The angle to her head deepened. “What kind of scholarship?”
“Music.” I answered stiffly, like she had moments before.
“But you said you majored in finance in college, not music.”
“I was a music major first.”
“First before what?” she asked, her gaze narrowed
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“You’re upset. I’ve upset you. I was just curious, like you about me. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying.” I filed away that she had a tendency to babble when nervous while formulating an evasive answer. “It was just one of those situations where my life was going one way, and then all of a sudden it went another.”
“When Sierra got pregnant.” Cam was too smart to allow for my evasiveness, and her expression softened at the realization. “You changed majors because of her. For her.”
Shrugging, I said, “I’m good with numbers. Finance was a more practical choice.”
I didn’t want Cam to romanticize what I’d done, like my mother did, or feel sorry for me about making the change. We were family. We looked after one another. That was all.
“I’ll get these dishes cleared and put away.” I stood and swept my gaze over her. “Are you comfortable wearing yoga clothes to meet with the psychiatrist?”
She glanced down. “I hadn’t thought too much about it.”
My guess? She was trying to avoid thinking about it directly because she was scared about going.
“Should I change?” She glanced down at herself.
“You might. Dr. Jacoby’s office is in a brand-new high-end medical complex downtown.”
Her eyes widened. “All right.”
“We’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”
“We, as in you and me?”
“Of course.”
“You’re taking me?”
I gave her a stern look. “Did you think I’d let you go alone?”
She nodded.
“Not having you Uber back and forth by yourself to your first counseling session, babe. I remember how draining Sierra’s first one was.”
“Sierra went to counseling?”
“She did.”
“But she seems so strong.”
“She is strong, and so are you. We talked about that last night. But no one is going to know you’re going unless you want them to know.”
“Have you ever gone to counseling?”
“We all went, individually and as a family, after Sierra got pregnant. We each had differing emotions we needed to process in a way that was best for her.”
Cam’s eyes widened more. “Do you think it will make me better?” she whispered.
“I know it will, Cam. But only because everything you need to get better is already inside you. Counseling helps you acknowledge and process truth, and the most important truth is the one inside you.”
Chapter 33
* * *
Camaro
“Yes, here,” I replied when the doctor called my name. “I mean, that’s me.” Standing, I marched determinedly across the small but elegantly decorated waiting room that was empty since the doctor was starting my therapy on the weekend as a favor to Brad.
“Hello, Miss Moltepulciano.” The psychiatrist with diplomas from prestigious schools in frames on the walls was a handsome man with short brown hair. “I’m Dr. Jacoby.” Wearing an lightweight gray sweater and khakis and looking fit enough to be a model for Men’s Fitness, he smiled kindly and held out his hand for me to shake.
“Nice to meet you.” Hesitating only a moment, I lifted my hand and placed it in his. His grip was firm, and when he released me, I felt a strong, welcome, and familiar hand fall on my shoulder. Brad had moved beside me. His presence steadied me.
“You must be Mr. Marshall.” Smiling, the doctor offered Brad his hand.
“Hi, Doc.” Brad squeezed my shoulder once and released me to shake hands with my therapist. “You come very highly recommended. Cam’s ready to get started, but she’s a little anxious.”
“Yes, we spoke on the phone earlier, but you didn’t mention Miss Moltepulciano was your girlfriend.”
“Brad’s not my boyfriend.” I was quick to correct my new therapist, though my cheeks flushed at the memory of waking up in bed with Brad. He might not be my boyfriend, but I certainly wished he was. “He’s a friend, a very considerate and caring one.”
“All right.” Dr. Jacoby gestured to his office. “How about it, Miss Moltepulciano? Are you ready to get started?”
He studied me with eyes that were nearly as dark brown as the coffee grounds my mom used to sprinkle around her prized roses to keep certain parasites away. But could the doctor help me keep my demons at bay?
I hoped so. I certainly had to try. “Yes. I’m ready.”
“Very good.”
He led the way to his office where the door was open. Inside, table lamps glowed invitingly beside a comfortable-looking seating group with an overstuffed couch and two upholstered easy chairs.
“After you.” He stretched out his arm.
“I’ll be right here when you’re through.” Brad pointed to his chair in the waiting room.
“Thank you.” I gave him a tight nod, turned, and marched into the office.
“Sit anywhere you like, Miss Montepulciano,” Dr. Jacoby said softly as the door clicked closed behind him.
“Just Cam,” I said and swallowed hard. This was happening. I was stuck.
“If you will allow the informality.”
“I would. I prefer it.” I decided to sit on the couch.
“All right.” He took a seat on the easy chair closest to my end of the couch.
“It’s what my friends call me.” Nervous, I started to babble. “Montepulciano is just a hillside town in Italy, near where my grandparents lived. It’s not my real last name.”
“It’s not?” His brows rising, he leaned forward in his chair.
