If at first you don’t succeed...

Seek therapy

 

BECK

“The thing is, emotions are what drives us.” The woman across from me in the overstuffed armchair leans forward and places the notepad she’s been writing in for the past forty-five minutes on the chunky white table between us.

What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s written about me. But then again I expect I’d open it up to see ‘she’s crazy’ scrawled across the page a couple hundred times. And after I told her I tried to run into a burning building and then left the one man I have ever loved because of a curse, I wouldn’t be surprised.

She shifts position, smoothing her expensive navy suit skirt over her knees while she crosses her legs. “Sometimes that’s a good thing because it keeps us safe, or we find opportunities where others might not. Other times our emotions come from past issues that we haven’t dealt with and acting on them might not be in our best interest.”

She takes a breath, and I clasp my bandaged hands together in my lap until my fingers start to turn as white as the gauze. I glance at the potted fern that’s too green and too neat, like she takes a pair of scissors to it after every difficult client. I’m probably one of those clients. And I know what she’s going to say. I let my emotions get the better of me, and all it’s caused is heartbreak.

After the fire and finding Hollander like that I thought leaving Nox was the only thing I could do. God, I miss that cat. And Nox. Every day. Every minute. Every single breath I take.

I didn’t expect it to be like this. I thought I could shut off my feelings for him. Go back to the way I used to be when I was logical about everything. But I can’t. I don’t sleep. I barely eat. There’s a giant hole in my heart now that I don’t know how to fill without him. Everything reminds me of what I had and chose to let go of. Because I thought it would be better this way. God, I didn’t have a clue.

Dash made a dish with Tofu last night, and I spent the next three hours crying into his shoulder because it reminded me of Nox.

She leans across the table and hands me a tissue. “You’ve been through a very traumatic situation, Beckett. That experience has colored the way you function in the world. You told me in our first session that you’re a fan of logic. Statistics and scientific facts. And that you believe in curses.”

“That’s correct.”

She offers me a sympathetic smile as I blot my eyes. “Do you think that could be because that was the only way you could cope with what happened to you? Often after a traumatic experience, especially when there’s a death, it’s easier to shut off our emotions than deal with them. Easier to find something to blame for what happened to us, no matter how far-fetched it might seem, than to accept that there’s no reason for what happened to us. Do you think that’s what you were doing?”

“Maybe.” I turn my gaze to the big glass windows and the street below. There are no orange trees here. Nothing but pavement and asphalt and luxury cars. It’s all too sterile. “But now I can’t stop feeling. Everything.” I imagine that I’m talking to Nox. That we’re sitting on his couch and he’s stroking my hair away from my face. I thought knowing that he was okay without me would make leaving him worthwhile, but that isn’t what this feels like. “It hurts so damn much.”

“It’s a process,” she says. “It’s not one that you can hope to avoid long term. You get to work through the steps in your own time and your own way, but you still have to work through them. When you suppress your emotions you can’t heal, so when something like...” she checks her notes again, “...the events of the past few months forces you to face your emotions head on, it isn’t unexpected that old emotions would resurface too. That those emotions would act as a driving force in your decision to leave your husband. Do you think that might be the case?”

“Did I leave Nox because I was terrified of losing him?” Or of being lost myself?

I bite my thumbnail and go back to staring at the fern. “Yes. I couldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“You also told me that your best friend...” she glances down at the notepad on her lap again, “...Liv made a deal with your husband that had a substantial impact on your relationship. That you weren’t sure of his feelings.”

“That’s right.” After what Liv told me about how she’d pushed him into not signing the papers, how could I be certain that any of what happened between us was true? But the way he looked at me when I told him to sign the papers that last time, and the way he wouldn’t look at me after he did keeps replaying in my mind and breaking my heart over and over. It certainly seemed real.

“Have you come to any decision on that?”

“This again?” Dash wanders into the kitchen with his coffee mug in one hand and his glasses clutched in the other while he uses the back of that hand to rub his bleary eyes.

