VEGAS follows you home (40 page)

His hands tighten, fingers flexing into the flesh of my hips. He raises his head, eyes wide, giving me access directly into his soul. The anger, guilt, shame, and sorrow completely bared to me.

"What kind of son doesn't feel sad at the loss of their mother? A monster. Me, the monster she's made me."

One tear escapes his eye, trailing over his defined cheekbone. That tear is the only one he allows, but it's enough. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pull him to me. I press my hand to the side of his head, holding his cheek against my chest. His arms snake around and embrace me. He allows me to take some of the burden.

"You're not a monster," I whisper, dipping down and pressing my lips to the top of his head.

"I need you."

His arms constrict and pull me down to lie next to him. Burying his face in my neck, he curls his body around mine. His breath on my neck brings every hormone in my body to life, resulting in tingles, throbbing, and aching. The need for his touch almost puts me over the edge of sanity. When the rise and fall of his chest slows and evens, I know he's finally fallen asleep. I slide out from his hold and walk back to the kitchen where Mercedes sits, feeding Alex.

"Sorry," I apologize as she turns at my entrance.

"No worries. Everything okay?" Concern washes over her face.

I shrug. "Not sure."

She sighs.

"Do you need to get going? I know you were planning to take off about fifteen minutes ago."

"No. I'll finish feeing my little man." She ruffles Alex's hair and he giggles.

We finish our discussion about the birthday party before Mercedes leaves. After we say goodnight, I take Alex for a bath. He plays in the tub for about twenty minutes before we play a couple rounds of block tower build and destroy, and read two bedtime stories.

Entering the kitchen to clean up my papers, I find Damon sitting on one of the stools.

"Is this for his birthday?" he asks, his voice still flat and monotone.

"Yes."

I step closer to collect the notebook and sketches.

"Were you going to tell me about the party?" His eyes narrow on my face.

"Of course. I was just planning the idea for the party," I defend.

"But you didn't think I may want to help plan my son's birthday?" The furrow of his brow deepens.

"Damon," I take a deep breath, “you show up here upset and I try to comfort you. Now you're going to start an argument with me about planning my son's birthday? Unbelievable."

Taking the cake sketch from his hand, I fold it into the notebook. I pick the notebook up and hold it behind the arms I cross over my chest.

"Our son, Olivia. He is
our
son." He turns on the stool to face me. "I want to be a part of things. You know I do."

He releases a long, audible breath.

"I apologize for being harsh. Just please include me in these things."

"Fine," I quip, prepared to walk away from any further confrontation.

"When is your next doctor appointment?"

I freeze in place with my back to him.

"Are you serious?" I growl.

"What?"

I spin in place, coming face to chest with him. I stumble back, unaware he had been so close. His hands lock onto my arms. Pulling from his grip, I step back.

"You just lost your mother, grill me about Alex's party, and now you choose to start this conversation? Why are you trying to fight?"

"I'm not trying to fight. I need to leave for a couple weeks to take care of my mother's estate. I'm hoping I won't miss any more appointments." His face softens and eyes plead for understanding.

"It's not for two more weeks, but you'll miss the first session with the therapist." I rub my forehead, exhaustion settling behind my eyes.

"Christ," he grumbles. "I completely forgot. Do you think we can reschedule based on the circumstances?"

"I don't see why not." I shrug.

Damon stays for another hour and we talk about Alex's birthday party, days we can reschedule the therapy session, and the upcoming doctor appointment. He finally leaves with a promise to call with the details of his schedule.

Two days later, Damon calls with a request to visit Alex before going back to New York. I agree and when he arrives, it's not just to visit, but to drop his next bomb on me.

"The doctor feels like this is a good opportunity to meet with you individually." Damon shrugs.

"So, now I'm going to this alone? I'm going to a relationship counselor alone?"

"She says its common practice to have individual visits and help resolve individual concerns along with couple concerns."

"Fine," I bite out before going back to work on a cake.

The waiting room is modern and minimal with blonde hardwood floors, white walls, and gray trim. The furniture is a dark red and square shaped. It's very IKEA.

"You must be Olivia." A tall, dark skinned woman steps toward me, her heels tapping against the floor.

"Yes," I croak, my voice thick from not being used.

Standing, I reach out to the tall, sleek, and intimidating woman in her gray suit.

"Dr. Levingston?"

"In the flesh." She smiles and motions in the direction in which she arrived. "Please, follow me."

I follow, walking down a small corridor lined with enlarged photographs of the Pittsburgh city line.

