticlaw?”
I shook my head, my stomach lurching slightly at the reminder of the vigilante group. Somehow, I’d managed to put them on the back-burner of my mind until that moment.
Somehow. You mean that Vivian has overtaken all your thoughts, I mused sardonically.
“No, no,” I assured him quickly. “I was just heading home and I thought I’d stop in and say hi. How’s construction going?”
“Considering we keep getting hit with snow, we’re surprisingly on schedule,” Matt offered. “The mini mall will be ready for leasing in April.”
