by Chloe Walsh
The doors opened and I shrugged nonchalantly as we both stepped out. “Well, we have been going through a rough patch, sweet cheeks.”
Kyle snorted and bumped my shoulder with his, knocking me sideways. “Remind me of why we’re friends again?”
I grinned and shoved him back playfully, but it didn’t make much difference. He was built like a damn tank and didn’t budge an inch. “We’re friends because there’s not another idiot on this planet who could put up with your stupid ass for five years and come out unscathed.” That worked both ways. I’d no doubt Kyle was the only person who could have dealt with my issues. Anyone else would have washed their hands of me months ago. I wouldn’t forget that. Ever.
“Touché, douchebag,” Kyle grumbled as he sank onto one of the cool, black leather chairs in the waiting room. “And for your information, I’m more scarred from this . . .” He pointed to himself and then me with his index finger. “ . . . co-dependency thing we’ve got going on here.” He smirked. “You and Cam ruined my sophomore year. I didn’t sleep for months.” He eyed me nervously for a moment and then, when he was satisfied I wasn’t going to have a meltdown over the mention of Camryn’s name, he added, “You traumatized me.”
I shook my head and took the chair beside him, mentally clamping down on the pressure wound in my chest. It was still there, a slow aching burn. A hollow gap that wasn’t re-filling. It ached, it fucking simmered, but I could cope. I could handle the throbbing pain. Forcing a smile, I tossed out, “You are, by far, the biggest fucking handful of human I have ever encountered.”
Kyle gaped in feigned disgust. “Handful of human?” Shaking his head, he edged away from me. “Keep your hands to yourself, you pervert.” Smirking he added, “My handful of human is spoken for.”
I laughed freely at Kyle’s comment and it felt damn good to be able to do it. It had been a long time since I’d truly felt like smiling let alone having the banter.
Moving back in with the Carters had done me the world of good. They were so amusing with their constant drama that it helped distract me from the gaping hole Cam had left in me. The only time that pain really took control of me anymore was at night, because as good as Lee and Kyle were to me, I knew that they were a family in their own right. When the dark came our worlds separated. They went one way and I went the other.
Last weekend was a prime example. It hurt somewhere I didn’t like thinking about when I’d watched the two of them crashed out on the couch. I had to leave the room—I couldn’t cope with their innocent intimacy. It hurt too much because it just made me realize how alone I was, how I’d never have that again. I knew neither of them thought of me as an outsider, but one of these days I was going to have to fly the nest. That was a goal I was working towards in therapy. Standing on my own two feet again.
“So, I’ve been thinking about going home for a few days,” I blurted out and Kyle’s brow shot up in surprise.
“That’s a good fucking plan, Der,” he said approvingly. “Your mom really misses you.” He smirked and added, “She’s calls my office, you know?”
Now it my turn to raise my eyebrows. “For real?”
“Yeah, about twice a week since the shooting.”
“I feel bad about the way I’ve left them hanging, Kyle,” I confessed. I’d been a horrible dick to my mom. I hadn’t answered any of her calls for months—never even sent a text at Christmas—so I couldn’t blame her for contacting Kyle. “I miss them . . .”
“Derek?” Dr. Mae’s soft, soothing drawl vibrated in my ears, stirring me from my thoughts, and I stood up and smirked, taking in the sight of the curvaceous, hot-as-hell redhead who was smiling at me. “I’m ready for you.”
“Yeah, I can see why you’re enjoying therapy,” Kyle grumbled as he glanced briefly at the fine doctor. “You like the old ones, don’t you, Junior?”
“She’s thirty-five at the most, Kyle, and you have to admit she’s gorgeous,” I argued, gesturing my hand at the smoking-hot doctor with her back to us. “Just 'cause you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t check out the menu.”
“I have a real aversion to redheads since Rachel, dude,” he shot back with a smirk as he followed Dr. Mae into her office. Sinking down on one of the four armchairs circled around a varnish-stained coffee table in Dr. Mae’s orderly office, Kyle twisted his head in my direction, wiggled his eyebrows and muttered, “Besides, I don’t need to look at the menu. I know exactly what I’m eating when I get home.”
