CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bex
As a man, I feel it’s my obligation to be a protector. As a therapist, it’s my job to instill confidence and keep a level head. But when Rose storms in before my first patient of the day and tells me about her date, I don’t know how to react other than to feel a sense of rage. Whatthefuck? “Did you just say that your date shot someone?”
“Everything I tell you is protected under patient-doctor confidentiality, right?”
“I…I…yes?” Honestly, I’d have to look it up. It’s been years since I’ve read the rules of exclusions. For the purpose of my patient’s safety however, I nod. “Sure.”
“Then, yes. I watched him take a guy out. With a rifle. In the dark of night from like, shit, I don’t know, a hundred yards away.”
“Rose, if this is a joke, I’m not laugh—”
“Look at my face, Bex. I’m being one hundred percent serious.” Her face is flushed and her breathing rapid.
I don’t know what to say, because I somehow feel like this is my fault. I should have insisted Rose give up on this speed dating/marriage idea. “Please tell me you went to the police.”
“No.”
“Why not?” Not only was her life threatened, but someone was killed. Leaving the scene puts her at risk with the police.
“Because when a man saves your life and asks you never to tell a soul, you do it.”
“So Gustavo asked you not to tell anyone?” That has fishy written all over it.
“He can’t get mixed up in any kind of legal issues or scandals. The state of Florida is doing a background check, and if they see his name in the papers or find out he shot someone, they won’t give him the permit for his nightclub in Miami.” She runs her hands through her hair. “That club is his dream, and I can’t take it away from him.”
“Maybe you should, Rose. Legitimate businessmen don’t drive around with rifles.”
“He said he forgot to put it away in his safe. He’s been taking lessons—just a precaution because of all the nightclub shootings. He said he wants to be prepared to protect his staff and patrons in case anything ever happens.”
“Fucking hell, Rose, that sounds too convenient. And what about the man? Who was he?”
“Gustavo said he was some guy who used to be friends with his older brother. Got involved with drugs or something. But why am I getting the impression you want to blame Gustavo? He saved my life.”
He might have killed someone for you, but that doesn’t make him a hero. What kind of man has a weapon and night-vision goggles ready to go? A psycho, that’s who. “Did it occur to you that maybe the man who was shot was really there for Gustavo and that you wouldn’t have needed saving if he weren’t involved in unlawful activities to begin with? You need to stay away from him.”
“I thought you were my therapist who didn’t believe in interfering with my life.”
“Rose, listen to yourself. He’s likely the one who’s caught up in drugs. Or maybe something worse. And here you are trying to…” I see the judgmental look in her eyes. “All right. Fine. I’m interfering because—and correct me if I’m wrong—it sounds like you want to keep seeing him.” And I’m pretty sure the guy’s a bad apple.
She throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! Okay? I’m still a fucking mess because I just saw some guy die. Side note, this would be a sweet-ass time for you to do your job and help me calm the fuck down.”
She’s right. I am supposed to be here for her, but instead, I’m thinking about how I don’t want her going on any more dates. Especially with this guy. She’d be better off here with me.
My own thoughts hit me like a shock wave. What am I saying? I don’t have feelings for her. I’m just concerned, that’s all. And it’s perfectly natural to want to protect those who are in your care. Especially Rose, who’s so eager to find love. I suppose that’s also what makes her so incredible. I’ve never met anyone who’s been through so much and still managed to keep an open heart. On the other hand, I am overstepping my bounds and trying to interfere when what I need to do is help her process the event, diffuse her emotions. Then she’ll be more rational about this Gustavo man.
“All right,” I say, “let’s get your head in a better place and then we’ll talk more about last night. Why don’t you try one of the exercises I taught you?”
She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, followed by a slow exhale. I showed her how to positively visualize herself responding to situations. “If you want to be calm, see yourself in the moment being calm. Step outside your body and watch it happening. If you want to be confident, see that,” I had said.
Rose continues her slow breathing and, after a few minutes, opens those big stunning eyes.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good. And I’m sorry. You were right. I am not here to tell you what to do. I’m here to help you. So let’s talk about how you’re dealing with watching a man die in front of you.”
“How am I?” she asks rhetorically. “Who the hell knows? I mean, there I was, having the best night of my life and then boom! Literally.” She makes a noncommittal shrug. “I guess I’m okay. Honestly, maybe that’s what bothers me most. The whole time, I just kept thinking that I wanted this man dead. I was looking for a brick or broken bottle—anything to defend myself, because I would rather die than allow one more person to steal something from me.”
“And after he was shot?” I ask.
“Relief. I didn’t have to kill him myself.”
“And after that?”
“All your usual shock-like responses, I guess. Disbelief. Worry that it could happen again. The man knew Gustavo, so what if it isn’t some over-and-done-with deal?” She shakes her head. “I should’ve asked him, but I was in too much shock. I just wanted to get as far away from that alley as possible, go home, and take a hot bath.” She looks at me and worries her lower lip. “A man dies, and all I want is to take a bubble bath. Does that make me a monster?”
“I think the important thing to remember,” I say, “is not to beat yourself up for feeling one way or another. In situations like these, your emotions can swing from one end of the spectrum to the other. Fear, anger, guilt, mistrust. What I want you to do when you get home tonight is write down everything you recall about the incident and, while doing so, describe in detail how you were feeling.”
“Easy enough…freaking out, freaking the fuck out, and freaking the holy fuck out.”
“Then write that down and circle the words related to fear.”
“Why those?” she asks.
“Because while you may see this experience as a traumatic situation you want to forget, I see it as an opportunity for you to confront your fears—to take you one step closer to being the knight.”
She crinkles her brows. “Are you saying I should use the incident to empower myself?”
“Exactly. As for Gustavo, I don’t want you to see him again—”
“That’s a hard no.”
My eyes twitch with irritation, and my lips flatten into two lines. I know I’m angry and showing it, but I can’t help it. All I can think of is making sure she doesn’t see that guy again. He’s clearly dangerous. With her luck, he probably likes to chop up people into pieces or something.
“You’re a grown woman,” I say with a tinge of anger. “And far be it from me to tell you how to run your life.”
“But?” She crosses her arms over her ample chest, and I have to force my eyes to stay up.
“But you said you want my help, which I’m now giving. And, moreover, we have an agreement. Honesty. Trust. Obedience to my process.”
“I never agreed to that last one,” she snaps.
“Yes, you did. Within the boundaries of our relationship and my process. And right now, I’m telling you to stay away from this man so I can do my job properly.” Fuck, what the hell am I doing? I know I’ve just lied to her, pretending that I have some mysterious, therapeutic reason for telling her to stay away from that man, when, really, the only thing I want is for her to be safe.
“Okay. But I’m still going to call him. I have questions, and I’m not as convinced as you that he’s lying.”
I don’t like it. Not even a bit, but I know I can’t stop her. “Fine, but no physical contact.”
“For how long?”
How’s forever sound? “Give it a week. Let your emotions settle and allow us time to discuss everything with a calmer frame of mind.”
She stares with those hypnotic brown eyes, and I fear she sees through me. I don’t want to lose her trust. She needs me, and I can help her. But this? She wants to date, possibly marry fucking Dexter? Not on my watch.
I stare with unwavering determination. She has to see how serious I am.
“Fine.” She throws her hands in the air. “You win.”
I don’t release the breath I’m holding because there’s no reason to tip my hand. She can’t know how pissed and worried I am about this.
She adds, “Besides, I have some more dates this week, so that will keep me busy.”
I flinch on the inside. Fucking great. More dates.