My heart pounds in my ears. “Yes, of course. I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of your actions so I can help you more effectively.”
I force a smile.
“I just watch them,” he says.
For a moment I want to ask him more questions. He’s the one person who could possibly shed some light onto my own stalker situation.
Clearly, I’m not his type, so he’s not the one leaving my fingers as presents.
But I chicken out before the words can leave my lips.
When his session ends, I’m disappointed. Something about him intrigues me, makes me want to spend more time with him than just one measly therapy session a week.
I need to be careful. He’s supposed to be a case study, but my body reacts to him like a woman. I’m a doctor of the mind, and I can’t even regulate my own pulse when he’s around.
He clears his throat as we enter the reception area. “Doctor Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think we could do multiple sessions a week?”
Was he listening to my thoughts?
“Why do you feel like you need extra? It seems like you’re doing well at the moment.”
As much as I want to jump on the opportunity and say yes, I don’t see the need for more sessions. Other than to curb my growing addiction to his enigmatic presence.
He shifts, almost sheepish. “I just feel like we’re making progress… and I don’t usually talk to people like this. I don’t want to lose momentum.”
His eyes meet mine, steady. “I think I could benefit from a little more time.”
Damn him.
“Okay,” I reply. “Speak to Kayla about booking another session. I should have some availability.”
His smile is blinding, lighting up those pale silver irises. “Thanks, Doctor Morgan. I really appreciate this.”
He turns and heads to the front desk, where Kaylagreets him with a smile.
My next client is Tess—Carina’s friend. I did have to disclose to the ethics review board that we have a mutual friend, but I don’t see Tess outside of these sessions, and with my assurance I could remain professional, they agreed to it.
“Hey, Tess. How are you and the baby?” I ask as we step into my office.
Tess rests a hand on her swollen belly, a softness in her eyes that wasn’t there when she first started seeing me a few months ago.
“We’re good. He’s been kicking me like crazy today. Honestly, I think he might secretly be mad at me. Like—hello, I am your mother. Don’t test me, young man.”
I raise a brow, smiling. “He?”
“We don’t actually know,” she admits with a small laugh. “I just have this gut feeling it’s a boy. Like a little premonition or something. But Kai wants to be surprised.”
Lately, our sessions have become more of a casual catch-up than actual therapy. We rarely talk about the reason Tess first came to see me.
Processing and healing from trauma aren’t the same for everyone. For some, it requires years of therapy—others never fully recover. But then there’s those like Tess. She has a resilience about her that has sped up some of that healing. Is she perfect? No. But she doesn’t seem to need me in the same way anymore. At least, not for right now.
As we wrap up, I pause. “Tess?”
“Hmm?”