I shook my head in amusement as I sat on the chair next to his. “I gather you took my advice then? Unleashing the beast?” The image of Kyle’s terrified face when he’d ranted on about urges and episodes last weekend entered my mind and I smirked to myself. He would be twenty-four next month and the douche still didn’t have a clue. It was Hope who I felt most sorry for . . . No, scratch that. It was me who I felt most sorry for. I was the douchebag who ended up listening to his crazy notions and theories . . .
“Let’s just say I can’t wait for dinner tonight,” he snickered, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Sweet Southern p . . .”
“Good god, man,” I blanched. “You make me sick.” Shaking my head, I pressed a hand to my stomach and forced myself to swallow my own vomit. “I’ll never look her in the eye again . . .”
“You’ll never look who in the eye again, Derek?” Dr. Mae asked, her blue eyes dancing with humor. “Or is this a private conversation?”
Kyle opened his mouth to answer her—no doubt with the truth—and I kicked him in the foot in warning. Forcing a smile for the doctor’s sake, I muttered, “It’s a private discussion.”
“Very well.” Shaking her head, Dr. Mae tucked her hair behind her ears and turning to face Kyle she outstretched her hand and smiled broadly. “You must be Kyle Carter.” When Kyle nodded and accepted her hand for a quick handshake she added, “Thank you for coming. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’m sure you have,” Kyle replied coolly, immediately taking a defensive stance from her comments, as he tapped his fingers on the wooden armrests of his chair.
I rolled my eyes and sagged in my seat. He was so goddamn defensive. I would never understand the way his mind worked—why he studied every new face he met with untrusting, calculating eyes.
Unperturbed by Kyle’s abruptness, Dr. Mae turned to face me and we fell easily into a discussion about my aims, goals, and coping strategies for when I was feeling overwhelmed. Kyle’s fidgeting got worse with every minute that passed, and I wasn’t one bit surprised when he stood up and wandered around the office aimlessly.
Subtly shaking her head, Dr. Mae ignored Kyle’s pacing, focusing on the conversation in hand, and I had to give it to her; the woman had some fierce concentration to not get distracted by the six and a half feet giant poking around her office.
She seemed to realize in twenty minutes what it had taken me years to learn; Kyle couldn’t help it. It was a condition that he either didn’t want to admit he had, or didn’t realize he had. Kyle didn’t do it on purpose and the guy genuinely couldn’t sit still longer than a few minutes at a time. I immediately felt like a dick for teasing him about it last night. It wasn’t a joke. It was a problem and I’d overstepped the line.
Cam and I had always guessed it was ADHD that kept Kyle up at night pacing the floors, but then again, neither she nor I were doctors, and who the hell were we to judge? Neither of us had spent our childhoods being dragged through the mud and tossed from pillar to post like he had. Stability wasn’t something Kyle found until he was twenty-two-years-old and the effects of his unstable youth were exhibited in his attitude and mannerism . . .
“What would you like to get out of this session, Kyle?” Dr. Flack asked. “You don’t appear to be very comfortable in here or willing to contribute to our discussion, so I can’t help but wonder why you came?”
“I’m here for Derek. That’s my only reason for being here,” Kyle answered automatically, proving that even t
hough he’d been rambling around the room for the past hour, he’d been listening attentively. Placing a book back on a shelf, Kyle turned around and leaned against the window sill. “And no offense, doc, there’s only two people who I’d willingly walk into a place like this for.”
Dr. Mae raised her thinly shaped brows in surprise. “A place like this?”
“I don’t trust anyone whose professional title ends with IST,” he explained with an arrogant smirk. “Psychologist, Psychiatrist, Therapist . . .” Shrugging with indifference, he added, “You can make your own assumptions based on that, doc.”
“And why’s that, Kyle?” she probed, angling her body in Kyle’s direction. “Why do you feel like that?”
