Assigned

by Paris Wynters

  “Why? What for?”

  “We have the counseling session to go to in a bit.”

  My fingers clench the cotton material of the pillow as my eyes widen. “Counseling?”

  “Yeah, the mandated marriage counseling that’s part of the program.” I can hear him kick at the carpet through the door.

  I should really have read that contract more thoroughly. I remember counseling being mentioned, but not that it was mandatory. I get out of bed and open my bedroom door a crack. “For some reason, I thought that was optional.”

  Lucas snorts and stomps down the stairs. “Wishful thinking. Be ready to go in fifteen.”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer.

  I get dressed, picking out a skirt with a poppy design on it and a silk tank top. I pull my hair into a ponytail and am marching down the stairs twelve minutes later. I’m not even to the bottom of the stairs before he’s heading out the door to the truck. He hits the remote to unlock the doors and I grab the handle, pull my door open, and hop inside.

  Lucas gets behind the wheel and we ride to the therapist’s office. The silence crackles between us, tension coming off Lucas in waves. Of course he’s angry. But he was the one who grabbed at me without permission, not the other way around. Yet if I’d told him, he might’ve completely avoided touching me altogether. Not the way I wanted to feel either.

  He turns on the radio and Shania Twain starts singing about being a woman. I reach over and snap it off and look out my window. Definitely not the song I need to hear right now. It doesn’t matter how much I feel like a woman, my body has betrayed me too many times to trust it.

  When we get to the building, Lucas gets out of the truck and walks to the building without even looking behind him to see if I’m following. We step into the office with such sharp precision it’s clear to any observer there are problems. The therapist’s fake smile doesn’t help matters either. Yet I offer my own. Lucas takes a seat on the leather couch, taking up half of it with his long legs and broad shoulders. I scoot into the corner at the opposite end, as far from him as I can get.

  “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Craiger. I’m Dr. Stehman.” The therapist takes a seat on the chair across from the couch. She’s an angular woman, tall and thin, with short blond hair and tortoiseshell glasses. She has on a straight skirt that hits her mid-calf and a light summer sweater. Her office is like her. Calm and professional. Classic in style. “Congratulations on your arrangement.”

  “Thanks,” Lucas mutters, complete with a dash of sarcasm.

  Dr. Stehman quirks a brow. “Looks like I might have my work cut out for me today.”

  She absolutely does. I hate therapy. I hate talking about my feelings. I hate the sad looks of concern on the therapists’ faces. It doesn’t change anything. No amount of talking is going to make my GI tract behave like everyone else’s. No amount of sharing is going to give me back the life I thought I was going to have. Been there. Done that. It doesn’t change a damn thing. So, I pick at a cuticle as the therapist goes through some of the specifics of each session as they relate to the Issued Partner Program.

  “Lucas, why did you join the program?”

  “Ma’am, that’s in the application.” He clears his throat. “I saw my two friends find success with it, so figured I’d give it a go.”

  The therapist leans back in her chair. “Why?”

  “Why what?” He looks over to me as if I have some kind of answer for him. I shrug and turn away. I know my reasons. He has to come up with his own.

  “Did you not have success dating?” The therapist offers a polite smile, prompting him.

  He rubs his hands on his pants. He’s nervous. “Got divorced, tired of the groupies, wanted someone who could handle the life and be a good match for me. And for Mason, my son.”

  Groupies?

  My jaw clenches and my pulse starts to race. Not sure why I thought Lucas had remained celibate since his divorce. Well, maybe I just didn’t want to think of him sleeping with other people. But groupies?

  “And what about you, Riley?” Stehman turns to angle her body toward me.

