The green and orange sweater that Arnold, my nine thirty session, is wearing completely distracts me. First of all, it’s September, and while the constant beating heat of the summer has begun to drift into the crisp feeling of fall at night, it’s still too damn hot for a sweater.
I study Arnold’s features as he prattles on about never being liked in high school. It’s what he believes has led to his addiction issues. His short stature, coupled with his obvious beer gut and balding hairline, makes it hard for me to picture him as ever being young enough to be a teenager.
“The turning point is when I asked Lesley Peacock to the Junior Prom. When she turned me down, I couldn’t get over it,” Arnold explains as he continues to shrug his shoulders over and over as if he, himself, isn’t exactly sure about the story he’s telling me. “I think she broke my spirit, and I turned to drinking to cope.”
I’m not buying that. I know it’s not professional, but I want to roll my eyes. “Arnold,” I interrupt. “Are you saying that that one moment was impossible to get over? That one simple rejection sent your life onto the path of self-destruction? There’s nothing a little deeper that haunts your mind every day? Something you turn to alcohol to forget?”
Arnold’s lips pull into a tight line as his eyes drift up toward the ceiling. “Nothing that I can think of, Frannie.”
I glance down at my cell on my desk, noticing a new text message. “Our session time has come to a close. What I would like for you to think about is if there’s something else that bothers you, other than a girl turning you down for a date. Something else you try to escape.”
He nods and stands. “See you tomorrow.”
The moment he leaves the room, I swipe my finger across the screen of my phone. My eyebrows shoot up when I see that the text is from my mother, asking for me to call her. Something must be wrong because I rarely hear from her. She’s either too busy donating her time to one of her multiple charities, or caught up in planning some over-the-top affair at the country club she and my father are members of.
I press the green phone symbol and wait as two rings pass before Mother answers. “Frannie, darling, thank you for returning my call so quickly. What are you doing this weekend?”
My lips pull into a tight line. Has she forgotten so quickly that I’ve recently moved? “I’m in Kentucky.”
She sighs heavily into the phone. “What are you doing in that god-awful state?”
It’s with that one sentence she confirms that, once again, she has paid no attention to what’s going on in my life. “I took a job here, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” I can tell by her exasperated tone that she still doesn’t understand why I felt the need to go into a career field that doesn’t exactly meet her standards. “Your weekends are still free though, yes?”
“Yes, but—”
“Perfect!” she exclaims, completely cutting me off. “I need you to housesit this weekend. Your father is flying to London on business, and I’ve decided to go with him. You know how I love that city, and I simply can’t resist going even if it’s only for a couple days.”
I furrow my brow. “That sounds great, but I don’t understand why you’re calling me.”
“Penelope already requested the weekend off, and there’s just no one else I trust to take care of Spencer and Ruby.”
I roll my eyes as I think about my mother’s obsession with her Cavalier King Charles Spaniel dogs. She treats those dogs better than she ever treated Annie and me. My sister would always laugh when I would complain that those stupid animals weren’t my siblings like Mother would refer to them as. Even if they are undeniably cute. “Give mother a break, Frannie,” Annie would say. “They’ve actually softened her up.” Annie would only laugh harder when I would mumble that her twin daughters should’ve been the ones to unfreeze that icy heart of hers.
Needless to say, I’m not a fan of how much Mother loves those dogs.
“Can’t one of the other staff take care of them since Penelope is off?” I ask.
“Frannie, you know I don’t just trust my babies to anyone. I’ll need you to come home for the weekend and take care of your brother and sister.”
Ugh. There it is again. I swear to God the woman is delusional.
“I can’t,” I tell her simply. “That’s a long train ride and—”
“Oh, Frannie, don’t be silly. We’ll send the jet to pick you up and take you back,” she says in a nonchalant tone.
“Mother, you know I don’t do planes since...” I feel the emotion pique in my voice, and I choke it back.
“Pish-posh. You can’t let what happened to Annie stop you from living your life. It’s been four years, Francine. It’s time to move on.” My mouth gapes open at her words.
Am I the only one who loved my sister? How can she act like being up in the air, helpless, under some random pilot’s control, isn’t a big deal after her own daughter died in a plane that went down somewhere over the Atlantic. The search went on for a couple of weeks, but all they found was part of the wing. The rest was never recovered.
There’s so much I want to say to her—no, to scream at her—about how I don’t understand how she’s not broken by Annie’s death like me. Unlike Arnold, I can say with the utmost certainty that the moment I knew my sister wasn’t coming back—that her body was likely deep in the dark water abyss, never to be seen again—I lost it. Things that mattered once before—parties, finding a husband, having a family—no longer registered. Zero attachment to anything became my new motto, one that led to me having numerous, purely physical relationships with men. I never want to feel the kind of pain I felt from her loss ever again.
