“She’s okay. Her boyfriend got her out.”
“He’s a cop, right? Was he one of the officers who went into the building?”
“Yes. That much I know. But I’ve heard nothing yet. I made Skye take a Xanax, and she’s sleeping now.”
“I can’t even imagine what Skye went through.”
“What I can’t imagine is you holed up with Professor Dick—Beckett in his office. Now you have me calling him Dick too.”
“It was n-nothing.” It was not nothing. My voice cracks.
“What are you not telling me, Becca?”
She’ll pester me until I say something. “It was weird.” It was … amazing.
“Weird how?”
“We got to his office, locked the door and sat on the floor. And then …” Jesus. Did that really happen? Or did I imagine it?
“And then what?”
“He hugged me. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him and held me the entire time until we got the message that the lockdown was over.”
“Aww. That’s so sweet! I told you he likes you.”
I snort at that. “He doesn’t like me. He was just—I don’t know, trying to be nice, comfort me. I was freaking out a little.”
“No, not buying it. He didn’t have to hold you.”
“And he sang too. Not with lyrics. He hummed a song while he held me and rubbed his hand on my back. It was … it was calming. I felt safe. Protected.”
“Whoa … he sang? For you?”
“He hummed a song. It was familiar too. But I can’t remember the name.”
“Dude. He likes you. That’s more than just being nice. I told you. I have a sixth sense for these things.”
“Well, you were wrong about Tommy. I never dated him.” I drop an arm over my eyes to block the light.
“You let me believe you were.”
“You assumed, River. I never said I was hooking up with him.” There’s a moment of silence that extends for several seconds.
“Now what?” River asks.
“Now what nothing. There’s nothing. I was freaking out, and he comforted me. End of story.”
“Nooooo. No end. This is the beginning, my friend. I need more.”
I sigh. “There’s nothing, River. As soon as the lockdown was up, he kicked me out of his office. It was so awkward.”
“Of course it was. He’s a professor, and you are a student. He has to tread carefully.”
“Jesus! Sometimes you’re like a dog with a bone, you know?”
“No. It’s more like Professor Dick is the one with a boner.” She cracks herself up with the joke.
“Lame, River. So lame.”
She goes quiet again. “It would be a nice change, you know? Date a real man instead of those boys you pick up. You deserve a guy like him.”
My head is shaking with each word she says. “You know a guy like him would never be with me. He’s far too classy for the likes of me. He probably has a super smart girlfriend too.”
“What do you mean the likes of you? You’re smart. You’re pretty. You can be classy too.”
I laugh at that. Me? Classy? I’m white trash. My mother is white trash. She’s a slut, and I guess I’m not much better than her. She uses men to get money and get high. I use them for a different kind of high. I’m exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been through in the last hour alone. I’m blindsided by my own feelings. It’s like an upper cut to the soul. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. And he’s a professor. I’m a student. That would never happen.”
“You’re not his student. And you’re both adults. You can be discreet. No one has to know.”
“I’ll know. And he will know. Do you really think a guy like him would break the rules for me?”
“Yes, I really do.”
My phone vibrates with a new text message. Tommy. “Hey, River? I’m getting a ton of texts. I have to go. Glad you and your sister are okay. Call me later?”
“Yes, coward. Go. But I’m not dropping this. There’s more to this story, and I know it.”
River hangs up before I say anything else.
I tap the screen and open the text message app.
Tommy: Hey. My brother said he saw you and you’re okay. But talk to me. I want to make sure.
Becca: Yes, I’m fine. I was nowhere near the Austen building. Crazy stuff. What about you?
Tommy: I’m okay. I was in my dorm. Crazy for sure.
Tommy: Want to hang out tomorrow morning? We haven’t done that in a while.
Becca: Can’t. I’m at the hospital in the morning and have work after.
Tommy: Hospital?
Damn it. I’m too distracted. I didn’t think. I don’t like telling people about my volunteering at the hospital. There are always questions.
Becca: Yes. I volunteer there sometimes. I gotta go. Talk later?
Tommy: Sure. Don’t ghost me. :)
I shove the phone under my pillow and drift off to sleep.
Loud banging on my door has me nearly jumping out of my skin. How long did I sleep for? There’s light coming in from the window still, so not long. My heart is racing, and my groggy brain is trying to catch up. The banging comes again.
“Becca? Are you there? Open the door.”
I shake off the last hint of sleep and stumble to open the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” The voice comes as I unlock the door.
My father charges into the room in a blur of limbs and tackle-hugs me. For the second time today, I’m in someone’s arms.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. You’re okay. Thank god you’re okay.” He holds me at arm's length as if to check I’m in one piece, then pulls me back into a hug again.
I freeze. I don’t understand what’s happening. I extricate myself. “What are you doing here?”
“I drove. I got in the car as soon as I saw it on the news.”
