Page 26 of Assigned

Chapter Ten

Riley

After we’d gotten back from the beach, I’d showered and retreated to my room. I spent the rest of the day applying for jobs online and reading, then tossing from one side of the bed to the other during the night. Now I’m hiding under the covers, continuing to avoid my husband.

Why did he have to ruin everything? We’d been fine, having a nice time, doing our yoga. Why’d he have to put his big paws on me? And why did the ways he helped always have to be way more than I wanted?

I punch the pillow and scream into it. It’s not his fault. Well, not completely. I’m partly to blame. But I’m just not ready to explain my whole medical history. Which means I need to be more understanding when things become uncomfortable.

My head jerks up when the thunk of three knocks on my bedroom door fill the air. “We need to leave soon,” Lucas says.

“Why? What for?”

“We have the counseling session to go to in a bit.”

My fingers clench the cotton material of the pillow as my eyes widen. “Counseling?”

“Yeah, the mandated marriage counseling that’s part of the program.” I can hear him kick at the carpet through the door.

I should really have read that contract more thoroughly. I remember counseling being mentioned, but not that it was mandatory. I get out of bed and open my bedroom door a crack. “For some reason, I thought that was optional.”

Lucas snorts and stomps down the stairs. “Wishful thinking. Be ready to go in fifteen.”

He doesn’t wait for my answer.

I get dressed, picking out a skirt with a poppy design on it and a silk tank top. I pull my hair into a ponytail and am marching down the stairs twelve minutes later. I’m not even to the bottom of the stairs before he’s heading out the door to the truck. He hits the remote to unlock the doors and I grab the handle, pull my door open, and hop inside.

Lucas gets behind the wheel and we ride to the therapist’s office. The silence crackles between us, tension coming off Lucas in waves. Of course he’s angry. But he was the one who grabbed at me without permission, not the other way around. Yet if I’d told him, he might’ve completely avoided touching me altogether. Not the way I wanted to feel either.

He turns on the radio and Shania Twain starts singing about being a woman. I reach over and snap it off and look out my window. Definitely not the song I need to hear right now. It doesn’t matter how much I feel like a woman, my body has betrayed me too many times to trust it.

When we get to the building, Lucas gets out of the truck and walks to the building without even looking behind him to see if I’m following. We step into the office with such sharp precision it’s clear to any observer there are problems. The therapist’s fake smile doesn’t help matters either. Yet I offer my own. Lucas takes a seat on the leather couch, taking up half of it with his long legs and broad shoulders. I scoot into the corner at the opposite end, as far from him as I can get.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Craiger. I’m Dr. Stehman.” The therapist takes a seat on the chair across from the couch. She’s an angular woman, tall and thin, with short blond hair and tortoiseshell glasses. She has on a straight skirt that hits her mid-calf and a light summer sweater. Her office is like her. Calm and professional. Classic in style. “Congratulations on your arrangement.”

“Thanks,” Lucas mutters, complete with a dash of sarcasm.

Dr. Stehman quirks a brow. “Looks like I might have my work cut out for me today.”

She absolutely does. I hate therapy. I hate talking about my feelings. I hate the sad looks of concern on the therapists’ faces. It doesn’t change anything. No amount of talking is going to make my GI tract behave like everyone else’s. No amount of sharing is going to give me back the life I thought I was going to have. Been there. Done that. It doesn’t change a damn thing. So, I pick at a cuticle as the therapist goes through some of the specifics of each session as they relate to the Issued Partner Program.

“Lucas, why did you join the program?”

“Ma’am, that’s in the application.” He clears his throat. “I saw my two friends find success with it, so figured I’d give it a go.”

The therapist leans back in her chair. “Why?”

“Why what?” He looks over to me as if I have some kind of answer for him. I shrug and turn away. I know my reasons. He has to come up with his own.

“Did you not have success dating?” The therapist offers a polite smile, prompting him.

He rubs his hands on his pants. He’s nervous. “Got divorced, tired of the groupies, wanted someone who could handle the life and be a good match for me. And for Mason, my son.”

Groupies?

My jaw clenches and my pulse starts to race. Not sure why I thought Lucas had remained celibate since his divorce. Well, maybe I just didn’t want to think of him sleeping with other people. But groupies?

“And what about you, Riley?” Stehman turns to angle her body toward me.

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