But there’s no way I can explain all that to my mother. We might as well be from different planets when it comes to understanding one another’s feelings about what happened to my sister. There’s no use talking to her about it because she’ll never understand what I’ve lost.
“Frannie? Hello? Did you hear me?” Mother’s voice cuts through the haze of my thoughts.
“I’m here.”
“Well? What time would you like the jet there Friday to pick you up?” she asks, and I detect a hint of impatience in her voice as she waits on my answer.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but I won’t be able to make it this weekend. You’ll simply have to find someone else.”
“Francine—”
“No time to chat, my next appointment is due any time now. Goodbye, Mother.”
With that, I simply end the call, allowing no time for her to make me feel guilty for telling her no.
My finger slides over the phone, hunting for the one picture of Annie that I keep close. I stare at her vibrant smile, so full of life, and my eyes begin to burn as tears well up in them. There are so many things we planned to do together that will never happen now. How can I go on pretending life is fucking perfect when the one person in this world who felt like my other half is gone? The one person I shared everything with.
Sometimes, when I allow myself to think of her too much, I can’t hold back the pain. Hot tears slick down my cheeks as I try my best to hold in my sobs and not lose what little bit of control I still have.
My office door opens, startling me. I swat at the tears streaking down my face, attempting hide the fact that I’m teetering on the edge of yet another nervous breakdown while thinking about Annie.
Tyke’s green eyes lock with mine and concern instantly etches on his face. “Are you okay?”
I sniff. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He closes the door behind him and takes a hesitant step toward me. “I’ve always been told when a woman says she’s ‘fine,’ it means just the opposite.”
I shake my head. “Things going on with me aren’t really open for discussion.”
From the slight tilt of his head, I can tell that he’s trying to figure me out. “Why?”
When he moves toward me, I step back, bumping into the desk. He’s close enough that the heat of his body radiates off him, causing a tingle to creep up my spine. I shouldn’t like being this close to him, but I do.
Too damn much.
Slowly he raises his hand to my face, and with the pad of his thumb, he brushes a lingering tear from my cheek. “How can you expect me to open up to you about my feelings when you won’t even tell me what’s made you cry?”
His thumb leaves a trail of fire in its wake, my skin begging him to touch me everywhere. But no matter how much my body craves his closeness, it can never happen. He’s off-limits.
He’s a client, for Christ’s sake.
The moment he cradles my face in his hands I begin to panic, knowing what would happen if I allow this kiss to occur. Is another random tryst worth losing this job? I’ve worked so hard for this, and not only would I be letting myself down, but I know Annie would be pissed at me, too. Even knowing all that, I can’t deny the attraction I feel toward him.
Tyke’s lips part slightly as he begins to lean into me. I place my hand against his chest. “We can’t do this,” I whisper.
His gaze locks with mine. “I know.”
I’m not sure if it’s the strain in his deep rumbling voice, or the fact that I’m emotionally vulnerable that makes me momentarily lose my resolve, but something comes over me and my hand against his chest relaxes and I fall into him a bit. Tyke seizes the opportunity and presses his lips to mine, my eyes closing of their own accord, my mouth betraying me by opening and allowing his tongue to slip inside. A low groan emits from the back of his throat as he wraps one arm around the small of my back and pushes his body against mine.
“You taste like sunshine,” he says between kisses.
My knees nearly buckle at his words, and I thread my fingers into his blond hair. This only excites him more. Tyke grabs my waist and hoists me onto my desk, pushing his hips between my legs, his erection straining through the coarse material of his jeans as he rubs against me and his kiss turns hungry.
I could give in right now and escape. His touch feels so good, it’s almost enough to make me forget where we are.
Almost.
I shove my hand into his chest, pushing him backward. “No. We can’t do this. I’ll lose my job.”
Tyke’s lust-laden gaze meets mine as his body stills. I fully expect him to try to convince me that we won’t get caught, but he doesn’t. He simply steps back and straightens his T-shirt while he nods. “I don’t want that to happen, but you can’t blame me for trying. You’re so fucking sexy, and your eyes...God, so damn blue—they’re intoxicating. I think I could stare into them forever. I guess I just couldn’t help myself.”
I bite my lip and stare at him as I hop off the desk. “We have to stay professional. This kind of thing can never happen between us again. No matter how much we both may want it to.”
That earns me a crooked smirk because I’ve just admitted that I want him. “I promise to be on my best behavior from now on, Doc.”
