“I’m finished for the day, Gladys,” she announced. “I was a bit optimistic, but I’ll be back in tomorrow. There’s no point in staying and having to double-check everything tomorrow.”
Gladys nodded. “Mr. Forsythe didn’t expect you in for a week anyhow, so this was a bonus, Lacey. He thinks you’re having woman troubles so your privacy holds, by the way.”
Lacey literally felt the blood drain from her face and her skin tighten across her cheekbones, but she made the corners of her lips turn up and nodded back. “That’s fine then. You don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Gladys.”
Shit. Her car was at home, Gladys having pressed another colleague into driving it there after she’d gone to the hospital. And Greg planned to pick her up at noon. Well, that was too bad. She would take a cab home rather than bother him. She didn’t want to get into the habit of relying on him ever again. Lacey pretended that not letting him know, of sparing him the effort of coming to get her, wasn’t rude and thoughtless, because she wasn’t up for an argument with him.
“A cab? Won’t your young man pick you up?” Gladys looked shocked and confused.
Lacey quickly said, “I don’t want to bother him, Gladys. He’s busy, and by the time he gets here, I could be home and resting. Really.”
“Well, let me call you one then.”
“Thanks. I’ll just stop by the restroom on my way out. See you tomorrow.”
Lacey chose a different stall, but the bathroom still triggered the memory she had been suppressing all morning. She hurried to use the facilities and then quickly scrubbed her hands, avoiding looking in the mirror as she did so. It was going to suck if everything kept reminding her of her loss, but life wasn’t fair, so she was going to have to manage. She stepped out onto the steps to take some deep breaths of fresh air when the cab pulled up. She trudged down to it, holding the railing tightly and climbed inside, giving the driver her address and simultaneously reaching for some tissues in her purse. She had to talk to someone about how she was continually feeling so out of control, in so much pain, but didn’t know who to turn to. Her fingers touched a piece of stiff vellum, and she pulled out the business card Greg had tucked into her bag the day she had been discharged. She remembered him mentioning a female therapist.
She ran her fingers over the raised black printing on the beige card. Dr. Meredith Massey—grief & loss, relationship & couple therapy. Lacey saw that this Dr. Massey had an office at the hospital on Fridays, and one not far from where she worked during the rest of the week. On impulse, she asked the driver to take her to a new address. Within minutes, he pulled up in front of an old Victorian home, similar to the one Lacey lived in now, except it was surrounded by more modern, office-style buildings. It spoke to Lacey, isolated and alone in its surroundings, but staunch and strong, a testament to times gone by. She paid the driver and got out to slowly mount the steps, her previous tiredness returning in spades. Dr. Massey’s name was stenciled directly above the old-fashioned bell press, and Lacey raised her hand, pointing her finger tentatively in that direction. The door abruptly swung inward, and she grabbed at the handrail to stop her backward movement. A young blonde woman emerged, tall and slender, her eyes downcast. She slanted a glance at Lacey and gave her a tiny smile and a nod and then dashed down the steps. She merged into the pedestrian traffic like a puff of smoke, and Lacey turned, squaring her shoulders, to push through the door that had yet to swing closed. It felt like a now-or-never moment.
A long hallway with a carpet runner centered exactly on the plank floor led her toward a murmur of feminine voices. She hesitated in the doorway of what appeared to be a reception room. Two women, one sitting at a small desk, the other standing directly behind her and bending to look over the seated one’s shoulder were looking at a book on the wooden surface. Lacey cleared her throat and they both looked up at her, clearly startled.
Lacey gestured behind her. “I’m sorry. I caught the door just as someone came out. Should I come back?”
The older woman, the one standing, gave her a warm, welcoming smile and moved to cross the room, offering her hand. “I’m Meredith Massey. How may I help you?”
Lacey looked into kind, hazel eyes twinkling behind a pair of dark horn-rimmed glasses. Dr. Massey was probably in her midforties, her thick blonde hair showing a few strands of gray, caught back from an aristocratic face, a fine mesh of wrinkles spraying out from the corners of her remarkable eyes. She was tall, especially by Lacey’s standards, and trim in her charcoal-gray pencil skirt and short jacket that was softened by a pale-pink silk blouse. As Lacey looked to the floor for some inspiration, she observed that the therapist wore some incredible footwear, very high-end, high-heeled, open-toed red pumps that were actually stilettos. “Fuck me” shoes. She swallowed and managed to reply.
“You were recommended by a therapist at the hospital who’s seeing someone I know.”
“I see. Well, please come into my office, and I’ll take a brief history, and then we can decide if we can work together.”
Lacey took the outstretched hand and suddenly wanted to spill everything and have Dr. Massey make things all better. The older woman took another look at her face and spoke to the woman still seated at the desk. “Jenna? Bring us some tea, please. Unless you would prefer coffee?”
Lacey managed to say, “Tea with honey, please.” She allowed herself to be gently drawn into the room directly behind the reception area.
