The Therapist (The Therapist #1)

by Ws Greer

  Ava smiles the way she does when she knows she’s done something I like, before licking her lips. “Sounds good to me. So, Dr. Colson…”

  “Don't call me Dr. Colson anymore,” I demand. “I’m not your therapist anymore, so just call me Malcolm.”

  “Okay, Malcolm,” Ava says, correcting herself with a satisfied smile. “What would like you me to do now?”

  “Leave,” I say, fighting back my own smile. “Say goodbye to Keisha, and leave. Drive to my house, and go in. My backdoor is unlocked, so go through the fence in the backyard to get in. From there, you’ll go upstairs, tie your hair into a ponytail, kneel in front of my bed, and wait for me. You won't leave, no matter how long it takes for me to get there. Do you understand?”

  Without the slightest hesitation, Ava gets up from her spot on the couch—the place she sat when we first met—and starts towards the door.

  “Yes, sir,” she says just as she begins to walk. When she reaches the door, I stop her.

  “Ava,” I say. She turns around with her hand still on the handle. “When I get there, don't have any clothes on.”

  Ava smiles and nods. “Yes, sir.”

  Once she's gone, I stand up to go back to my computer, stopping only to adjust myself in my pants, because the thought of Ava waiting for me stiffens my cock. At the computer, I go to the folder containing Ava’s file. I don't open it, because I don't want to see anything I’ve written about her since she walked into my office just over two months ago. It’ll just make this harder. Instead, I right-click on the folder, slide my mouse down, and click delete. I watch her file disappear, just before the intercom blares with the sound of Keisha’s voice.

  “Dr. Colson,” she says. “Will that be all for today?”

  “Umm, just one more thing, Keisha. Please delete all future sessions with Ava from the calendar. Our time together has been terminated,” I reply, just as I shut off the computer and grab my coat. “After that, we’re all set, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  As I put my coat on, I think about the decision I just made. By removing Ava from my client list, I’ve eliminated the threat of losing my license, but that doesn't mean I’ve removed all threats when it comes to Ava. I know who she is, and I know what I’m subjecting myself to, but I feel ready for it. I find peace in knowing I won’t have to fight back everything I feel from now on, because until I can be honest with myself about Ava and do what I want, how can I really know how I feel about her? I’ve been fighting urges for her for so long, being free from those shackles is going to be like diving into an entirely new world, and I’m beyond ready to take the dive. Where will Ava and I go from here? I have no idea, but I look forward to exercising my freedom to find out.

  “Great. It’s done. Have a good weekend, Dr. Colson,” Keisha says over the speaker.

  “Yes, thank you, I will,” I reply, smiling from ear to ear, anticipating what’s waiting for me at home. “I definitely will.”

  The End

  Preview of Shameless (The Therapist #2)

  ~ Tessa ~

  Have you ever felt like you were walking down a dark road? A road that doesn't feel like home. A road that is terrifying, and at the end of which you know there is nothing but impending doom. Have you ever felt like you were walking toward your end with every step you take? Well, that's how I’ve felt for far too long now, and today is the day the doom swallows me.

  The office is beautifully decorated: hardwood floors, walnut wood furniture that meshes perfectly with the black and brown couch I find myself sitting on, and elegant art on the walls that isn't too distracting, but beautiful nonetheless. It’s a comforting setting, which I especially appreciate at this moment, because I need all the comfort I can get.

  Across from me is a man I never thought I would have to sit in front of, but after struggling to solve the puzzle on our own the past six months, we’re here. His name is Dr. Malcolm Colson, and he’s a relationship therapist. We’ve been seeing him for four weeks now, and although Dr. Colson is brilliant, I don't think we’re making much progress. We’re moving, but it doesn't feel like it’s in the right direction. That’s not Dr. Colson’s fault, though, it’s ours.

  Sitting on the couch next to me is my boyfriend of the last two years, Brandon Stills. Brandon is a gorgeous man. He’s just under six-feet tall, with short, perfectly manicured hair and a beard that’s neatly trimmed. His hair is dark brown while his eyes are light brown, and he holds the confidence of a man two feet taller than he is. Brandon is in decent shape, as he hits the gym regularly, and he attracts plenty of attention from women, even when he’s standing next to me. I always felt lucky to have him. Until I didn't.

  Dr. Colson is a beautiful man in his own right. He’s probably six-feet tall himself, but he’s got a bit more to his frame than Brandon. Dr. Colson’s shoulders are broader, and his chest grabs my attention through the fabric of his button-up shirt. He’s probably two-hundred pounds to Brandon’s one-seventy, and his skin has that luscious golden brown you get when you have interracial parents. His green eyes are impossible to ignore, and the confidence he emits is like a fog that engulfs you when you get too close to him. It’s something I wish I could breathe in and use for myself, but since I can’t, I’ve found myself leaning on Dr. Colson for support when we come here. He’s been the best therapist I could ask for, and his skill is being put to the test.