He’s probably sick of me by now. I’ve been crashing on his couch for almost a month.

The pen in my hand hovers above the paper, my fingers beginning to cramp. A few more splotches of ink have landed on the paper.

“Every single morning you’ve sat there for an hour, trying to put your signature on that thing.” He taps the corner of the form while he pours coffee. “Either you want a divorce, or you don’t. Either you love him, or you don’t. Coffee?”

I nod, and he pours another cup that he places in front of me. “So which is it?”

“It’s not that simple.” I run my fingers over Nox’s signature. It’s the closest I can get to him and it spreads the tiniest amount of warmth to my stupid broken heart. He’d signed the forms and given me my freedom, but I hadn’t signed them and taken it. With a groan I drop my head on the form. It’s crinkled and the ink is smudged. I’m not even sure I can file this copy anymore. There’s no way I can ask for his signature again. It would kill me.

“Well, I think you’ve run out of time anyway.” Dash picks up the mail. Starts sorting through it. “Didn’t you want to be divorced before your two-year anniversary? You’ve got less than two weeks so I’m going to suggest that’s out the window.”

“The curse is a bunch of baloney,” I say. After copious therapy sessions and hours of talking about the curse this is the first time I can say that and not have the familiar buzz of doubt that makes me want to knock on the wooden underside of the countertop. Whether any of it was ever real, or whether it was fiction, when I’d died I’d grabbed onto it as a way to explain how I could have ended up in that situation. But there was no rhyme or reason. I can see that now.

“Did you learn that in therapy?” Dash asks, lifting an envelope out of the pile and dropping it in front of me.

“Yes. And that it’s okay to grieve over your own death, even if you get a second chance at life.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I guess. It doesn’t make me feel any better though. I can’t stop loving Nox just because I chose to leave. I can’t stop thinking that I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I can’t fix it. I still don’t know what to do with this form.” I shrug as I pick up the envelope Dash dropped in front of me.

My heart trips as I read my name on the front. I’d know Nox’s handwriting anywhere. Especially since I’ve spent day after day staring at it. I slide my fingernail into the gap and along the edge, tearing it. Pulling out the thick wad of paper inside, I lay it in front of me. It’s a sales contract for the land Casey Records is on to the development company that was building the mall across the road. Lena’s name is on the form as purchaser for the company. My name is under Nox’s as the seller. But it isn’t mine. And he shouldn’t be selling it. “Not to her.”

“What’s going on?” Dash asks.

“I have to call Liv.”  Jumping off my stool, I search between the couch cushions for my phone. Liv doesn’t know how to make small deals. Even when we were in preschool, playing in the sandlot she used to go all in. Every head in her Barbie collection if Tucker Smith would run up and smack the teacher on the butt. Hell yeah. Her brand-new Mary Janes in the limited-edition blueberry color if Kara Calloway would swallow the class’s pet gold fish. Absolutely. So there’s no way she didn’t offer Nox something decent. At least enough that he shouldn’t need to sell the studio.

“What did you offer him, Liv?” I ask as soon as she picks up. Snatching the contract from the counter I flip through it.

“Nice to talk to you too. It’s been a month. You haven’t responded to any of my calls.” 

“I texted. And...” I take a deep breath “...I was in therapy every time you called. Working on my issues.”

“Really?” There’s the hint of hope in her voice.

“You were right,” I admit. “About some of it. I didn’t want to feel anything. I was scared and it got the better of me.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Liv coos.

“We should catch up and talk. Sort through what happened. I miss you.” I get to the last page of the contract and there’s a check stapled to the paper.

“I’d like that,” she says. “I’m still in Reverence at the moment though. For a couple more weeks.”

“Seven hundred thousand dollars, Liv?” I can barely breathe as I study the check. Nox has crossed out his name, putting mine and initialling the change. At the bottom is Liv’s signature.

“What?”

“He sent me the check. The one you made out to him. Did you really offer him seven hundred thousand dollars to stay married to me?”