“Anyone who has to be paid two-hundred dollars an hour to listen to my problems and care isn’t someone I care to divulge personal information with,” he shot back with ease. Raking a hand through his hair, he pushed himself away from the window and paced the floor. “I prefer to put my faith in someone who does all of those things for good old fashioned love.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” Dr. Mae observed with keen interest in her tone.
He flashed a dimpled smile. “You sound like you care.”
“Maybe I do,” she replied, unabashedly. “You’re quite fascinating to the therapist in me.”
Kyle held her gaze for a moment before chuckling and resting on the arm on my chair. “I’ll level with you, doc,” he said. “I’ve had more than my fair share of therapy over the years. I know who I am, where I came from, and what I want. Nothing you say will help my present, heal my past, or change the course of my future. You got it?”
“Are you always so cynical?” she asked.
“Are you always so nosey?” he shot back.
“Touché,” Dr. Mae murmured with wry amusement. “However, I have been known to be a shrewd judge of human behavior.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “And you’ve come to a verdict on my behavior?” Not giving her a chance to respond, Kyle launched into a rant. “Let me take a whack at it for you . . .” Pacing resumed, he spoke animatedly. “Kyle shows systems of spasmodic behavior. His cantankerous, extremely volatile, hot-tempered behavior leads me to believe he’s suffering from a repressive malady of some sort—perhaps an anxiety disorder, or maybe a hyperactivity condition.” Kyle grinned, obviously savoring Dr. Mae’s sudden discomfort. “Nail it, did I?” he asked mockingly.
With the doctor momentarily stunned into silence, Kyle turned to look at me. “You ready, man? I need to go pick up Lee’s prescription before the pharmacy closes.”
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Mae chuckled, recovering from Kyle’s offensive attack like a trooper. “Derek mentioned you’re engaged. Congratulations. Lee, isn’t it? When’s the big day?”
Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right,” he said cagily, eyeing the doctor with suspicion. “And we haven’t set a date yet.”
“Your choice or hers?” she asked sweetly.
“Hers,” Kyle shot back with ease, but I could see the anxiety burning in his eyes. “Why?”
Dr. Mae shook her head in obvious amusement. “Oh, no reason,” she mused. “I wish your fiancée luck. She’ll need it with you.”
Kyle sank down on the chair beside me and I could barely contain my laughter. Dr. Mae had reeled Kyle in with the only bait he would take. “What makes you say that?” he choked out.
“You’re the one who seems to know so much about human behavior,” Dr. Mae said with a smile. “You tell me.”
“You win,” Kyle sighed. “I’ll talk. You’ll fix. Got it?”
Storming into mine and Lee’s bedroom, I made a mental note to never do Derek another favor for the rest of my life, as I ripped my shirt off, buttons scattering everywhere, before slipping my pants off.
Therapy . . . What a croc of shit.
Even the word was stupid and that doctor didn’t have a fucking clue of what she was talking about. I did not have mommy issues. My mother was dead. Issue dealt with.
Now, if she’d said I had daddy issues then I’d have been inclined to agree, but mother issues?
No way.
Growling in frustration I grabbed the duvet and dragged it back before climbing into bed. And the shit she’d spurred about repressed grief was laughable. I coped just fine—a lot better than the other members of this household. The nerve of the woman to insinuate that my emotional health was unstable and I was close to burning out . . . See, that was exactly why I didn’t trust anyone with an IST . . .
“Kyle, is that you?” I heard Lee call my name moments before she stepped out of our en-suite bathroom in nothing but a bra and thong.
My mouth dropped open as I gawked at every hot inch of her skin. I had to sit on my hands to keep them from grabbing her as she pranced across our bedroom like a fucking feast.
Stopping in front of the full-length mirror hanging on our bedroom wall, I watched as she started pulling at the skin around her stomach.
What the hell?
“I need your honest opinion.” Her brow furrowed as she looked at me with an agitated expression. “Do you think I look fat?”
Trick question.
Trick fucking question . . .
How the hell was I going to get out of this one unscathed?
Did I think Lee looked fat?
Fuck no.
Would she believe me if I told her that?
Definitely not.