“No. My surname isn’t the one I currently use. It’s the one I have to use.” I sighed, thinking of Chris and his lie, and the deep downward spiral of my life afterward. “It’s a long story. Brad, Mr. Marshall, doesn’t know all the details. No one does, not even my closest friend.”
“Why is that, Cam?” His gaze searching, Dr. Jacoby folded his hands in his lap and settled back into his chair. He seemed to be waiting patiently for me to speak.
“A lot of reasons, I guess.” I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but I knew that was a bigger untruth than the one Chris had told. “That’s not the real reason I’m here.”
“It’s entirely up to you what we discuss here. Everything is completely confidential, of course.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“I’m curious.” He crossed his ankle over one knee as if he had all the time in the world. “What do you think is the real reason you are here today?”
“My . . . the . . .” My heart was pounding so hard, I found it hard to finish. But because the doctor didn’t push and because I was ready, I lifted my chin and spit out the ugly words. “I was raped.”
“Most victims have trouble verbalizing it so succinctly.”
I was a victim, and I hated that. “It’s taken me a while. Until today, actually.”
“Why is that?” he asked softly.
“I was afraid before, but I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“Something awful happened to you. Something someone else did. Something totally outside your control. But it’s an event in your life, one single event, and it doesn’t define you. It isn’t a part of your identity unless you allow it to be.”
“Yes. I know all that.”
“Good, it’s a process reminding yourself who you are. But you must remember—you are everything you were before it happened. You can be everything you want to be right now, and anything you want to become in the future.”
I nodded, maintaining eye contact, while inside, his words burned with conviction. I wanted to be more than I�
�d been before. I wanted to be someone so much better.
“You were so careful up front to correct me about your name. I think that’s very important. You didn’t want me to form the wrong idea about who you are. Your name is a part of you. I’d like to talk more about identity and things along those lines. Every day this next week, if possible. Can you do that?”
“I can.” I wanted to.
“I’m glad. So glad I got to meet you today.” He stood and held out his hand.
I took it readily this time, and he smiled kindly again.
“Is that all for today?” My brows drew together.
“It is. You already did most of the hard work before you even got here. My prescription for the rest of the day?” He lifted his chin toward the door. “Go out and enjoy the California sunshine with your friend, and I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
• • •
Bradley
I stood the moment the office door opened. Between work calls, I’d been watching it steadily since Cam had gone inside. When she emerged, my gaze went straight to her eyes. They were the most reliable indicator of her true emotions.
“How’d it go?” I crossed straight to her, just a few feet in an empty waiting room, but it was too much distance. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” I’d pushed her to come. If it didn’t go well, she might be upset with me. Nervous, I babbled like she usually did.
“I’m, uh, feeling a lot of things.”
“Surprised, overwhelmed, a little confused?”
“Yeah, exactly.” Her eyes widening, she nodded.
“But was it beneficial?” Holding my breath, I studied her closely.
“Yes,” she said after a considering moment. “I think it was. Though I have to come back tomorrow.”
“It will take some time. It’s a process.”
“Yes, that’s what the doctor said. I’m no quick fix, that’s for sure.”
She sagged, and that was the only cue I needed to enfold her in my arms without bothering to ask for permission. She needed me, and I wanted to help her, however I could. It was as simple as that. Placing one hand high between her shoulder blades, the other in the curve on her lower back, wanting to touch as much of her as I could, I splayed my fingers wide and stroked slowly back and forth with my thumbs.
“Mmm, that feels good,” she said softly, practically purring.
My cock went hard as fuck, but I ignored it. Mostly. Now wasn’t the time or place, but desire for her pounded hot inside me.
“No one’s a quick fix. Everyone has shit to sort through.” I leaned back to gaze down at her.
Her eyes remained shiny, and now her cheeks were flushed. She wore the same rose-emblazoned tee with jeans that she’d worn the day before. Either it was her favorite outfit, or it was her only one aside from her yoga clothes.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, her tone wry. “But I think some of us require more sorting than others.”
A call I’d received from a friend of mine gave me an idea. But it would be tricky to spin it as a gift Cam would accept, and not as outright charity she would probably refuse.
“Speaking of sorting work, I know a guy whose wife owns a surf shop. She has a warehouse of stuff here in LA, and she has too much inventory. She needs to clear the space and cancel her lease. While you were in your session, she called and asked me again if I knew anyone who could use the clothes, or at least sort through them for her and send what they didn’t need to a homeless shelter.”
Cam’s features brightened. “I could do that.”
“Could you?” I played it cool, though she’d responded exactly like I’d hoped. “It would help her out a lot.”
“Sure. Absolutely.”
Yes! My acting skills were improving, or maybe all I’d lacked before was the proper motivation. Making Cam smile was a priority. It eclipsed my to-do list, which was lengthy today as usual.
“Great. The warehouse is on this side of town. I could take you there now. Well, I could after ice cream. Could you go for some?”
“I could. I haven’t gone out for ice cream in years.”
“Well, that needs to be remedied. Charms is a great little place.” I released her and offered her my arm.
