Butterfly Dreams (20 page)

He shrugged.

“If I hadn't almost died, I would never have been in the Mended Hearts support group.” I frowned. And that was a bad thing?

“And then I wouldn't have met you, Einstein.” He bumped his shoulder into mine.

“Yeah. I guess there's that,” I conceded.

“And
you,
Corin Thompson, make everything worth it.”

My heart thrilled at his words. They really did.

He put so much in perspective. He worded things in a way that made me
think.

He made it so easy to be
optimistic.

To have
hope.

I grabbed ahold of his jacket collar and pulled him roughly toward me. I all but attacked him with my mouth. We kissed deeply. So deeply. Teeth and tongues and bruised lips.

“Can we go? It wouldn't be rude, would it?” I asked. I wanted to go somewhere and be alone with him.

I needed it desperately.

“I'll call Candace later and explain you weren't feeling well,” Beck suggested. I nodded, kissing him again.

When we came up for air, his eyes shone bright in the dark. “Come home with me. Stay with me tonight,” he begged.

“I don't want to be anywhere else,” I breathed.

I woke up the next morning wrapped in Beckett's arms.

Which sounded way more romantic than it really was.

Because I can honestly say there is nothing romantic about a full bladder and morning-breath paranoia.

He had me pinned to the mattress with his great, big man arm and no amount of wiggling and shoving could move him. This guy was one deep sleeper.

I looked down and realized I was still fully clothed.

There was absolutely
no
hanky-panky last night, ladies and gentlemen.

But there was a whole lot of cuddling and then some hardcore passing out.

I glanced at the time on Beckett's alarm clock and saw that it was already 9:30. I had to be at Dr. Harrison's office in an hour. I
never
slept in so late. It was a good thing the studio was closed until noon today, otherwise I would already be late. And I was going to make a conscientious effort not to leave so much up to Adam. His words yesterday hit home.

“Don't go,” Beck murmured, reaching out for me.

As tempting as he was, my full-to-the-point-of-bursting bladder took precedence.

“I'll be right back,” I promised, sliding out from underneath the covers.

I hurriedly pulled my dress down so that it covered my ass. Beckett had rolled onto his back, his hands behind his head, and he watched me with a dopey smile on his face.

“I really like waking up with you,” he said, his voice husky with sleep.

I flushed all over. What girl doesn't like being told
that
by a good-looking guy? Especially one that looked at her as if she hung the moon.

“Ditto,” I replied.

Did I really just
ditto
him?

Beckett cocked his eyebrow and looked beyond amused.

I all but ran to the bathroom before I had an embarrassing accident in front of my boyfriend. And as natural as I felt around Beck, there were limits to that easiness.

I closed myself in the bathroom and quickly took care of business. Then I squeezed a glob of toothpaste on my finger and swished it over my teeth. I found some mouthwash underneath the sink. Score!

I gargled at least a half a dozen times before I was satisfied that I wouldn't kill Beckett with my lethal breath.

I tried to tame the unruly tangles in my hair but I only ended up with a head full of knots. I really hadn't thought out this whole spending-the-night thing.

Last night had been so intense. So overwhelming. After we got back to Beckett's apartment I had all but collapsed. I was exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. I couldn't stay upright a moment longer.

He had picked me up and carried me back to his bed. He had taken off my shoes and gently, tenderly tucked me in.

Then he had crawled under the covers behind me, pulling me into his chest. He kissed the back of my neck, smoothing back my hair, not saying a word.

I fell asleep faster than I had in years.

And I had no nightmares. No terrorizing butterflies. No anxious dreams of being trapped in a coffin.

Only blissful nothingness.

I took a quick stock of how I was feeling. It was my normal routine.

And I felt…

Okay.

No aches. No pain. No swollen anything.

I felt…

Normal.

I left the bathroom, a little spring in my step. Beckett was sitting up in bed, looking at his phone. He put it down when I came in and gave me a smile to end all smiles.

He made me feel so goddamned beautiful.

It was a real talent.