“Actually it was five hundred cash and whatever it cost to pay the mortgage on the studio, but that’s correct. He’s sent you the whole check?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I guess, considering the state of the studio he’s decided to go in a different direction. Or he just doesn’t care about the money at all.”

“Or maybe...” Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with our time together. I drop onto the sofa. “How is he? Do you know?”

“I haven’t seen him,” she says. “But I can ask Jack. I can find out.”

“N-no. That’s okay.” I don’t know what I would do with the information anyway.

“Okay. Well, I have to go, but I can’t wait to see you.”

“Miss you.” I say, and she hangs up. I flip through the contract again. I don’t know how my name ended up on this document. It has to be a mistake. I don’t have any right to the studio or anything that belongs to him.

Getting up, I take it back to the counter and place it next to the divorce papers. Now I have two documents to sign. Only this one is an easy decision. I pick up the pen and scrawl my signature in all the places that are marked. Then I check the envelope to see if there’s an extra enclosed for me to send it back in. There’s a small piece of lined paper inside, like the one my therapist uses. I pull it out. It’s torn along the edge and folded in the middle. My hands shake as I open it.

 

I never told you why I called you Angel, did I?

Never explained that marrying you kept Lena from getting the property in the first place. Not that I had a fucking clue about that until after you disappeared. You see, Dad didn’t want to make it easy for me to sell it so as soon we married you inherited half the property.

You might find that funny now, considering the sales contract. You might think that you shouldn’t sign. But the thing is, while we were together I worked out what I was really supposed to hold onto, and it isn’t that damn building. So I’m letting Lena have it, and Dean and I are working on a new plan.

I just wish I could have held onto you. I let you down, and I’m sorry for that. The deal Liv offered me, the money you told her to give me despite what happened between us, I don’t want it. It means nothing to me now.

Take care of yourself, Angel.

Nox

 

The paper crumples in my hands as I drop them to my lap. You would think after four weeks I would have gotten this crying bullshit in hand, but no. I wipe my face with my sleeve. God, I miss him. More than I ever thought possible.

“Why don’t you just go back?” Dash sips his coffee, leaning his elbows on the Formica. “Go see him.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Show me the note?” Dash holds out his hand and waits for me to hand it over. He scans the page with the same speed he scans a computer monitor full of code. “There’s nothing here that says he doesn’t want to see you. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say either.”

“Maybe.” I glance at my phone as a reminder for my appointment with Doctor Ross shows up as a text message. “I better get ready. I have a meeting with my therapist.”

“Today I’d like to talk about what’s happening with your divorce,” Doctor Ross says, pouring coffee into handleless mugs that sit on matching white saucers before gesturing at the plate of chocolate chip cookies. “Do you feel up to that?”

It isn’t the first time we’ve broached the fact that I can’t bring myself to sign the papers. Even though Nox finally did at my insistence. Normally when she asks me whether I’ve come to a decision I dissolve into a hot mess that can’t manage a word that doesn’t sound like bubbles of saliva popping.

I glance out the window behind me. It’s the same street I’ve seen for the past four weeks, and every single time I wish for oranges. I guess I ran as far and as fast as I could, but I never truly left. Part of my soul is still in Reverence with Nox. It always will be. “I can’t sign them.”

“Perhaps if you did, you would find some closure,” she suggests. “Sometimes we want to hold onto the past because it’s easier than facing what’s ahead of us. With Nox you had some certainty of what was coming, or at the very least you believed you did. It must be hard to let that go when you’re not sure what will happen next. But you’re making great progress, Beckett. You’re strong enough to handle life on your own.”

“No. It’s not that.”  I reach for my handbag and plunk it on my lap so that I can rifle through it, looking for the note Nox sent me. I pull out my makeup case, packets of tissues, tampons, loose tubes of chapstick; strawberry, cherry, and watermelon flavors. A notepad. My phone. Car keys and a spare pair of panties. It’s in here somewhere. Oh God, please tell me I haven’t lost it. What if those are the last words I ever have from him?

