Page 76 of Stealing Home

My hands cup her face. “I’d like to help you find a therapist. Would you speak to someone?”

Harlow nods. “I’ll do it for you.”

“No, sweetheart. This is something you need to do for yourself.”

26

Harlow

“How did it go?”Scott asks me after he picks me up from my first therapy session.

I could have driven myself, but since the incident with Nando tracking my phone, Scott doesn’t like to let me go out alone. Normally I’d push back, if for no other reason than to prove I can take care of myself, but I don’t want to be ambushed by my ex again either.

True to his word, Scott helped me find someone to speak to. Good thing too, because when I called around I was only able to find a provider nearly an hour away and not for another six weeks. Since Scott is extremely convincing, he managed to talk one of his former professors into meeting with me, despite the fact she hasn’t seen patients for years. With his help it only took three days to get an appointment with Dr. Tammy Manning.

“I’m not sure how to answer that really. I mean, I guess it went okay. I didn’t sit there in silence for an hour.” If he wants me to tell him I feel better, I can’t do that for him. An hour isn’t enough time to cover all of the things I need to deal with, but rather than start at the beginning, I chose to talk about Scott.

“I didn’t really know what to talk about, and she asked me how I knew you. I think to break the ice, I’m not sure. From there I just let it all spill out about how I resisted the idea of us because of our age difference.”

He looks over at me for a second. I can’t really read his face to get an idea what he’s thinking because he turns back to looking at the road. “And did she help you with that?”

I laugh, a hollow sound. “She said I’ve got low self-esteem from years of abuse. Likely, complex PTSD. I thought PTSD was only something veterans had after they go to war.”

He pulls up next to my car behind the garage and shuts off the engine. “Trauma is trauma, sweetheart. You can’t ignore it away. I know this isn’t going to be easy to work through, but you took the first step today.”

“It felt like taking a leap backwards,” I mumble. I shake it off and continue filling him in. “There I sat thinking she’d reassure me that I’m not ruining your life, and then the next thing I know, she rips the bandaid off and all this crap comes oozing out of me.”

Scott reaches out and takes my hand. “I remember my mom going to therapy when I was little. She’d already worked through a lot of her trauma by the time I was old enough to notice, but every once in a while something would trigger her and the subsequent therapy session always left her a little more raw.”

“Sounds like I have a lot of fun times to look forward to,” I grumble.

“Let’s go upstairs. I need to talk to you about something,” he says. He gets out and goes around the truck to open my door.

Those are never good words to hear. “We need to talk,” is almost always followed by, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Despite the hour spent with Dr. Manning trying to help me see that I am good enough for him, my mind immediately jumps to the worst scenario. My hands shake as I try and unlock my door. Scott covers my hand with his and takes my keys.

“Your mind is working overtime again,” he quips as he unlocks the door.

He’s right of course, but stating the obvious doesn’t stop my mind from spinning. I hear him shut the door after we enter the apartment, but I’m starting to disassociate to protect myself from upcoming emotional pain. One of the things I went over with Dr. Manning was my responses to my triggers so that I can start to handle them.

My chest tightens, and my fingers start to tingle. Scott isn’t wrong, my mind is working overtime, and I need to sit down and try to calm my racing thoughts. I take one step toward the couch before he grabs me around the waist. He turns me in his arms and holds me tight. I can feel the thudding of his heart against my cheek where I rest against his chest. Slowly, he strokes his fingers through my hair. My breathing slows, and I hold him tighter.

After a few seconds he tilts my head up, so he can look me in the eyes. There’s a recognition every time our eyes meet, even at the banquet. It’s like my soul recognizes his. Even when I fought against our connection, deep down I knew we were inevitable. It was like swimming against a current, eventually you have to give up and let it pull you along.

I can’t keep fighting the current. Being with Scott is essential to me, he’s in my heart, my blood, I think he might be the other half of my soul.

“There you are,” he whispers. “Now you get it.” He fists his hand in my hair and kisses me. Just like that, all the thoughts about how he’s too good for me, and all the reasons he should leave me disappear.

I’m not particularly religious. A year ago, if someone asked me what I thought about fate and destiny, I’d have said it was a lie we tell ourselves to explain things we can’t control. Being with Scott has completely turned my world upside down. I’m dizzy trying to find my footing, but luckily I find stability in his arms.

My fingers latch on to his shirt and hold him to me while his hand in my hair grips just a little tighter. His lips command mine, and I respond. This is our pattern. He guides, and I follow. He may have been a virgin before me, but I don’t think I can say he’s less sexually experienced. A few fumbling make out sessions with an old boyfriend and the selfish love making Nando and I had certainly don’t make me an expert.

He kisses me like time doesn’t exist, taking his time to explore every part of me, share every breath. With great effort, he forces his mouth off mine. We look at each other, our breaths mingle between us as we struggle to regulate our breathing. “I really do need to talk to you.”

I tip my head, and let him lead me to the couch.

His thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles as he holds my hand. “My parents were supposed to come last weekend to celebrate my birthday, but after everything went down, I asked them to postpone until this weekend.”

My fears seem so silly now. “So you’ll want to spend the weekend with them. I understand.”

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