I was terrified that Ben would glimpse a little of what the old me had been like because I was pretty damn sure the old me would have sent him running the day we'd met. And even though I knew how this little story was going to end, I wasn't ready to give him up. Not yet anyway.
"Ready?" Ben's hands ran along the back of my neck and I nodded.
"Let's get out of here." I tugged on his hand.
"In a hurry?" he teased.
"What?" I was leading him through the dining room like we were marching to class and I groaned inwardly at the weird look he tossed my way. But he didn't say anything else and we made it back to his truck without any Travis sightings.
It wasn't until we cleared the parking lot that I relaxed and I leaned back in my seat. I stared ahead, afraid to look in his direction-afraid he'd sense my fear.
I pulled gloss out of my purse and rolled it through my fingers, chewing on my bottom lip as I pondered how Travis had managed to spread his toxicity onto me in a short little conversation. And then I wondered how I'd ever endured him before.
What the hell had I been thinking?
"So," Ben said slowly, his eyes on the road as we pulled out of the parking lot. "Who was that guy back there?"
Shit. Fuck. And piss.
"Just a guy," I answered carefully.
Ben fiddled with the cd player until the Foo's were thumping and then said casually. "He looked like more than just a guy to me."
Ben's tone was light but I got that he was interested. I got that maybe he was a little concerned or even jealous. I'm sure Travis and I looked intense while we were ‘chatting' and Travis might be an asshole of the highest order, but the guy had charisma, looks, and fake charm coming out of his butt like shards of sunshine.
I couldn't lie to Ben-that had never been my thing-but I could leave out a few details. Like the fuck buddy aspect of our relationship or the fact that Travis and I used to do lines together like we were running a race, and that vodka & Redbull was our drink of choice.
"I've known Travis for a long time and we dated for a while, but it was never serious."
I chanced a peek at Ben, but he was looking ahead.
"Okay," he said softly. "For a moment I thought that maybe Matt was trying to be the good guy you know?"
Okay.
"What do you mean?" I asked moving closer to him, wanting to touch him and I swear if he wasn't driving right now I would have crawled onto his lap and kissed him until his head spun. Until my head spun. Until we were naked and his hot skin warmed up my cold flesh.
He shrugged. "I thought that maybe the guy was this mysterious Seamus you don't seem to want to talk about."
He turned to me for a second, his eyes glittery-electric-and then he looked out at the road again. I felt him touch me somewhere deep inside.
"No," I murmured, unbuckling my seatbelt so I could inch closer. The band across my chest tightened. "He's so not, Seamus. Travis is a mess. He's just someone I used to know."
I paused, a rush of adrenaline running through me and before I could stop myself, words fell from my lips. Words I didn't mean to say. Words that could change everything.
"Seamus is my therapist."
I held my breath, everything inside me tight and wound up like a spring about to burst. I swear those pieces inside me-the ones held together by duct tape and lithium-were beginning to move, to jar against each other like the plates beneath the continents. Shifting. Displacing. Breaking.
It was a weird sensation and I hated it. I hated the stress and fear in my throat. I hated the pills at home in my drawer.
I hated my illness. I hated that it was unpredictable.
And I really hated that my mom had been sick just like I was and she'd ended up at the bottom of a lake, taking my father and his restored Aston Martin along for the ride.
But most of all, right here in this moment, I hated that the differences between us weren't visible. That the thing that was wrong with me was like a sick joke because on the outside I looked all fresh and shiny, like a new penny. But on the inside, without those pills that I disliked more than I could articulate, I was as much of a mess as Travis was, if not more so.
And now we were here. Arrived at some kind of half-truth, some small glimpse into the real me and I'd probably blown it.
Seamus is my therapist.
If that wasn't a line that would send a guy running for the hills I don't know what was.
"Therapist," he said softly, his right arm snaking around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. "I hope he's a hell of a lot uglier than that guy back there."
The breath in my lungs expelled and I was limp. I was done.
"He's bald," I offered quietly melting into his side. "And he's got really bad teeth."
Ben rubbed my wrist, his warm fingers warm and gentle. "Good," he murmured kissing the top of my head. "I can live with an old, balding, bad toothed, Seamus."
And with those words, Ben Lancaster fused the parts in me that were broken. I knew that it was a temporary fix. That those pieces would continue to shift and move and diminish, but for now it was enough.
For now I could pretend that things were going to be just fine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ben
I hung up the phone and strode outside onto the deck. It was close to five in the afternoon and the guys were finishing up the last bit of landscaping around the pool.
They'd worked like dogs for two weeks around the property, but had to wait for the old concrete monster to be removed and the new fibre glass pool installed, before they could finish up back here. The place was starting to look great and fuck if I could believe it was mine.
Holy shit. I felt kinda grown up.
"Mr. Lancaster, what do you think?"
"It's Ben," I said shaking my head. I hated being called Mr. Lancaster. Christ, that was my dad's name and I wasn't ready for that kind of shit yet. I wasn't even twenty-five.
Mike, the owner of the landscaping company I'd hired, Green Thumb, was a good guy. He reminded me a lot of one of my old coaches, back when I was still playing junior hockey in Canada. He was a rough looking, no-bullshit, Italian with a temper and a hard work ethic. He wasn't cheap either, but as I glanced around the small paradise he'd created in my back yard, the guy was worth it.
"It looks great."
He nodded. "We're just cleaning up and will be out of here in a few minutes and then you can," he winked. "Have some time with your girl."
My girl.
I nodded but didn't reply.
At the moment I didn't know what Georgia was. Something had shifted and changed the night we'd come back from golf. On that ride home, she'd shared a chunk of what was inside her. A small chunk. A crumb really.
But she had shared it and we'd come back to my place and spent the entire night together. And if I thought our first night was incredible, it was nothing compared to that night. I thought having her, being inside her was enough, but the connection we'd achieved heightened everything and fuck me, but I thought I was falling in love with this girl.
The shit thing was that was the last night she'd spent with me. She came every day, spent her time in her barn painting, with frequent sex breaks, but she refused to spend the night again.
She'd told me that it was because we were moving a little too fast and she preferred going back to Matt's. And I got that. Hell, I wrote the book on that shit.
But it didn't mean I liked it. I hated waking up alone. I wanted her there with me. So what did that make me? Pathetic? Hopeful?
What did that make Georgia? Was she a fuck buddy? Was she my girlfriend?
I rubbed the stubble on my chin, my dick already getting hard at the thought of her, but it was tempered by the knowledge that even though she'd given up something personal-Seamus-she had shut it down the next day.
I was no closer to knowing what made her tick or why she was seeing a therapist than before, and it was starting to piss me off.
"We're done, Mr … ah, Ben."
Distracted, I nodded. "Okay, Mike, send me the final invoice and I'll get it looked after."
"So." Mike shoved a pencil behind his ear. "I gotta admit I wasn't happy when the Flyers traded McKinskey, Reynolds, and a future draft pick, to bring you out here."
"Yeah?" That got my attention.