  I stare at her, blinking excessively. Right. Of course I’m going to have to speak. I can’t exactly tell the truth. I can’t tell them I needed health insurance and this seemed like the best way to get it fast. Not just because I’m concerned what would happen if the program committee found out, but I also don’t want to hurt Lucas. I turn toward my husband and find him staring at me, his brow furrowed. What would he think if I told him? The blood leaves my face and my stomach cramps. Come on, Riley. Figure something out to say. “Dating sucks. People are cruel. I figured the program would assign me to someone who actually wanted a relationship versus a casual hookup.”

  Lucas looks away, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders.

  “And how are things going for you two? There was definitely some tension when you arrived.” Dr. Stehman leans back in her chair and looks from Lucas to me. Nice understatement.

  “We had an argument yesterday,” Lucas says.

  “What about?” Stehman asks.

  “Just Lucas thinking he needs to fix stuff.” The words came out before I could stop them.

  Dr. Stehman places her hands down on her thighs. “Does Lucas wanting to help bother you?”

  “Does it bother you when someone automatically thinks you’re incapable of handling your life on your own?” Truth is, my response was fear based because I am actually afraid of him rejecting me.

  “Whoa. I never said that.” Lucas raises his hands in the air. “You were about to fall and I caught you.”

  I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Did I ask you to? Did I give you permission to touch me? We agreed . . .”

  Lucas slouches into his corner of the couch. “You are going to give me whiplash, Riley. One second you’re holding hands with me and resting your head on my shoulder. The next second I try to keep you from toppling over and you lose it. What the hell is going on?”

  Dr. Stehman turns to me. “Riley, is that true? Are you sending Lucas mixed signals?”

  “No. I said I wasn’t ready for that kind of touching and I’m not.” Being next to Lucas stirs something in me, something I was afraid had died in these last few years. But I can’t bear the thought of the look on his face when he sees those scars or the way his hand will freeze when he feels them.

  Lucas is shaking his head. “There’s more going on here. There’s something you’re not telling me. Some things just don’t add up.”

  A cold sweat starts to break out on my forehead. “Like what?”

  “What were you doing in that tiny studio apartment? That’s not the kind of place you’re used to. I can’t imagine your parents not getting you a decent place to live.”

  Oh, they wanted to give me a decent place to live, all right. Unfortunately it was with them, under their constantly watchful eyes. “I wanted a fresh start. And I wanted to do it on my own.”

  “Fresh from what?” Lucas asks.

  “What about you?” I counter. “You’re not telling the whole story here either. You were looking for someone to help you with your custody issues. A wife would certainly help your case.”

  Lucas rears back and Dr. Stehman lets out a little gasp.

  If only I could stuff the words back in my mouth the second they hit the air.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucas

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  Air rushes out of my lungs as if I’d been kicked by a horse. My fingers dig into the armrest of the couch. Riley thinks I married her to help out with Mason? Guess she forgot the reason I’m going to court. It’s because she’s in my life, not despite it. “Marrying you is the reason Lisa wants a legal custody agreement.”

  Where is this coming from? What happened to the woman who wanted to go with me to see the lawyer? Who said we’d show Lisa we could be a family for Mason? I rub both hands over my face. “Look. We’re supposed to be working things out here. Not making them worse.�
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  “Mr. and Mrs. Craiger, there are obviously some underlying issues here.” The therapist flips through the file, reads something, then closes the folder. “I do notice you both knew each other as teenagers. But let me be forthright, even the smallest lies will cost you both. The committee doesn’t take people joining the program for personal gain lightly. If you did in fact sign up to help with your custody case, Lucas, you could be dishonorably discharged.”

  My body tenses and it’s as if all the oxygen in the room dissipates. Be kicked out of the military? Fuck, no. Not after everything I’ve gone through to get where I am.

  Losing my job would mean losing my son.

  And my purpose.

  I level the therapist with a look. “I assure you that is not why I joined. I’m sure the committee will find legal paperwork that is dated to corroborate my statement.”