“Come here.” He crooked his finger and I all but scampered back to the bed.

“How do you look so good first thing in the morning?” he asked, framing my face with his hands after I sank down beside him. His thumbs caressed my cheeks and I beamed at him.

I
beamed
!

“Oh shush,” I dismissed. But I liked it. A lot. Corin Thompson, who never knew a compliment that didn't make her want to die of embarrassment, was actually preening at Beckett's words.

“It's true. You are so fucking gorgeous. I don't think you have a clue how amazing you are. Inside and out.”

“Don't you have to get to work?” I asked.

“I texted my boss letting him know I'd be in a little late today. I was hoping to spend the morning with you.” He kissed me softly on the lips, and I didn't think about morning breath or the fact that I hadn't had a shower.

“I wish I could. But I have a doctor's appointment. So actually, I'm going to need you to run me home in a few minutes,” I told him regretfully. For the first time I wished I could cancel the appointment. I didn't feel the need to go.

I wanted to stay right where I was.

Beckett frowned. “Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to come with you?” He sounded so concerned. The worry was etched on his face.

I shook my head. “I'm fine.” And it was true.

I really was
fine.

What in the world had happened to me?

There must be some sort of crazy mojo in that bed of his.

It was incredible what a good night's sleep could do for the psyche.

And a wonderful man to wake up to.

“Maybe I'll go check out those photography classes I was looking into,” he said more to himself.

“Photography classes? That sounds great!” I remarked excitedly.

Beckett flipped me onto my back and leaned over me. “Let's blow off everything and stay in bed all day. I can think of better uses of our time.”

He started kissing the side of my neck and I turned into literal goo.

“Don't distract me with your lip weapon. I need to take a shower and get changed. Come on. Up and at 'em.” I wiggled out of his grasp.

He let out a big sigh. “You suck, you know that?”

I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “If you're a good boy, I'll make it up to you later.”

Beckett's eyes lit up. Horny promises would always work, it seemed.

“Yes ma'am!”

And we laughed.

Because that's what we did.

We made each other happy.

“Corin, hello. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Harrison closed the exam room door behind him and sat down on the swivel chair in the corner, pulling up my file on his computer.

How was I feeling? That was the million-dollar question.

Because today I felt pretty good.

Better than good.

Fantastic even.

And that wasn't right.

I shouldn't be feeling this way.

Not when I was still convinced that there was something seriously wrong with me.

But it was hard to focus on my looming health crisis when Beckett Kingsley made me feel so fantastic.

“I'm pretty good today actually,” I answered truthfully.

Dr. Harrison looked relieved. “That's great, Corin. I'm really glad to hear that. Because your tests came back normal. Just like all the others we've run.”

“Oh really?” I asked weakly. I wasn't testy or defensive. I felt only resigned. Unsurprised.

“It means we have to look at other possible causes for your ongoing symptoms. We spoke briefly at an earlier appointment about how stress can mask itself as heart problems. Psychosomatic ailments can be debilitating—”

I held up my hand, stopping him.

“We are
not
going there again.” The mention of “psychosomatic” made me think about knives and stabbing.

“I don't want to upset you, Corin, I just think this could be a legitimate cause to what's been going on with you. I know your previous doctor suggested the same thing—”

“Hold on, back that truck right up there, doc. How would you know what my last doctor suggested?”

“After getting your blood test results back yesterday, I put in a call to Dr. Graham to discuss if there was something I was missing in regards to making a diagnosis. He was your doctor for many years, am I correct?”

“Yes he was.
Was
being the operative word. How can you just
call
Dr. Graham and talk to him about me?” I demanded.

“You signed a consent to release information form, Corin. That included me being able to discuss your patient history with your former doctor. I wasn't doing something subversive or sneaky. I wanted to have a better understanding of how to help you. And considering Dr. Graham had been your family physician since you were a child, I figured he was the perfect place to start.”

Dr. Harrison folded his hands between his knees and leaned forward. He really worked the whole I'm-a-swell-guy-let's-go-have-a-beer thing. It annoyed me.

