Page 10 of Towles

“I’m okay,” I said, urging him back to his seat. His rock-hard demeanor had changed into sweet and conscientious. I forced a smile because I had done that for Paul for the last ten years.

He smiled and helped me into my chair behind the desk, running a hand through his hair as he tried to decide what to do next. He stepped back, and I sighed, not because I feared him but because of what I wanted him to do. Please crawl under my desk.

“Should we continue or reschedule,” he said softly. “I don’t mind coming back if it will help you out. I don’t want you getting canned because of me.”

I didn’t answer because seldom had a man ever cared what I wanted at work or home. He noticed the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and retrieved a bottle of water. It practically disappeared in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “We can continue.”

“You have sad eyes,” he said. “It shouldn’t be like that.”

“Shouldn’t be like what?” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I saw the sad eyes every morning in the bathroom mirror. It’s a different kind of sadness, I think. But I’m not sure. Every day, I help people with their problems, but not once has anyone tried to help me with mine.

“I can see it in your soul, April. Mrs. Summers. Dr. Summers.” He rested his left ankle on his right knee, his black boot shiny on top, dirty on the bottom. “Maybe we should talk about you when you’re done with me.”

That’s not why we were here. “I’m perfectly fine, Ethan. I think it was a touch of vertigo.”

“Right,” he said. “And it’s Towles.”

We were back to last names. Not where I wanted to be. He smiled when I cleared my throat and shifted in the chair. I giggled at Jasmine’s comment about panties. He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“You want to let me in on the joke? I can be a funny guy, sometimes.”

“We should get down to business,” I said. He nodded. “What happened at the hospital yesterday?”

He blinked and smiled. Fuck, he knew how to work a woman. “Before you were watching me or after?”

“After I was watching you,” I said regrettably. “I mean after you entered the hospital.”

He told me about his parents. He told me about the Punishers. And then he told me he was not here by his choosing. They never were. “It’s why I enjoy being part of the brotherhood. We can deal with our shit any way we like. I like to tear up shit.”

“It makes you feel better about yourself,” I said matter of fact.

He shook his head. “Makes me feel better about the situation.” He shrugged his large shoulders, the leather vest squealing. I wanted to press my face against the leather and take a long whiff.

“Have you tried relaxation techniques to help with your anger issues?” I asked clinically. It sounded dumb talking to him like this. He wasn’t buying anything I was selling.

“You think the club needs a safe room? Maybe some coloring books or a puzzle we can work on during church?” He shook his head, growing agitated.

“Not necessarily. I’m looking for an outlet to redirect your anger.” Great. Way to sound condescending. I fidgeted in my chair. Fucking Bob just had to be in an accident.

“Let’s back up the bus,” he said. “First off, I don’t have anger issues. My fucking parents were executed by a rival motorcycle club. Secondly, Dr. Summers, I graduated from Stanford and have dealt with your kind before.” He stood, anger issues pouring from every pore.

“My kind?” I stood and placed my hands on my hips. “I’m trying to help you, Ethan.”

“You’re not, April. You’re trying to diagnose and label.” He crossed his large arms, eyes growing dark. He stepped toward the desk. We were three feet apart. “How would you react in my situation? Go sit in a room and color? Fuck no. You’d want retribution.” He pointed at his chest. “That’s what I want. It’s not anger. It’s justice.”

A therapist who didn’t know what to say was a therapist who needed to find a different line of work. I stood there looking dumb and feeling dumb. Not because of anything I said but because of the way I felt. Fuck! I was in love with an angry man much younger than me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Seriously?” He blinked several times as if I were changing faces. Was I? I’d gone from doctor to a woman falling for a man with more issues than a politician. “You can’t hurt my feelings. I don’t allow people in my life that kind of power.”

“That’s an iss…”

“Fuck you, lady. I don’t need help with imaginary issues.” He turned and walked out of the office. I heard Kendra try to talk to him, but he kept on going.

I went to the window and watched him climb on his bike. He looked up and frowned. I crossed my arms and frowned back. That went as well as could be expected.

---