He grabs the notebook I didn’t realize he’d brought with him off my desk and saunters over to the couch. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help checking out his ass while his back is to me. That man is something—definitely a lot more suave than I’m used to. And his kiss...dear God. If just his kiss can tempt me to throw caution to the wind and nearly fuck the career I’ve worked so hard for, I can only imagine what sleeping with him would do to me.
Probably destroy me, and ruin me for all other men.
The moment he pats the seat next to him on the couch, my back straightens. There’s no way in hell I can be that close to him while being this turned on and expect things to stay innocent.
I grab my tablet, along with my glasses, and take the seat across from him.
He chuckles. “I suppose that’s safer.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, no doubt showing off a fierce blush. “I think distance is best.”
He repositions himself, stretching his long legs out and throwing his arm casually across the back of the couch. “So what are we talking about today, Doc?”
There are so many things he and I could be talking about, but right now, I need to focus on the reason he’s here. My eyes flit to the notebook balancing on his left thigh. “I’m assuming you’ve written something down, since you’ve brought it with you.”
He taps his thumb on the cover a couple times and then shrugs. “Just one song.”
I slip my glasses on, ready to take some notes. “Care to share what it is?”
“‘Man in the Box’ by Alice in Chains. I know that’s probably not exactly what you were hoping for, but it was all that I could think of.”
I ponder over the song he’s just given, trying to recall in my brain the lyrics, but nothing comes up. “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with that song. Can you tell me a little about what it’s about?”
Tyke smirks. “Not a metal fan then, huh?”
“Not really, no, but I know that’s what Black Falcon plays.” I blush again, knowing full well, after all my research that it’s the type of music he plays.
He picks at the thick leather cuff on his wrist. “It’s cool if you’re not a fan. Metal isn’t for everyone, I suppose, just please tell me you’re not one of those chicks who’s into the bubblegum sounding top forty hits. That would break my fucking heart.”
I laugh. “If you’re talking about all the music that sounds like it could be on the Disney channel then, no, but I won’t say I’m a pop hater. I like anything with a good beat, but I’m more of an alternative girl.”
That earns me a smile. “Alternative? Nice. I can work with that. I’ve been really diggin’ the Artic Monkeys lately.”
“I love them,” I say, excited that someone else appreciates the complex sound of that band. “‘Do I Wanna Know’ is one of my absolute favorite songs.”
That causes him to raise one eyebrow. “That’s a pretty deep song. Does it make you think of anyone when you listen to it?”
I instantly shake my head. “No. What makes you ask that?”
“That song is basically about a guy who is so lovesick he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I was curious if I need to be concerned that you’re already in love with someone else, and you turning me down a few minutes ago had more to it than just the off-limits factor. I like to know exactly what I’m up against.”
My stupid blush rushes back to my cheeks in full force as his eyes stay locked on mine, waiting for my answer. The heat of his stare is almost too much to take, and I’m tempted to drop my eyes away from his gaze, but I don’t. I want him to know that I’m in control of the situation going on between us.
After a long moment, I sigh. “There’s no one else, but—”
“That’s good to know,” he says, seemingly delighted by the news.
“I meant what I said before. Nothing can happen between us.”
He holds up a hand and tries to fight back a grin, like he knows no matter how much I resist, my giving into his advances is inevitable. “Strictly professional, I got it.”
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and say, “Good. Let’s get back to the song. I’m going to guess it’s about a man being trapped.”
Tyke nods. “Yeah. After being basically on lockdown in my room last night and ordered to be on time for breakfast, I feel a little closed up in this place.”
I make a note about checking into the daily routines of the clients a little more with Wayne. “What did you do when you went up to your room last night?”
“You want to imagine me in my room? Sleeping in the buff, perhaps?” His teasing tone doesn’t go unmissed, and I shake my head again at his crassness.
“I simply meant do you feel that you’re not getting adequate time to reflect on the day and unwind?”
“I never get that. Doing what I do for a living, there’s always somewhere to be, or something to be doing. I typically keep going until I pass out,” he answers.
“Pass out?” I question.
Tyke rolls his eyes, not missing what I was getting at. “From exhaustion.”
I frown. “That’s a shame. What good is it to be so successful if your life is no longer your own?”
“It is what it is, Frannie. Sacrificing your personal life is sort of expected in the music business.”
I knew musicians were always busy, but hearing it from him directly that he basically has no life other than his job makes me sad for him. “Why do you continue to do it if you’re not happy?”
“I love making music. It makes me happy. All the bullshit that goes along with it is what I hate. Once music is in your skin, it’s impossible to just scrub it away. It sticks with you, and like it or not, you’ll never be able to walk away, even if you want to. Just the thought of not being able to do this for a living makes me so fucking anxious that I can’t breathe.”