“Are you okay, Beckett?” she asks.

“Yes. Just give me one more second.” I drop my wallet and a bunch of receipts on top of the small pile on the table. Grope around the inside of my bag until my fingers find something hard like a pebble only... not a pebble. A square rock connected to a slim circular band. My heart starts to race as I grip the ring through the satin. The one I was so certain I lost and would never find again. “No way. Just no freaking way.”

“Beckett?”

Doctor Ross is staring at me as if I’m about to have a meltdown. I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time, so she has ample reason to assume that might be the case. “Do you have scissors?”

She looks startled by my question. Although I’m a little shocked at that considering she helps people who aren’t in particularly good places mentally.

“I just need to cut my bag.” I tip it in her direction. “My wedding ring is stuck under the lining.”

“I think I have some.” She gets up, smoothing her hands down her skirt and moving toward the desk behind her. She opens a drawer and finds a pair of manicure scissors that she hands to me.

“Thank you.” I nick a hole in the thin material and cut away until it’s big enough to free the ring. After handing her back the scissors, I slide the ring onto my finger. Feels like an age since the first time I saw it there. Like the entire world shifted on its axis during that time. I was so certain of who I was and what I wanted from my life. Now, I can see that that girl was scared and broken and grieving. Dealing in the only way she knew how. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything will be all right. She’ll find a good man who will tear down her walls and make her feel again. And then she’ll find her way through her trauma and her grief.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks as she takes her seat again.

“Um.” I can’t rip my gaze away from my wedding band long enough to look for the note. Nox never wanted to sign the papers. He never wanted to let me go. But I forced him to. If I went home would he forgive me for not being strong enough to stay in the first place? Would he want me? I can’t be certain. I have no idea what my future holds if I go back and put my heart on the line. There might not be anything left to go back to. But I have to. The unknown might be terrifying, but not following my heart right now would be worse. If there’s any chance. “I have to go.”

“We’ve still got forty minutes, Beckett. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to stay and finish your session?” 

“I’m sorry.” I start dumping the debris on the table back into my bag. “I have to see him. I have to find out if there’s any chance of saving my marriage.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that? We’ve made great strides, but—”

“Remember when you told me that emotions can be both a driving force for good and for bad?” I stand up and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. “I ran because I couldn’t bear the idea of someone I love getting hurt. I couldn’t bear the idea of having to live with that pain. But every day I’m here, every moment I spend without him, I feel that pain anyway. I’m grieving him when I should be loving him. If he’ll have me again.”

“What if he won’t?” she asks.

One thing that therapy hasn’t had an effect on is my ability to be dramatic. I take a deep breath and drop back onto the couch. We spend the rest of the session talking over coping strategies that I might need, and the setbacks that I might go through if Nox turns me away. It could be like losing him all over again. But I have to see him. I can’t sign those papers if there’s any chance we could make this marriage work. 

“There’s a counsellor out that way if my memory serves.” Doctor Ross taps her pen against her bottom lip. “I met him at a conference a few years back. He’s a bit gruff.” She leaves her chair to go to her desk. Taps a few buttons on her computer and grabs a yellow sticky note to write on. “He’s very good though. You might consider looking him up if you stay. Or perhaps if you and Nox decide to reconcile. Couples counselling could be beneficial.”

“Thank you.” I cross the room to meet her near the door to her office. “I’ll look him up when I get there.”

“I really think you should.” She hands me the sticky note and squeezes my arm. “You’ve made great progress, Beckett, but I’d like to see you make more.”

Before I drop the note into my bag I glimpse at what she’s written on it. “Doctor Finn Casey?”

“Yes. If you decide to see him I can send him my notes.”

“Thanks.” I smile as I walk out the door. Can’t imagine Nox would be too pleased at the idea of his brother being my counsellor. That’s if Nox is pleased to see me at all. But at least I know who to ask for a recommendation when I get there.