“Charms, huh?” She angled her head. Her long black hair slid forward, tempting me to brush it back. “What’s your favorite flavor?” She placed her hand on my arm and settled into my side as if it were right and natural for her to do so.
“You,” I said. I hadn’t had a taste of her sweet lips yet, or any other part of her, but I still knew. “You are my favorite flavor.”
She rolled her eyes as if I were only teasing, which I most certainly was not. “Mine’s raspberry. In a sorbet, if they have it. It’s the most like gelato.” She was rambling like I made her nervous. In a good way, I hoped. “Strawberry as a second choice.”
“Vanilla for me,” I said, my voice gruff. With a side of you, I added silently, my eyes blazing down at her as she smiled up at me.
Chapter 34
* * *
Camaro
Watching big bad badass business manager Bradley Marshall eat ice cream in Charms, a cute little red-and-white vintage-style ice cream parlor, was torture.
Sure, he looked amazing in his charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and a coordinating rust-and-dark-gray tie. And, yeah, he predictably chose a cup and a spoon to eat his ice cream. That was the practical thing to do and less messy.
I wasn’t either of those. My raspberry sorbet dripped down my cone and onto my hands. I couldn’t lick away the drips fast enough.
“Here.” He ripped another napkin from the dispenser and offered it to me.
“Thanks.”
In the transfer, my sticky fingers brushed against his completely clean ones. Another appropriate analogy, pointing out the differences between us. And predictably for me, sparks flew from the point of connection all the way up my arm to the center of my heart. Inside it, the burning desire to be someone else worthy of him grew.
“You missed a spot.” Brad leaned across the tiny round table and gently swiped the pad of his thumb across the outer edge of my mouth. Then he put that same thumb in his mouth and murmured, “Raspberry’s good.”
My lips tingled as I watched him suck his thumb clean, and somewhere dark and far from my heart, I felt hot. No analogy, just pure unadulterated longing to have his lips, his mouth, and his tongue on me everywhere.
I stood abruptly, pushing back my chair with my foot. The wrought iron screeched on the tile floor.
“Where are you going?” His voice had a rough edge to it, the perfect spark of friction to flame my desire.
“I need to wash my hands,” I said, when what I really needed was a cold shower. But I settled for cold water on my hands and a wet towel on my hot neck instead.
“Better?” he asked when I returned a few moments later.
“Yes.” I shook my head.
His eyes a dark sapphire, he smiled, and my gaze dipped to his chiseled lips. What would his smile taste like? Better than raspberry gelato, I was sure.
“Your verbal response seems at odds with your head shake.” His smile widened, one sexy curve around his mouth becoming two. “Was it a subliminal message of some sort? Would you like another cone?”
I lifted my gaze, noting his eyes were darker than before.
The water hadn’t worked. My desire was as strong as before. “No. No way.”
“As you wish.”
No, not as I wished. But I felt better than I expected to feel after a visit to a psychiatrist.
“So, who is the guy whose wife owns a surf shop?” I asked. “A client or a friend?”
“Ramon Martinez is a little of both.”
“The guitarist for the Dirt Dogs? That Ramon Martinez?”
Brad nodded.
“Holy shit!”
“You know the Dogs?” His lip curl deepened.
“Who doesn’t?”
“Indeed.” His brows rose. “Yo
u never really mentioned a musical preference before. So, you like rock music?”
“I like all types of music, especially evocative songs that make me feel like I’m part of what they’re singing about. The Dogs’ ballads are like that, sad but hopeful at the same time.”
“That’s very insightful.”
I shrugged. “I just know what I like. A guy who had a musical scholarship and almost majored in music in college could probably give a much more insightful analysis.”
He gave me a long look. I’d probably just given away how well I paid attention to every little detail he shared about himself.
“What type of music do you like?” I asked, attempting to steer him away from the topic of my obsession. Him.
“All types. I like all of it. Everything.” His voice dropped to a deep, shiver-inducing octave, and prompted me to ask a follow-up question.
“Do you sing?”
“Not well,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes.
“You sure sang well to me last night.”
“It seemed to help you sleep. Not sure that’s an endorsement. But thank you just the same.”
“Do you play any musical instruments? Compose music? Write songs?”
Abruptly, he stood, his chair scraping the floor like mine had. “We’d better get going.” His jaw tight, he glanced down at me. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. Yes.” I frowned, unhappy that he’d reverted to the brusque businesslike manner he’d had toward me before he rescued me from Pete. Why the change?
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked after ducking under his arm as he held the glass door open for me.
“Not exactly.” He raked a hand through his hair, marring the perfection of the arrangement. I found the imperfection more appealing. “But it’s me, not you. I don’t like talking about the past very much.”
“Me either.”
“I noticed,” he said wryly. “How about we focus on the here and now?”
“I can do that.” Easily, because I liked where I was. And I liked it even better when he put his hand on my back to steer me toward his car.
The Right Wish Page 19