Page 87 of Wildly Inappropriate

Holy fucking shit. Why is the sun trying to scorch my retinas? What did I ever do to that flaming ball of gas anyway? Ugh, where did my pillow go? I turn my head the other direction, trying, though not particularly hard, to escape the light and the voice that is now saying things to me. Things I’m likely supposed to be listening to.

“JT! Wake up. Listen to me!” I close my eyes, hoping the ghost of Sam will go away if I just ignore him. It’s colder now, so I guess he must’ve pulled the blanket off me. “JT! I’m going to dump water on you if you don’t sit up right now.” Facing my life right now seems worse than getting water dumped on me—plus it was likely a bluff—so I opt to do nothing.

“Ahh!” I scream minutes later, sitting up and blinking the water out of my eyes. “What the fuck…Sam? What are you doing here?” I focus on my assistant, my eyes slowly tracking from his bright white tennis shoes past his gray joggers and light pink tank top to his clean-shaven face and perfectly styled hair. He’s pacing back and forth in front of me.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? What am I doing here? What amIdoing here?!” He stops, fully turning to look at me for the first time, and his jaw drops. “Oh, for the love…what happened to your hair?”

I run my hand over my chia pet hair, remembering a few days ago when I saw the curl Lila liked to wrap her finger around peeking out above my collar, and I realized it had to go. I drove to the nearest drugstore, bought some clippers, and gave myself a buzz cut.

“I cut it.”

“You…you cut your own hair?”

I nod, considering if it’s appropriate for me to lie back down at this point or not.

“Why in the name of Chad Michael Murray would you cut your hair? It’s literally the first rule of breakups. Do. Not. Cut. Your. Own. Hair.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing something, so I assume it means I’m okay to go back to sleep.

“Do not put your feet back on the bed, JT Johnson. I will take drastic measures.”

I drop my legs back down, the cold of the hardwood bringing some awareness back to me. Sam taps a few more buttons before he turns his attention back to me.

“I scheduled you a hair appointment this afternoon. It wasn’t how I thought we would be spending the afternoon, but priorities have changed based on that hack job. Thank God you at least had the sense to keep some length to it. If you’d gone for a full shave, there’s nothing I or anyone else could’ve done.”

“Thereisnothing that can be done. It’s too late,” I say, meaning so much more than just my hair.

“There is alwayssomethingthat can be done, JT.”

I run my hand down my face, silently urging myself to move. To do something other than just sit here. I know I can do it. I’ve done it every Thursday through Sunday since I shut the door behind me in Vegas. The face the world wants to see is here somewhere. I just have to find it.

Sam gives me another minute before striding into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

“Okay, this is so much worse than I was anticipating, but I’m not going to let that slow me down. First things first, you need a shower. You are seriously malodorous.” He wrinkles up his nose in disgust, and after realizing I don’t know the last time I showered—likely Sunday morning if only I knew when that was—I do as he directs, shedding my clothes without a thought on my way into the door.

Sam is clearly unfazed by my nudity, because he follows me into the bathroom, leaning his ass against the counter as I climb into the shower.

“Excellent. We can check step one off the list.”

I let the hot water pour down my body, not even trying to listen to what Sam’s saying. I’m sure he’ll just make me do it anyway.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Sam steps into my walk-in shower fully clothed and flips the water handle, causing freezing cold water to spray down on me.

“You are not okay. I do not give one flying fuck if you fire me for this, but Iwill notlet you go on like this, do you understand me? We are going to feed you. We are going to get your hair fixed, and then you are going to see a therapist.”

“I’m not going to—”

“It’s non-fucking-negotiable, JT. I’ve been researching who in the area would be a good fit for years now, and I’ve got an appointment with the one who came with the best recommendations for people dealing with emotional trauma caused by their parents.”

“What? My parents haven’t caused me emotional trauma.”

“Really? Is that so?” Sam is standing in my shower, fully clothed, the freezing water hitting him just as much as me, and it’s a terrifying sight to see. He’s pissed, but I can’t figure out what I’ve done.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I…I know I’ve let you and the rest of the team down lately, but I’ll get it together. I am sorry. I’ll get it together.” I turn the water back to warm and squeeze some soap onto my palm as if in proof of my togetherness. “You don’t need to stay in here with me. Go change into a pair of my clothes, and then we can talk about what my afternoon looks like without the therapy visit.”

“No.” It’s all he says. Just no. And the straight line of his mouth is doing nothing to help me understand any better.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I’m not getting out, and you’re not getting out of going to therapy. I can assure you, based on the many years I’ve spent with my therapist, it’s going to suck, but then you’re going to get better. You’re going to feel better. You’re going to get stronger. And then you’re going to realize just how strong the version of you that took the terrifying first step into your therapist’s office really was. You can do this, but you cannot do it alone.”

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