  I’m in the presence of two beautiful men, but I’ve never felt more uneasy and self-conscious. The air doesn't feel like it should. It’s thicker, like the weight of the tension in the room is mixing with the oxygen and making it harder to breathe in. The comfortable couch doesn't feel as cozy as it did four weeks ago, and I feel as though I’ve run out of positive words to add to the conversation. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of him. I’m just so very tired of it all.

  “You see, this is what I’m talking about,” Brandon says. His words pull me out of my daze and roughly drag me back into the conversation I no longer want any part of. “See? She just goes to some happy place inside her head, and it’s like I’m talking to myself. She doesn't want to listen to me. Jesus.”

  I look up and see Dr. Colson staring at me, his green eyes captivating me. He doesn't look angry, but then again he never does. He looks like he’s trying to read me. It’s like I’m an open book, but I’m written in a language he hasn't learned yet, so he’s thumbing through the pages looking for words he recognizes so he can piece them together to make a complete sentence.

  I’ve been fascinated by Dr. Colson’s ability to pay close attention to us. He listens better than any man I’ve ever met, and he uses the information to give us sound advice that I believe could work if we were two people who were still invested in working it out, which I’m not sure we are anymore. Dr. Colson has earned my trust and respect. I only wish Brandon would shut the fuck up so Dr. Colson could earn his.

  “Okay, you're frustrated, Brandon,” Dr. Colson says, his voice low and commanding. “And I like that you're communicating today, instead of holding it all in. However, your communication can’t be powered by assumptions. I don't think Tessa doesn't want to listen to you. I think what's more likely is that your main concern is talking and getting your point across, rather than reading your girlfriend’s body language and nonverbal clues. From what I’m seeing—and please correct me if I’m wrong, Tessa—Tessa is shutting down. She looks drained. Brandon, have you asked Tessa how she feels about all of this?”

  I don't look over at him, but I hear Brandon let out an exasperated breath before speaking.

  “I don't have to ask her anything,” Brandon says. “I can tell from the look on her face that she’s somewhere else in her head, and that’s fine with me, because I can go somewhere else in mine.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh. When I do, both men in the room turn their eyes to me. I’ve been quiet throughout the entire session today, choosing instead to let Brandon get out whatever bullshit he wants to say. Maybe I’d feel compelled to speak up if I felt li
ke Dr. Colson believed a single word slithering out of Brandon’s mouth, but I can tell he doesn't. He looks disinterested, which is the mirror reflection of how I feel.

  However, everybody has a tipping point. Usually, when Brandon starts off on one of his long venting sessions, I just let him vent. My mother taught me not to say anything when I don't have anything positive to add to the conversation, but that is getting to be too much of a task, because not only am I tired, I’m fed up.

  “Tessa, is there something you'd like to add?” Dr. Colson asks. Those green eyes of his glare at me, telling me that the therapist has given me an in, and that I should take advantage of the opportunity.

  I turn to Brandon and shake my head. “That was a joke, right?”

  Brandon frowns. “What?”

  “What you just said about going somewhere else in your head,” I continue. “Brandon, you don't need to go somewhere else in your head, because you literally leave all the time. You're always out doing something else. That’s what brought us here in the first place. You don't touch me anymore, and that’s because you're always gone.”

  “You're mad that I don't touch you?” Brandon tries to strike back. “That’s so dumb, Tessa. How do you expect me to touch you when I’m out trying to make something of myself? I’m out there trying to make it big, while you're content being a veterinary assistant, working at your father’s clinic. You might be okay with a normal, boring life, but I’m not. I’m out there trying to become somebody in this world.

  “And if we’re being honest, when we do get to spend time together, you don't even seem happy to be with me. Maybe I’m physically distant, but you're mentally distant. It’s like you’re constantly thinking about whether or not you even want to be with me anymore. You're never satisfied. Like, when we have sex, you look dispassionate and detached. When I ask you what you want me to do, you tell me you don't know, but you act mad that I don't know either. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to satisfy you when you don't even know what you want?”

  I steal a glance at Dr. Colson, who’s writing furiously on his yellow legal pad, and I’m dying to know what he thinks about all of this. When he’s done writing, though, he doesn't speak. Dr. Colson is all about open communication. He’s been harping on it from the moment we walked into his office, so when Brandon and I get into verbal spats, Dr. Colson seals his lips and picks up his pen, but he rarely interjects. He lets us work it out, unless he sees that we can't work it out on our own.