“I love you regardless of what size you are, princess,” I said smiling at her, thinking that this was exactly the type of thing a woman would want to hear. Her eyes narrowed and my smile slipped away.
Ah shit . . .
Wrong fucking answer.
“I’ve gained weight,” she announced sulkily. Where? “On my ass and stomach,” she declared in a distressed tone, answering my unspoken question with spooky awareness.
“You have not,” I scoffed as I folded my arms over my chest and sighed. “You’re tiny.”
“Kyle,” she growled. “My hips are wider than yours.” Groaning loudly, she shook her head and sighed. “Okay, just close your eyes. Don’t look at me.”
Don’t look at you? “You asked me to look at you,” I informed her as I scratched my head in confusion. I would never understand the way her brain worked.
“Well, don’t look now,” she hissed as she roughly pulled open one of her drawers and grabbed a pair of ugly-ass pink jammies.
“Don’t you think you might be overreacting a little, princess?” I coaxed, continuing to look at her as she dressed quickly, her cheeks red and flustered. Lee was smoking hot. Sure, she wasn’t stick thin, but that was a good thing. A fucking great thing. “I love your curves,” I purred. “You’ve the body of a real woman.”
“It’s not fair,” she grumbled, ignoring my compliments, as she grabbed a hair-tie from her dresser and tied her curls back off her face. “Men have all the freaking luck.”
Plopping down on the floor she began to put her socks on, her expression furious. “Stretch marks, a jelly-belly and a ruined vagina,” she muttered and I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud.
“Droopy breasts, a shapeless butt, a weak bladder,” she continued huffily. “And you,” she snarled as she climbed to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at me. “All you got was affirmation of your fertileness and horny pregnancy sex.”
“And six weeks of palm and her five friends,” I chuckled. Damn, I loved that girl. Smirking at her pouting face, I added, “See, baby, I suffered, too.”
Patting the mattress I crooked my finger at her. “Now get your sexy ass over here.”
“I’m not doing it tonight, Kyle,” Lee huffed as she stalked over and climbed into bed, curling onto her side.
“I’m serious,” she grumbled, slapping my wandering hand away from her ass. I just shook my head and sighed. I had a fair idea I wasn’t getting any when Lee had started to wrap herself up, coverin
g every inch of her skin from the neck down. Crazy fucking woman . . .
“How did your therapy session with Derek go?” Lee asked in a softer tone. Twisting around to face me, she slipped one freezing cold hand under the duvet to rest on the warm skin of my stomach. “You were ages, did you find it helpful?”
“Ugh.” I rolled onto my back and threw my arm over my face. “The less said about that the better.”
Lee chuckled and curled into my side, throwing one of her short legs over my thigh and the sensation of her flannel jammies against my skin was weird as fuck. “That bad, huh?”
“Let’s just say hell will freeze over before I step inside her office again,” I growled as I wrapped an arm around Lee and pulled her closer, before reaching over with my free hand and flicking off the lamp. “I hate the way they scrutinize me like I’m some weird prize,” I admitted quietly. It was easier to talk about it now that the lights were out. I didn’t want Lee to see how unsettled I truly felt and I knew she’d see it in my eyes. “She thinks I repress my emotions,” I laughed humorlessly. “That I’m vulnerable and my need to be in control and bossiness stem from years of burying every other emotion but anger.” Sighing heavily, I twisted my finger around a loose lock of Lee’s hair. “She doesn’t think I’ve dealt with Camryn’s death,” I confessed. “And that I’m highly-strung.”
“What do you think, Kyle?” she asked in her soft, southern drawl. Even in the darkness I knew she was studying every inch of my face. Her small hand came up to cup my cheek. “Do you think any of what she said is true?”
Yes . . .”No.”
I woke in the middle of the night to an empty bed and a hammering heart. Clenching my eyes shut, I felt around on my nightstand until I found the switch for my lamp and switched it on. God, I hated the dark. I didn’t mind sleeping without a light on when Kyle was with me, but from the coldness of his side of the bed, I guessed he hadn’t been in bed for a while.