He lives over an hour away. He must have raced all the way here.
I’m so confused. “How did you find my room?”
“I went to the admissions office, showed them my driver’s license. My name is on your birth certificate. Threatened the poor kid working there if he didn’t tell me your dorm room number.”
He hugs me again with the ferocity of a mother bear. “I thought I had lost you. I just found you, and I thought I had lost you.” His voice breaks with a sob.
“I don’t understand.” Why does he care?
He pulls away, his hands on my shoulders. “You’re my daughter. I love you. Of course I had to come and see you with my own eyes.”
It’s too much. “But … you don’t know me.”
“It doesn’t matter, Becca. It doesn’t matter I didn’t know you existed for the first seven years of your life. It doesn’t matter we only met a couple of months ago. I loved you from the moment I knew you existed, even if I was never a part of your life. I loved you from far away.” His eyelashes are wet, tears track down his face.
I don’t know what to say. I never heard those words before. I craved them. I wished for them, even begged for them, but no one ever said they loved me before. My chest fills with flutters I can’t quite identify and something cracks inside of me. A layer sheds away, and turns to ashes, burned by the warmth spreading through me. My father loves me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My bed creaks as I settle in and drag my laptop next to me. No more avoiding talking to the therapist. Our last conversation still fresh in my mind. Now he knows about my past. Part of it, at least.
For the first time since I started talking to him his name on the screen is grayed out. He’s not there. I need to talk to him. I need to hear his voice. And he’s not there. Heat flares in my chest and spreads to the rest of my body. My hands clench. I want to grab the laptop and toss it against the wall.
Why isn’t he there?
Why am I so angry?
When did I become so dependent on him?
I hate feeli
ng this way. Like he left me. I know he didn’t. I know he has a life outside these calls. He’s not a friend or family. He’s not even an acquaintance, and yet I feel betrayed.
I need him, and he’s not there.
Like my mother.
Like my father.
I stare at the screen so long my vision blurs. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing. Breathing and counting until emptiness replaces the surge of anger.
I open my eyes and blink against the bright glare of the laptop. Blink again.
His name is in bold now. He’s back! My shoulders drop with relief. My hand moves to the mouse, but I hesitate. I can’t allow myself to rely on him. To have this kind of reaction when he’s absent. That’s not normal. But then again, nothing in my life is.
I put my earbuds in and click the icon to call him. I won’t talk about my mini tantrum.
The connection rings once. “Hello. I’m glad you called.”
His soothing voice relaxes me.
I sink into the bed, fold the blanket over my legs, and adjust my earbuds. “You are?”
“Yes. I watched the news about the shooter last week. I have no idea where anyone is calling from, but I worried that some of my callers might have been affected by it.”
“I was nowhere near the shooter.” A small lie. I was, and I wasn’t.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about. I was safe.” I can’t hide the trace of anger from my voice.
He picks up on it. “Why does my question upset you?”
I fudge, total honesty be damned. “I was upset before I called you.”
He waits me out. I breathe in deep and release. “This will sound crazy.”
“I assure you that whatever you say will be fine.”
“When I first logged on, you weren’t there.” Oh my God. I’m so stupid.
“I wasn’t there—oh, you mean I was not available?”
“Yes. And for some irrational reason it made me mad.” What the hell am I doing?
“Not entirely irrational. You created an expectation that I would be always available. And when that expectation failed, you got angry. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“That’s normal. People do this all the time. They create expectations about other people and things, and when those expectations don’t meet their idea of what should happen, they get disappointed. And disappointment leads to anger.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t have expectations?”
“No, not at all. I’m saying that you should have realistic expectations. And don’t get upset when something happens that’s outside your control.”
“How do I know if my expectations are realistic or not?”
“It’s unrealistic to expect I will be available twenty-four seven. I have a full-time job and other life commitments. But it is realistic to expect I’ll continue to be available as much as I can for the duration of this program.”
“Okay.” I sigh. I’m behaving like a brat.
“Last time we talked, we left things off in a hard place.”
“Yeah …” It still amazes me I told him some of what happened to me. And that he believed me and didn’t judge me for it.
“How have you been since?”
“Okay, I guess.” Surprisingly okay. I thought I’d have some kind of breakdown, but I didn’t.
“You guess?”
“No. I know. I’m okay.”
“This is great. We are making progress. But I want to talk about how you feel about the shooting incident too.”
“We already did.”
“Not really. How did that affect you?”
“I don’t think it affected me at all.”
“But you said you were safe.”
“I was—” I almost say Maslow building. “Nowhere near it. And I wasn’t alone. I felt safe where I was.”
“Were there many people with you?”
“No, just one person.”
“I’m glad you weren’t alone. Is this person a friend you can trust?”