It boasted tall windows, much like her apartment. They were covered with horizontal blinds, the vanes angled to provide privacy while letting in the sunlight that dappled the sage-green walls. Beige silk panels softened the look, and the neutral color was reflected in the carpet that covered the wood floor in front of a plain wooden desk. Two patterned, brown matching wing chairs sat opposite one another and a loveseat in a contrasting color, but of the same material, anchored the room. The muted floral art on the walls calmed rather than distracted. Lacey found herself relaxing.
“So you got my name from another therapist. Can you tell me what brings you here?” Dr. Massey’s calm voice reminded Lacey that she was seeking help. She opened her mouth, and it tumbled out like a synopsis of a bad novel.
“I left my partner, and I was pregnant, and I thought I could manage, but then I miscarried, and he’s back in my life.”
After a moment, the therapist said, “I must commend you on your strength.”
Lacey stared at Dr. Massey. “What?”
“You’ve obviously gone through a very difficult time, yet here you are, looking for help. Many people would have retreated.”
A bitter laugh escaped Lacey’s lips, and she choked it off. “I’ve had enough of people who retreat to suit me for a lifetime.”
“Well, let me ask you a few questions. Jenna will help you with insurance and such afterward.” Jenna chose that moment to knock and enter when asked with a tray containing a china teapot, mismatched china cups, and what looked to be small bowls of lemon and honey.
Lacey fixed her tea the way she liked it once Dr. Massey poured it out, and answered a number of questions that seemed fairly innocuous, but the way they made her insides quiver assured her they were not. Yet the therapist invited confidences somehow, and Lacey complied without holding anything back. The approach felt comfortable and familiar. She agreed to a full session the following day at ten, and just before being turned over for the “insurance and things” to Jenna, Dr. Massey asked her to look up the stages of grief for reference. She was also advised that therapy was work, and would proceed as such. Lacey left the office feeling empowered and full of purpose, if tired to the bone. Jenna had called for a taxi, and she didn’t have long to wait, choosing to sit on the steps to soak up the sunshine and hope she didn’t fall asleep before her ride came. It dropped her at her home, and she made her way upstairs without running into her landlady. She dropped onto the couch like a sack of potatoes and faded to black.
* * * *
Greg f
ound a spot to park at the station, having hurriedly packed a couple of bags with some changes of clothing and assorted toiletries. His house no longer smelled stale and empty, and he ruefully realized that the dust that had lain thick on every surface except for the television and his bed was gone, the carpets freshly vacuumed, the countertops gleaming and clean. His buddies’ women had made things nice for him and Lacey. Everything looked much the same as when Lacey had left. Greg made a mental note to thank everyone for pulling together for him, just as they would have if he had only had the wherewithal to ask some five months back. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He went inside, the heavy door closing soundlessly behind him, and he used his security card to get through the next barrier and into the hall that went to the squad room. Jace pushed past him with a muttered curse, looking haggard and old somehow. Greg stepped back and gave him space, wondering at the stale smell of whiskey and smoke, and at the lack of acknowledgement. Jace was a fastidious person, and took a lot of ribbing in the locker room about how clean and tidy he was. Greg wondered what other things he had missed over these past few months. He saw Max talking earnestly to a patrol cop further down the hall, his tall broad frame dwarfing the slender redhead, although Greg knew Ashley wasn’t really short. He walked up to them, and they pulled apart as if poked by a cattle prod.
“Well, look who’s back in the land of the living!” Ashley’s familiar, acerbic tone reminded Greg that he had some fences to mend right across the board.
“Thanks, Ash,” he replied. “It’s actually good to be back.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at him for a minute. “Well, it’s about time, buddy. That head shrinking is working, huh?”
Cops normally resisted any form of counseling, and Greg had been there, but it was time to stand up and be counted. “It’s nice to know I’m not a total stubborn fool, Ash. I’d definitely recommend it if a person wants to have any kind of life after what I went through.”
Ashley punched him in the arm and winked. “Got to go. See you at the club?”
Greg shrugged. “Probably not for a while. Lacey hasn’t been well, and I’m trying to help her and see if we can get back together while I’m at it. But maybe someday.”
“Well, as I was telling Max here, my girl is fighting me over having another threesome. She needs it and knows she does, but she won’t cave. If she won’t have Max again, maybe you would fill in? No strings.”
Greg actually shuddered before he could help himself and saw Ashley immediately take offense, her eyes heating and her lips thinning. He hurried to explain. “Sorry, Ashley. Those days are long passed. I’d never stand a chance with Lacey if I did that again, and just thinking about what she would do if I did scares the shit out of me.”
The other woman relaxed and laughed. “Whipped. Me too. Later.”
Greg felt as though he had just passed some kind of test. He and Max watched her stride away, her torso squared off because of the vest she wore, making her bulky, when they both knew she was lean and high breasted. Her long legs ate up the distance, and her tight buttocks hardly moved with her gait. Max sighed.
“I really liked doing her partner, Jackie, and seeing the two of them together is like watching performing art, but something’s keeping the little blonde from letting a man into their bed again. Ash is convinced it’s something to do with Alistair, but what do I know?”
Greg looked at Max for a long moment before answering. “’Stair tried to help out with Lacey and me. I was too enmeshed in my own shit, drowning in it actually, to pay much attention, but I guess he seemed a bit off. And what’s up with Jace?”