"Please, have a seat." She waves to the tan loveseat opposite her glass desk.

I sit down and feel her eyes on me, examining.

"Are you feeling nervous?" Set settles into the black chair behind her desk.

"A little." I nod. "I've never been to a shrink before."

"Relax. We are just going to get to know one another today." She smiles warmly. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Water, please."

She stands, walks to a small black refrigerator, and removes a bottle of water. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths and try to relax. When she holds out the bottle, I quickly take it, twist the cap off, and drink greedily.

"So, let's start with why you are here." She sits back down.

"Because Damon refuses to just let go." I snort.

"Yes, I'm aware of your agreement with Mr. Knyght."

The shock of her knowing about our agreement must be clear on my face.

"I've already talked with Mr. Knyght. He's very open about the situation. I was actually quite surprised by it. Now, tell me your point of view." Her eyes roam my face, examining my reaction.

"W-what do you mean?"

She grins.

"Let's start with how you ended up married to Mr. Knyght."

"A great deal of alcohol and manipulation on his part," I huff.

"So, it's his fault you're in this situation?" One well-sculpted brow rises.

"I didn't say that, but he did orchestrate as much as he could," I defend.

"Miss Harlow, you aren't being accused of anything or judged. I want you to feel relaxed enough to answer with how you honestly feel. I may question you, but it's only for me to get a little deeper and gain perspective on your feelings. If I've made you feel defensive or wrong, I apologize."

I inhale deeply and hold the breath for a moment.

"Are you prepared to continue?" She smiles.

Exhaling, my muscles relax. I nod, my eyes focusing on my hands in my lap.

"Good. Please tell me about Vegas and please be as detailed and honest as you can."

The click of her pen draws my attention before I launch into my tale.

Once I finish, she asks about other situations. Occurrences like Damon showing up for the first time, the trip to New York, the dates, the night we conceived the child growing inside me, nothing is off limits. Surprisingly, my answers begin to come easier and easier. The rhythm of talking and unburdening myself is unexpected.

"Who is Isaac?" She looks up from the notes she's been taking.

The shock of his name catches me off guard.

"Wh-what?" I stammer, twisting my hands in my lap.

"You mentioned an Isaac a couple of times while talking. Who is he?"

She doesn't press or ask again. She waits patiently, allowing me a moment to process her request. I supply my standard response.

"He was a close friend."

Grabbing the water bottle, I drink a large gulp.

"How close?" This time, she presses.

Tears form, threatening to spill over my cheeks.

"It's okay if you prefer not to discuss him. I can see it's a very emotional topic. We could—"

"I loved him so much." Sadness thickens my throat, distorting my voice. "We were in a motorcycle accident. He was killed."

A tear finally escape as my body shudders from the million that want free.

Dr. Livingston pushes a box of tissues toward me. I take two and pat my damp face.

"So, you lost someone you loved very early in your life? That's a hard thing to overcome. Did you seek help at that time to cope?"

I shake my head.

"Not until after I lost the baby," I sniffle.

"You lost a child?" Her voice is gentle and soothing.

Unable to talk for fear of bursting into sobs, I close my eyes and nod.

"How did you cope with that loss?"

Swallowing down the tears and sadness, I open my eyes and look at her.

"It was like losing him twice." The tears now pour down my face. I grab more tissues and try to catch them all. It's impossible to contain them. "I'm losing him again," I sob.

Dr. Livingston's arms wrap around me in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

"Shh, it's okay. It's all in the past. You've built a nice and safe place to live."

"Safe?" I snort, wiping my eyes. "Look where I'm at now."

She pulls back and offers me a small smile.

"What?" I ask, curious about her smile.

"Did you hear what you said a moment ago?"

"That I lost him twice," I hiccup.

"You also said you are losing him again."

My eyes widen.

"Why do you feel like you're losing him again? What is causing you to feel this way?"

"I…I don't know."

Her hand rubs my forearm right before she stands up.

"Our time is up today," she concludes our discussion.

"But, I don't understand—"

"Only you can figure out why you feel like you're losing Isaac again. I cannot provide you the answers to how or why you feel."

Leaving her office, I feel cheated. I spill my guts to this woman and breakdown in her office, but she's helped with nothing. I want to call this whole thing off.

Days pass after the therapy session. Damon stays in touch by phone or text every day and evening. Before I realize it, it's been almost a week. I'm standing in the bakery kitchen working on constructing the pineapple cake for Alex's SpongeBob birthday party. After sliding the cake into the cooling case, I step into Mercedes’ office.