Page 50 of What's Left of Us

“Did you see her?”

“No.” She’s quiet. “I’ve been busy.”

Her nod is slow, disbelieving. “Last time we spoke, you brought up how unconventional your relationship was, but thatyou enjoyed having a companion to share the burdens. You could have that again.”

“You offering?” I ask teasingly.

She eyes me when I flash her a charming smile that’s gotten me laid a time or two when I was younger. “I simply mean, you don’t need to be in a romantic relationship to have companionship. They aren’t mutually exclusive things. Friendships can be just as fulfilling, if not more, in some cases.”

“And what? You think Marissa and I should be BFFs now that her husband is gone?” I question. That would never work. I can be there for her and Cooper, but there’s too much history, too many memories that having me around frequently would bring up. I won’t do that to her or their son.

That damn pen lifts. “I’m sure Marissa could use somebody who understands the pain and loss she feels. Not everything has to be about crossing lines.”

This time, I stay quiet.

The clock ticks with each passing second that turns into minutes, both of us sitting in silence, watching one another.

Eventually, she breaks it. “You seem a bit off today, Mr. Danforth.”

“It’s Lincoln,” I tell her, sick of the formalities. There are only a few people who call me that, and I’m none too fond of any of them. “And I’m sorry I’m not my usual forthcoming self. I know you’re used to me talking your ear off.”

The slightest twitch lifts the edges of her mouth—an amusement she refuses to let me see. It doesn’t turn into a smile, but close. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else, but you’re here. And while you don’t typically like to offer a lot of information, you still give me some. If there’s something that’s making you reluctant to, I can reassure you that there’s no safer place to speak than within these walls.”

“You mean in the pits of hell,” I grumble, tugging my shirt away from my body again.

“If you’d like, we can reschedule—”

“I’m here,” I relent with a sigh.

“Is something the matter?”

“Life,” I mumble, evading her eyes.

“Let’s talk about it then.”

I think about Georgia’s note, which is probably halfway to the dump now. “I suppose you want to know more about my failed marriage since that’s been a recurring theme in these sessions.”

“We can talk about other things,” she notes.

She knows I won’t. “Where did we leave off?”

Repositioning, she settles her notepad onto her lap and gets comfortable. “You helped a woman in need by letting her stay in your apartment while you were away.”

My lips curl up. “You make me sound like such a white knight.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” is all she replies with before waiting for me to enlighten her.

“Nah, doc.” I shake my head, my knee bouncing as old memories are dug up. “Don’t make me the hero in this story.”

“You’re certainly not the villain.”

A dry laugh passes my lips. “That depends on who you ask.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lincoln/ Seven Years Ago

Clicking the doorclosed behind me, I let my eyes roam over the borrowed clothing that exposes soft skin and expensive-looking matching black lingerie.

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