  “Don't get mad at me for being driven, Tessa,” Brandon continues, annoyance walking hand in hand with his every word. “I don't have a family-owned business to attach myself to. My father doesn't have a clinic for me to work at. I have to make it on my own. Nobody handed my skills to me. I became a music producer on my own.”

  “Oh, God. Here we go again,” I spit out with a huff.

  “Oh, fuck you,” Brandon snaps. “Yes, I’m proud of the fact that I’m a music producer, and I’m proud of the fact that a band I produce and manage has booked a gig in D.C. this weekend. You can act like it’s no big deal all you want, but this band is about to go sing songs that I produced the music to, playing a gig that I booked for them. That’s a big deal to me, and it should be to you, too. You're just jealous that I’m about to become rich and famous, and you're going to be stuck working at Milton Animal Clinic under the shadow of your parents your entire fucking life, because I swear I’ll leave you behind if you don't shape up. That's right. If you don't figure yourself out really quickly, you're going to lose out on me.”

  “God, you're a fucking asshole,” I blurt, as I snap my head toward Brandon. “Nobody gives a fuck about that band. American Armpits is the dumbest band name I've ever heard, and they'll never amount to anything more than they are now. Attach yourself to those losers at your own peril, Brandon.”

  “Goddamn it, when did you become such a bitch?” Brandon barks.

  “All right, all right, I think we need to reel it in,” Dr. Colson speaks up with his hand in the air like a boxing referee. “You guys know I’m all about communication, and I can appreciate both of you opening up, but we need to try to keep it civil. We have to express our emotions without reverting to name-calling or putting words into each other’s mouths. It’s okay to be emotional, but you have to keep it from becoming hostile. If you two can't do that, then this road we’re traveling on will become much more difficult to navigate. When you can't express yourselves without resorting to insults, and intentionally trying to bring each other down and hurt each other’s feelings, that's a sign of a much deeper issue. When all you have left for each other is contempt and outrage, you have to ask yourselves an essential question. Do you even like each other anymore?”

  In the time that Dr. Colson was letting us argue while he jotted notes, he came up with his best and toughest question yet, and I don't know the answer. I don't know if it’s that I don't like Brandon anymore, or if it’s that I don't know myself well enough to like who I am.

  Acknowledgments

  I did it! I finally did it! You guys don't even know. My wife and I have had this idea going for so long, and I’m thrilled to see it all come together in the form of this series.

  The Therapist is a long time coming. My wife and I have been very fortunate over the years. We’ve been married for sixteen years now, and we feel like we’ve mastered how to be a married couple. It takes tons of work and compromising, and we’ve seen a lot of relationships come and go in our time together. We’ve had an inside joke going for years that we should conduct couple’s therapy, where I take the men, and she takes the women. We joked about it for years, and now it’s all being embodied by Dr. Malcolm Colson. There’s so much to talk about and so many roads to take when dealing with relationships and sex, and I’ve never been more comfortable writing about this type of stuff because it’s real. I feel like this is my life’s work, and I hope it impacts relationships the way we always wanted to.

  When it comes to writing and involvement in the book world, I’ve been quiet for a while, so my list of people to thank will be short this time around. The first and most important person to acknowledge is my wife. Thank you, baby, for being there for me and supporting me all this time. Our lives have been shaken up by the new addition to our family, but we’ve stuck together and fought through it in preparation for 2020, and I know it’s going to pay off. Thank you for riding with me, and I can’t wait for the world to see us put out our best work. It’s been a long road coming back, but we’re ready to take the world by storm. I love you, baby.

  Mom and Dad, thank you for your undying support. You’ve been motivating and supportive this entire time, and I appreciate you having my back over the years.

  Janae, Quese, and Jordan, thank you all for your support as well. I know being in the military and being an author takes a lot of my time, but I’m thankful that you understand what my job is and what I’m trying to accomplish. This is the year we've been waiting for!

  Thank you to my cover designer, Robin, for doing what you do best. As long as you're working, I’m hiring you. Also, thank you to every blogger who has helped promote this book and series, and all those who will do so in the future.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank my fans. It has been such a bumpy road for me, and your loyalty has been obvious and much needed. I’m back, and I’ve got something crazy for you. Right after I write these acknowledgments, I will begin writing Shameless (The Therapist #2). There will be no break. I hope this series empowers you and motivates you in your life. I do this because I love it, but also because I love you. Open your mind and get ready for some fun, because what I’m about to give you will be the best of me. When the bandwagon starts—and it will start—you'll know you were the ones who stuck with me when I was at my lowest in this game, and I won't forget you. Let’s get it.

  Disrupt the status quo!

  More From WS Greer

  Thank you for purchasing The Therapist! Please leave an honest rating and review wh
erever you purchased your copy. It’d be very much appreciated!

  Check out these other titles from WS Greer…

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  Long Live the King

  About the Author

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