“Okay, so you were all Chatty Cathy with my
former
doctor. What insight do you think that gave you?” I sneered.

“For starters, he told me about your parents. Their medical histories. I understand that both of them passed in rather quick succession when you were young. Dr. Graham also informed me that you assumed the role of carer for your father in the later stages of his illness.”

My eyes burned and I had to look out the window, blinking furiously. “Yeah, well, it's not a secret,” I muttered.

“That has to have a significant impact on a person. That's a lot of grief to experience, especially in someone so young,” Dr. Harrison remarked kindly.

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I lived through it and moved on.”

“Have you?” he asked pointedly, and I went rigid.

“I know what you're going to say. It's nothing I haven't heard before,” I said, beating him to the punch.

“What am I going to say?” he questioned.

“That I haven't really coped with losing my parents and that these illnesses are a manifestation of my grief. I've become preoccupied with dying because I watched the people I love die.”

“It sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this, Corin,” Dr. Harrison broached gently.

I looked back at him and was surprised that there was no sympathy on his face. Just curiosity maybe. “Like I said, it's nothing I haven't heard before. But I know I'm sick. It's
my
body. Don't you think I know when something's not right?” My voice rose and I struggled to not scream in exasperation.

“I think you are a woman who has been through a lot and has become fixated on your health in order to not focus on the things you need to deal with. The death of your parents.”

“Are you a therapist as well? Will I be double billed for this?” I asked dryly.

“No, I'm not a therapist. But you're not the first hypochondriac I've treated. I know that the mind can make you believe all sorts of things that aren't real. I know that you
feel
something's wrong. But I can also tell you that in my professional opinion, there's
nothing
wrong.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. I was back at square one. I couldn't keep changing doctors. What was I going to do?

“Let me ask you this, you said you felt better this morning. Why is that?”

I opened my eyes and went back to staring out the window. “I don't know,” I replied dully.

“Well, think. What was different about this morning? Was there a change in your routine?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so,” I admitted.

“You were concentrating on something besides your health. Besides being potentially ill. Am I right?”

I nodded.

“And didn't you feel better for it? Not focusing on being sick?”

I nodded again. I couldn't find my voice.

Because the man was right. I felt great. Up until I walked into the doctor's office.

“Don't you deserve to feel better all the time? Instead of fixating on what's wrong with you. To focus on what's
right.
”

I snorted. I couldn't help it. He sounded so much like Beckett that it was funny. They were both force-feeding me their Cracker Jack wisdom whether I liked it or not.

Dr. Harrison wheeled back over to his desk and wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

I looked down at what he had written. Chris Riley, LPC.

“Christopher Riley is one of the best therapists in the area.”

I folded the paper and tried to hand it back to him.

“I have a collection of these, Dr. Harrison—thanks, though.”

Dr. Harrison wouldn't take the paper. “Chris specializes in bereavement. He works extensively with people who have lost loved ones. He also runs several support groups if that's more of your thing.”

“So you're saying I'm fine.”

Dr. Harrison nodded.

“There's nothing physically wrong with you, Corin.”

“My heart's okay,” I continued.

“A little broken maybe, but other than that, it's working just fine.” Dr. Harrison's smile was sad.

I got down from the exam table and looked at the name and number on the paper again. “So there's nothing you can do for me?”

Dr. Harrison pointed at the paper in my hand. “That right there is what I can do for you. I hope you call him. I truly think it will help you more than any medicine ever could.”

I tucked the paper into my pocket. “Okay, well, thanks, Dr. Harrison,” I said as he got to his feet.

“I'm always here, Corin. But promise me you'll at least think about calling Chris.”

“Yeah. I will,” I agreed, not sure I really meant it.

Dr. Harrison gave me a rather nice smile and walked me out of the office, following me into the waiting room. “Bye, Corin.”

“Bye,” I replied. I waved at Lynn and left, not sure how I felt.

It felt almost like acceptance.

Like maybe I couldn't run any longer from the very real possibility that this was all in my head.