“He won’t talk about it, and he’s been a royal pain at work, and even worse when we hang out, as infrequent as that is. I’ve really had nobody to go out and romance women with or even catch a game!”
Greg impatiently interrupted Max’s self-pity. “What happened to him?”
“He has women troubles of course.”
“Women troubles? Jace? C’mon. He always has women calling him up for an intense night or two. He’s not interested in any one woman per se.”
Max shrugged. “He met someone about five months ago, through Ashley, as a matter of fact. It didn’t go well, and he’s been drinking hard and playing hard since. In fact he’s quitting the force. Seems he’s been hired to head up a small police force in Morrisville next month. I hope he made the right choice.”
“Are you fucking with me? Jace is leaving? When did this happen?”
“While you were being RoboCop and ignoring all your friends and alienating your woman, Greg. Seems like you’re back in the saddle though. Good deal. Guess I need to find myself someone soon, eh? I don’t mind being the third, but the club is sadly lacking for me these days. Everybody’s either paired off or having babies. I don’t exactly fit in.”
Greg winced. He had been paired off and could have been a father in a few short months. Max had nailed it. Max was a good-looking, quiet, kind of boy-next-door type, wholesome actually. Women instinctively felt comfortable with him and liked to play with him, either alone or with a partner, but Max never seemed to garner any depth of response from women, no matter his considerable sexual expertise. It was kind of like walking someone else’s dog, in the moment and without any of the other things that went along with ownership. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of thinking about asking Max to join him and Lacey early on and felt dizzy with the gratitude that next washed over him when he remembered rethinking that particular kink. Lacey would have hurt him. She might have been totally submissive to him sexually, but he had quickly learned what she needed and what she absolutely would not have tolerated. Exhibitionism aside, Lacey was a one-man woman. He felt a moment’s pity for Max, although the stressors of his own issues right now felt pretty overwhelming. But it was still better than just the superficial stuff he used to engage in.
“Once Lacey is back on her feet, we’ll have you over for dinner, Max. You can bring a date or maybe we can fix you up with one of her friends.”
Max smiled, and there was only a hint of sorrow in his expression. “Sounds good, Greg. I’ve got to find Wolowitz. He’s my most recent partner, and he eats garlic in freaking everything. I’ve frozen my ass off driving around with the windows open when we go out on calls. He’s probably ordering some goddamn pizza with sausage as we speak. See ya.”
Greg went in search of Devon and Jeff, only to find out they were out on an investigation. He had hoped to talk to them about how they had made amends with Alex. He was no longer too proud to seek input from others who had been there before him, and didn’t want to hide his problems from his friends. Even Max would have been there for him had he but asked. He checked his watch. He had to pick Lacey up in just over half an hour. Maybe he could go sit in the reception area and chat with Gladys while he waited, and catch up with the guys later.
* * * *
“She what?” Greg remembered to modulate his tone at the last moment. It wasn’t Gladys’s fault that Lacey had disobeyed orders. He was going to buy a little book to keep on him at all times, much like the one he used on the job, to keep a record of all her infractions because the day would come when he was going to take her to task on all of them. Just as soon as she was completely recovered.
“She was tired and wanted to go home. I asked her if she should call you, but she didn’t want to bother you. I take it that you want to be bothered.” Gladys’s voice held a tinge of amusement. Greg was not amused.
“I’ll head to her place then, Gladys. See you tomorrow.”
He strode back to the truck, his boot heels cracking first against the stone steps and then on the concrete sidewalk in time with the temper pulsing in his temples. Goddamn her. He was buying that notebook on the way there.
Chapter Thirteen
Greg stood by the couch and stared down at his beloved’s face. She lay on her belly, one cheek pillowed on her arm, her long lashes a drift of feathery black, her full lips slightly parted as
she slept the sleep of the exhausted. All of his anger and frustration dissipated in that moment, and he walked quietly into the kitchen to see what he might assemble for a meal. He could microwave some soup and put some sandwiches together, and after Lacey rested up, they would go grocery shopping. She could push the cart and tell him what they needed. If part of this was being domestic, he was determined to show her it could be done.
He then sat quietly and watched her sleep, marveling that she didn’t stir at all for the better part of an hour. When she rolled her face into the pillow and back, then reached to pull her hair away, he spoke. “Good afternoon, honey.”
Lacey pushed upright and blinked at him, one cheek creased from the contact with the pillow, her beautiful brown eyes coming into focus, looking like nothing less than melted chocolate. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two. There’s soup and sandwiches. Do you want to eat here or at the table?”
“Uh, the table I guess. Give me a minute.” She stood and stretched, and his eyes tracked the lift of her breasts, visible even under the loose fabric of her clothes. Lacey was dressing like a much older woman, and he wondered when she had started to do that. He experienced a surge of desire while she wandered off to the bathroom. Well, he could wait. Good things came to those who waited.
Greg put the food on the table, and Lacey came out to join him, looking wide awake and refreshed. He held her chair and made certain she was settled before serving the soup. He then took his own place and offered her a pastrami sandwich. She ladled some vegetables and broth onto her spoon and then set it back into the bowl.
Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 10