He got me there. I hesitate, then let it out anyway. What’s the point of these talks if I can’t be honest? “Not exactly. Just a person I know.”
“What makes this person safe?” Honesty comes back to bite me on the ass.
“I don’t know. We’re not even friends. He’s someone I know, but I feel safe with him. I know he wouldn’t physically hurt me.”
“Not physically? But could he hurt you otherwise? Has he hurt you before?”
That’s a hard question to answer. “Yes. No. I don’t know. He seems to judge me sometimes.”
“Is he judging you, or are you judging yourself and projecting it on him?”
“Ouch, Doc. That was harsh.”
“Was it? I’m playing devil’s advocate. I’m here to ask the questions you are not asking yourself.”
“Tough love, huh?” I joke with him.
“If that’s what it takes.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I guess tough love is better than no love.” I laugh.
He chuckles. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“It feels good to laugh. I haven’t found reason to very often.”
“You should. If you go around looking for reasons to laugh and be grateful instead of finding reasons for being upset, you’re bound to be a lot happier.”
“You really think so?”
“I know so. Life is a mathematical equation. It is part what happens to us, part what we make happen and part how we react to either of those things. But it is not as simple as two plus two equals four.”
“Nope. It’s more like two plus apple equals blue. Unless it’s a Tuesday, in which case it equals taco.”
His laughter is guttural and free. Like something that had been building up for a while and now has a chance to escape. It’s contagious, and I laugh along with him.
“Ah, she can make a joke. This is good. Better than good. This is great. If you try to look at everything through the lenses of humor instead of prejudice, life is a lot more fun.”
“Not always easy, though. There’s a lot of angry people out there.” Myself included.
“Also true. But those people have nothing to do with you. What they do and how they act have no bearing on the way you behave or how you live your life.”
“But it does. It affects me.” I push the heel of my hand into my forehead. A headache is coming.
“Does it?”
“It does. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, right?”
“Yes, if we’re talking about Newton’s third law of motion. But life, it’s not always like that. In life, a non-action can happen. Or the reaction can be much greater than the action that triggered it. Either way, the choice lies with the person in that situation.”
“Hmm. Is this how therapy works? I thought it was like the patient talking and the therapist asking, ‘how does that make you feel’ and taking notes the whole time.”
He has a good laugh about that.
“Yes. Traditional therapy differs from what we are doing here. This is more of a conversation between friends. And while I have the credentials, we are working outside the norm.”
“Is it like that with everyone?”
“I can’t discuss other callers with you.”
“No, I’m not asking about their problems, or what you’re talking about. I was wondering if the other people calling you—never mind. I don’t know what I’m asking.” But I want to know if he’s the same with other people, or if the way he talks to me is different. Special somehow. Because it feels special to me. And I want to be special for him too.
He lets it slide. “We need to move to the next step.” He always includes himself—always says “we” instead of “you.”
“The next step?”
“I have a little homework for you. An exercise if you will.”
I want to grunt but hold it in.
“You don’t seem happ
y with the idea,” he says.
What? “I didn’t say anything.”
“I think I heard an unhappy sound coming from you.”
I guess I didn’t hold my grunt in. “No one in the history of the universe has ever been happy about homework.”
“Maybe.” He concedes.
“All right, what’s this homework?”
“I want you to think of people you can trust. Can you think of anyone you trust?”
“Yes.” I have a limited array of friends. There’s River, Tommy, and Lucas.
“I want you to find a friend. Someone you trust implicitly and talk to them about some of the things you shared with me.”
Sheer panic assaults me like a jab to the gut. No, no, no. I don’t want anyone to know this. I don’t want their pity or judgment. What if they don’t believe me? What if they blame me? The idea of telling someone face-to-face immobilizes me. He carries on as the battle raging inside me runs rampant and tries to take over.
“I know it won’t be easy. But I believe this is an integral part of your recovery.”
I swallow to push down the knot in my throat. “Okay.”
“Let’s do a little exercise right now. Think of a friend. Hold their image in your head.”
The most obvious person is River. I know she won’t judge. She might try to go to my mother’s house and beat the crap out of her, though. Tommy is far too sweet and gentle. I don’t want to tarnish him with all my dirty secrets. Lucas already knows a little about me. He knows I don’t go home or get along with my mother, but that’s it.
I flash back to the image of Professor Dick and how he held me while singing to me a few days ago. I cringe at the idea of telling him all of my deepest, darkest secrets. Oh, he’d love that. Lots of material to judge me on.
“Do you have a person in your mind?”
“Yes. I have someone in mind. But why? Why do I need to talk to someone?” My teeth grind together.
“You need someone in your life who’s more than a voice on the other side of a screen.”
It stings. “But I talk to you so I don’t have to dump my trashy life on anyone else.”
“Your life is not trash. Your life is as worthy as mine or anyone else out there.”
Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3) Page 14