I assume.
I wish I could just talk to her, really talk to her. Not this flirty shit we do or the looks and the yearning. If she’d let me, I’d take her out just to talk. Then the next day, she wouldn’t leave my bed. In my opinion, that seems totally reasonable with how much restraint I’ve shown so far. I almost couldn’t let her go when we hooked up at Aiden’s wedding. I wouldn’t disrespect her, but man, I wanted her. So damn bad. I find myself licking my lips as I look at her selfie in what I guess is the community bathroom between classes. Fuck, she’s hot.
I send a heart and then the drooling emoji, but before I can shut down the app, I see she is online. She likes my comment and sends me a heart.
Before I can stop myself, I type:
Wes_McMillan: Having a good day? You look gorgeous as always.
StellaAnn: Busy and tired. You?
Wes_McMillan: Rough night and now therapy. But there is leftover Chinese at home for me, so things are looking up.
StellaAnn: Yeah, saw y’all lost. Sorry. Maybe therapy will help?
I go to type that seeing her would help greatly. But instead, I send her a thumbs-up because, really, what the hell do I say to that?
I’ve been in regular therapy since I was eighteen. I don’t know if there is help for me.
“Wesley?”
I look up to see my therapist, Noelle Matthews. She’s been the team’s therapist for as long as I’ve been here. She’s a little older than me and kind. Except when she’s making me talk about shit I don’t want to deal with.
“Hey, Dr. Matthews. How you doing?”
“Wonderful. Jesus, I heard you got hurt, but that’s a nasty injury.”
I wave her off. “Doesn’t even hurt.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” she laughs. “Come on in.” She moves out of the way so I can walk in. I’ve never asked how old she is, but one thing is for sure. She’s gorgeous. She’s got that hourglass figure that reminds me of a cartoon pinup girl. Her dark hair and dark eyes make her seem all gypsylike. She has these really thick lips that remind me a lot of Stella’s. I’m sure it is frowned upon to be lusting over a girl I can’t have while trying to heal my mind.
As I enter, like I always do, I look around her office. She has a lot of bookcases, full of books and pictures of her dogs. She’s a huge dog person. She has a pretty neat white desk that she’s paired with a dark purple chair.
“How’re the dogs?”
She smiles as she sits down. “Wonderful. I’m rescuing another one this week.”
“Wow. How many is that now?”
“Four.”
We share a smile before she lets out a long breath. “We need to talk.”
I’m not sure if I should brace myself or not, so I do just to feel safe. I grip the arms of the chair. “Okay?”
“I don’t talk about my family a lot in our sessions, but my youngest brother is on the spectrum for autism. We have found a really awesome program out in Colorado, so, unfortunately, we’ll only have two more sessions together before I move.”
“Oh.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But the good thing is, my replacement will be sitting in with us on the last two, so we can get to know one another as a group. I want to have weekly Skype calls with you until you’re comfortable.”
“And if I don’t get comfortable right away with them?” Valid question since it took over four months for me to open up to her.
“Then we can increase the frequency of our calls. I will continue to work with you until you are. I’ll even do sessions with you both. I’ll be heading back here monthly to check on my other siblings, so we can meet up if need be.”
Panic. All I feel is panic. But I know this is best for her, and I’m sure this wasn’t an easy decision. I nod. “This sucks, but I want the best for your brother.”
She smiles happily. “You’re too sweet, Wesley. Thank you. We’ll get you taken care of, don’t worry.”
“Okay.” But I am worried. Didn’t I say I wanted things to even out? My therapist leaving is not evening out! Fuck me. I love this woman; she’s the first therapist who has gotten the truth out of me, the one who supports me when I get in my phases. I don’t want to do this all over, especially when I wasn’t too confident about opening up to her.
“So, was it a rogue elbow or stick that got you, or was it a fight?” she asks, a grin pulling at her lips as I meet her gaze.
She isn’t going to like this. “I was mad we were losing, and since I had been with an opponent’s sister, I felt the need to pick at him about it.”