His For More Than One Night

“Kate.” It’s almost a whisper. I look up, and holy shit, he’s angry. “I do not ever want to hear you talk like that again. There is nothing I would change about that night, especially meeting you.

It was clear from the tapes you had an aversion to men. I noticed it after only a few hours. You never let them get close, and your smile hides fear if they attempt to touch you in any way. There were hints, then your demand of all night, but it was clear it was just one night. I knew there were issues, and I didn’t care, still don’t care. We’ll get through them.”

“How are you so completely sure of that?”

“I am sure because, as far as I’m concerned, failure isn’t an option. It’s not going to be easy on either one of us, but we’ll get through them together.” With that, he takes my hand and leads me down to the garage in the back.

I follow, for once hopeful he’s right. Right now I’m trusting tomorrow will take care of itself and us.

***

The next three days are comfortable and easy. There are times when it seems so easy I wonder if it’s a dream. Trey seems happier than ever, and it’s hard not to feel the same. He laughs often, and sometimes it’s at my outspoken thoughts, but he never makes me feel like it’s to undercut or belittle me. His dry sense of humor makes laugh many times too and I’m truly happy in way I’ve never even thought possible. I’m finally beginning to understand the appeal of being in a real relationship, especially with someone as thoughtful, considerate, and amazing in bed as Trey. To have a person who talks and shares not just the events of his day, but enjoys long talks and very spirited discussions about books and everything under the sun. He doesn’t let me off easily, he also asks questions about my past and holds me close while I answer them. Always, he makes it clear he understands it’s hard for me to talk about it, but the answers are important.

Then there’s the benefit that I have only to brush against him with the slightest invitation to have him inside me, not just in bed but out of it, in the most exciting places in the house. Then, like all good things, the easiness ends.

For the first time I wake up on my own, without Trey beside me in bed. A little shock runs through me to see the clock by the bed read after nine in the morning. Did Trey leave for work without letting me know? I’m disappointed. Even if I don’t have to work today, it would have been nice to get a kiss goodbye.

After a quick shower, I make my way downstairs and find him working at the large table in the room attached to the kitchen we usually eat at, even though there is a formal dining room it’s too big, as it seats sixteen.

“I thought you had left for work already.”

“And from your tone, you’ve been annoyed with me. No, sweetheart, come here for a moment.” Pulling me into his lap, he presses my head onto his shoulder. “I have taken the day off. Do you remember when I asked you if you would be willing to see a therapist and you said yes? I made the appointment for noon today.”

Instantly, I go tense and try to pull away.

“Kate, please. I’ll go with you, and if it gets too hard we’ll end it for the moment. Joy Engle is the best in Chicago. She’s treated people that have gone through what you have, and worse. She knows what she’s doing and won’t push you beyond your limits.

Baby, it kills me knowing I’m going to push you to the edge, to a pain you want to only forget. Please, this isn’t just for me, it’s for us, it’s for you.”

I’m still tense. I still want to pull away and tell him to go to hell. Then I see his hand on my hip, and it’s trembling ever so slightly. His words are true. This isn’t easy for him to ask. Sliding my hand over his, I squeeze and nod.

“Thank you. I love you, Kate, and all I want is for you to be as happy and whole as you can be.” His voice sounds rusty, and I nod, understanding how hard it is to get the words out.

It’s a few minutes before either of us speak, and his words are light and prosaic. “Brunch? What would you like, sweetheart?”

I don’t even have to think. My arms go tight around him. “I’m not hungry for food right now. Please, take me back to bed.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say or do anything, then he picks me up and does as I ask.

***

Standing in front of my clothes, I’m not stalling, I think. I’m just not sure what to wear. Trey comes in and watches me and then starts picking out things. They’re all jeans and comfy tops, yet for some reason I feel like I should wear something more formal, and tell him that.

“Baby, you look good in everything. Formal is not a necessity in the slightest. You need to wear what you’re comfortable in.” With a kiss on my forehead, he tells me that I have fifteen minutes and he’ll be waiting downstairs.

With a sigh, I grab the jeans and a light blue button-down blouse that’s a man’s style designed to be longer. I have tried stealing his shirts, but the moment he sees me in them he gets so turned on he either rips them off or takes them off very slowly.

I don’t bother with makeup, and put my hair in a ponytail. It pisses me off to see fear in my eyes, and it makes my back straighter as I go downstairs.

The drive isn’t far. The office is located in an attached brownstone in Old Town. At the entry, Trey announces his name and his appointment time, a buzzer goes off, and the door opens into a large room that looks like someone’s home, not an office. A woman behind a desk is the only thing that gives away the office aspect. She’s older, with steel grey hair, and has a plump, grandmotherly look to her.

“Mr. Ramsey, I’ll let her knew know you have arrived.”

My hand goes into his, and I squeeze. He responds gently and guides me over to the large brown sofa. “Remember, if you it gets to be too much, you can stop it anytime. We will be coming back, but for the moment if you can’t bear it, then you won’t have to.”

Nodding, I lean into him. A door opens, and the woman calls Trey’s name. I think she surprises us both when I stand. “Both of you, please.”

Trey is up immediately, and his arm is around me as we walk toward the open door. The woman is older, mid-fifties, there is no soft, grandmotherly look to her. She’s reed thin, African-American, her hairs buzzed close, and black hair battles with grey. The skin on her cheeks and hands are smooth, and although she has an air of confidence and steel, there’s a sadness in her eyes that isn’t hidden. A network of lines on her forehead and at her eyes speaks of years older than mid-fifties. This woman has heard what I’ve been through before and, as Trey said, much worse.