  Could this day get any worse? Talk therapy is supposed to help but it’s making everything worse. I guess it only helps when everyone is being honest, which Riley definitely isn’t. There’s something about her stomach, the way she constantly leans forward, arms clasped around her middle, like right now. And the way she panics if my hands come anywhere near it. Somehow it’s tied up with her moving out here and that stupid apartment. She’s always been one to deflect, but I never would have thought she’d deflect in a way that would hurt Mason. I thought she really liked him and I could tell he liked her.

  My gaze runs over my wife. She’s pale again, and there’s a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Something is wrong. She’s in pain. I reach out a hand and place it on her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Peachy,” she snaps. “I don’t want or need your concern or any special treatment.”

  My mouth drops open. Uh, what do I say to that? How is asking if someone is okay the wrong thing to do? I raise my eyebrows at Dr. Stehman who also watches Riley, hoping she might have a suggestion.

  Instead, her noncommittal smile and concerned facial expressions fade. She’s cool. Assessing. Riley seems to notice, too, and fidgets. My wife’s shoulders slump and she lets out an audible sigh. “Actually, I’m not peachy. I’m not feeling so great. Could we reschedule?”

  “Of course,” Dr. Stehman says.

  My heel bounces against the floor as we set a new date, my gaze shifting between my wife and the floor. Don’t want to upset her, but I’m worried. Once we are all set, Riley and I exit the office. I stay behind her, shoving my hands into my pockets because I’m not sure what else to do. And at least if they are restricted by the denim material, I might not overstep and make her feel incapable.

  The ride home is as silent and tense as the one to the therapist’s office. I steal glances over at Riley. Her skin is even paler and she’s hunched over even more, arms still crossed over her stomach. What can I do to make her feel better?

  I stare out the windshield and my mind drifts back to our appointment and that pause before she answered why she joined the program. Is that where the problem lies? Her answer was fine, once she said it. So why did it seem so difficult for her to admit to? Especially since it’s in line with my reasons. It’s not the first time the question has come up. She had to have said something on the application about why she applied. Unless, of course, she’s lying and had to scramble to remember what she’d said before. A cold knot forms in the pit of my stomach.

  When we get back to the house, her door opens and she’s getting out practically before I can put the truck in park.

  She’s upstairs by the time I get in the house. The door of the upstairs bathroom slams shut. Dread owns me, pushing against me like an invisible gale, attempting to reverse my steps back to the garage and into my truck. My stomach is locked up tight, nothing getting in or out, and I’m sweating through the button-down shirt.

  But unless I can turn back time and drag the sun from the sky, the chips have to fall where they may. I just hope if given enough space, Riley will open up to me before the stress of watching her suffer eats me alive.

  Chapter Twelve

  Riley

  At first I was shocked to receive a text from Marge inviting me out for coffee with Inara and Taya. I’d only met them once at the barbeque. They’d been nice enough considering the way Lucas had sprung our marriage on all of them and the fact that they seemed to be well aware of our history. I’m sure his version of the events didn’t exactly portray me in a good light, so I’m relieved they accept me as part of the group. I want so much to explain my version to them and to Lucas, but I’ve seen too often how people react to finding out I have a chronic illness. It goes one of two ways. They walk out because it’s too much to handle or they get cloying and try to wrap me up in cotton wool like I might break apart at any moment.

  My plan for the day had been to remain in bed, especially with the flare-up that started in the therapist’s office kicking in, even if my new bedroom is so much like my old bedroom at my parents’ place I feel like I might suffocate. Fatigue is a common symptom of Crohn’s disease and it is kicking my butt at the moment. I want to rest, take a beat, and maybe keep this flare-up from getting any worse than it has to be.

  On the other hand, stress and anxiety can make a flare-up worse and the atmosphere around the house is definitely stressful. I still can’t believe what I said at therapy. Never did it cross my mind that Lucas married me to help out his case. And he’s right. There wouldn’t be a custody case if it wasn’t for me. But will telling him the truth—the whole truth—help or hurt that case? If Lisa is already having concerns about Mason having a new stepparent, how much worse will it be once she discovers I also have a chronic disease?