I make another note, beginning to understand where his addiction began. “So when the business side of the music came into play, adding pressure to your creative process, is that when you first began taking benzos?”
He fidgets in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with me getting down to the nitty-gritty so quickly. “I think so. It all began when I went to see my doctor and mentioned that I constantly felt anxious that something was going to happen with the band, that everything we’ve worked for would be yanked away from us.”
“And he wrote you a prescription for benzodiazepine to help calm your nervousness about the inability to control the outcome of your future?”
He nods. “Yeah. And then once I started taking them, I liked the way they made me feel. The way they helped me forget sometimes that the band falling apart is always a possibility.”
“So what led you to the point in your life where you determined that benzodiazepines alone was no longer enough of an escape?”
He rubs his palms up and down his thighs, along the material of his jeans, as he stares down at the floor. “I’m not sure exactly. I think everything began gradually. A bump of cocaine here and there, topped with the alcohol that we always partied with . . . I don’t know . . . I like the feeling of not worrying.”
My heart breaks for him. While I might not have turned to drugs to help mask the pain I felt after Annie died, I did turn to the one thing I found helped take my mind off it. “I can understand wanting to forget for a while.”
His eyes flick up to mine, and I can see the relief in them. “You can?”
I nod, feeling myself teetering on the edge of professionalism. Exactly how much of my own personal life should I be revealing to him? “I think everyone reaches a point in their lives when they want nothing more than to forget something, or forget the possibility that a good thing can go terribly wrong at any time.”
“You’ve felt that way?” he asks, his need to know the answer burning in his eyes. It’s like he wants confirmation that he’s not alone in struggling with the crazy feelings going on inside him.
I know it’s not professional, but I think sharing might be the only way to make him understand that everyone feels the way he does from time to time. “Yes, for a long time. My sister—my twin—died, and it’s a pain I’ve been running from for nearly four years.”
He licks his lips slowly as he digests what I’ve just told him. “What’s that like? Losing your twin?”
I sigh as the familiar pain grips my heart like a vice as I think about Annie. “I imagine losing anyone you love is probably hard, but in my mind there’s nothing that could be harder than losing my sister. She was the one person who understood everything about me, the one person who knew all my secrets and understood my crazy personality. It’s hard not having her in my life anymore. Annie” —I take in a ragged breath— “she was my other half, my soul mate, someone who can’t be replaced.”
I fully expect him to pepper me with more questions, but instead he returns his stare to the floor. I wonder if any of what I just told him makes sense.
I open my mouth to continue to push him for more about his reliance on benzodiazepine to forget, but close it the moment there’s a knock on my office door. “Excuse me a moment.”
I rise from my seat to answer the door, laying my notepad and pen on the couch next to Tyke.
I find Kimmy standing on the other side, wearing a hot pink top and jeans, chomping on a piece of gum. “Hey, Frannie. I’ve got to go into town to pick up some cleaning supplies in a bit. Do you want to come with me? It’s the perfect time to get out of here for a while.”
I glance down at the wristwatch I have on and nod. “Sure, our session time is up anyway. Let me wrap up, and I’ll be ready in a few minutes, okay?”
She nods. “Sure thing. I’ll wait for you on the porch.”
I close the door behind her and turn my attention back to Tyke, who is standing in the middle of the office now, watching me curiously, like he’s seeing me for the first time.
I interlock my fingers in front of me. “Sorry about that. I don’t mean to rush you or anything. If you need more time, I can—”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. Go. I’ve got a splitting headache anyhow. I should probably go and lay down.”
This is it, I bet. The beginning to the detox he’s been so adamant that he’s not going to experience. “All right. I’ll see you again when you’re feeling well enough to continue our sessions.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just a headache. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I give him a small smile. “Okay, then.”
Tyke doesn’t say another word, just walks past me and out the door.
As soon as I’m alone, I drop my head into my hand and rub my forehead. I hope I can help him. There’s always that little bit of niggling doubt in my head as to whether I’m cut out for this job or not. Can I really help people who have addictions when I still struggle with one myself? An addiction that’s become a whole lot harder to fight since I succumbed to that kiss? I should’ve known better and never allowed him to get so close. His physical presence just does something to me that I can’t explain. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he’d be my biggest professional challenge, but I didn’t anticipate the personal challenge as well. No matter how much I want him, I have to remain focused on the reason he’s here and try to help him overcome the darkness that threatens to envelope him.
I slump down in the chair next to the couch and reach for the notepad, my gaze pausing on what Tyke’s left behind.
A single green guitar pick.
I hold the thin piece of plastic between my fingers and examine the words he’s written on the back.
Thank you.
I fold my fingers around it and clutch it to my chest as pride washes over me.
I’m doing this.
I’m getting through to him.