  And now they might use what I just said to kick Lucas out of the military? A dishonorable discharge? I didn’t miss his reaction when Dr. Stehman said that. He looked stunned. Frozen. Then he went so cold and calm, and it felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. He’s barely spoken since coming back from counseling and even went as far as disinviting me from going to the lawyer’s with him because he wanted to handle everything himself.

  Which I should probably understand, since it’s how I feel too. I want to handle my own life. Talk to him on my own terms, not be forced. Especially considering the way I’m feeling right now. The last thing I want is him hovering around me, babying me as I ride out a bad spell. So I’ve been keeping to my teenage dream bedroom when he’s in the house, creeping out when I hear him leave. It’s not like he’s so much as knocked on my door either. The few times I’ve walked into a room when he’s there, he’s walked out.

  So, yeah. Maybe some time away from Lucas would be a good thing. Although, a café wouldn’t have been my choice. Or my second or third. Why did every social event seem to center around food?

  But the place they wanted to meet, Marigold’s, is charming. It’s a great mix of rustic and modern with wide-planked wooden floors, exposed brick walls, and mid-century modern chrome-and-leather booths and stools. And the aroma! The air is delicious with the scent of coffee and cookies and cakes.

  I take a second to breathe it all in, checking to see that my sundress covered with orange hibiscus flowers is in order.

  “Riley.”

  I look toward the back-left corner and spot Marge waving. I return the gesture and head toward her, taking a quick second to glance at the menu on the wall behind the counter. Thank the Lord, they have toast. I’ll be fine.

  “Hey,” Taya stands and gives me a hug, all dark hair and snapping eyes. Next to her is a sleeping baby in a stroller.

  I blink rapidly. That is one big-ass baby and while Taya isn’t petite, I really can’t imagine how she gave birth to a child that size, or how anyone could give birth to a baby that size.

  The group erupts into laughter and I’m curious as to what I missed. So, I pull out a chair and take a seat, my gaze bouncing between the three women. Inara places her hand on my forearm. “We all have the same reaction whenever we look at Otto. Just looking at him makes me want to cross my legs.”

&nb
sp; “Was I that obvious?” I let out a low groan. How freakin’ embarrassing.

  Taya chuckles. “No worries, as long as those reactions are hidden from Jim. I swear my husband acts as if having a kid that’s off the growth charts is some kind of paternal badge of honor. Like he was the only one involved in making this kid.”

  Jim jokes around? He has a sense of humor? The last time I met him, he was so impassive, I figured he was the group member with no personality. Definitely the complete opposite of Inara’s husband. Tony has enough personality for the whole team, although from what I heard at the barbeque, Lucas has quite the personality too.

  If only I could see that side of him more. When we were in high school, he’d been fun. I remember laughing so hard at something he said, I was worried I’d wet my pants. Some of the stories I’d heard made it sound like he and Martinez were the lives of the party wherever they were. I was having a hard time reconciling that with the taciturn man whose back was so tense I could see the muscles bunch up under his shirt when we were together.

  “Did you want to order anything? It’s on me.” Marge waves the server over.

  “Uh, just water. And maybe some toast.”

  As subtle as Marge tries to be, I catch the quick glance she shoots at Taya. They definitely have noticed what I eat or don’t eat and have talked about it. Damn it. Should have stayed home. That way, no one would have questions. Another reminder why I like to keep myself to myself, thank you very much. I have no desire to be the topic of anyone’s conversation.

  Inara’s phone pings, and she picks it up and then taps furiously at it. “Carajo. I don’t understand this fool. Can someone please explain to me why I agreed to marry my husband? Was I drugged? Hypnotized?”

  “What’d he do now?” Taya asks, grinning.

  “Mira.” Inara turns the screen to face the rest of us. “The idiot knocked down our bathroom. Decided to remodel it. Without talking to me first.”