Page 63 of What's Left of Us

“But you’re alluding to my relationship with my ex-wife,” I counter, eyebrows raised. “You’re asking if I’ll stop seeing her. Isn’t that right?”

“If that’s what you think I mean.”

My eyes narrow. “I’m not big on games, doc. I like when people tell me how it is.”

Her lips curve upward slightly. “It’s not my place to tell you how it is, Mr. Danforth. I’m here to listen, not to insert my opinion.”

“But you have one.”

“I have many,” she agrees.

“So what are they?”

She’s silent.

“Oh, come on.” I sit forward, leaning my elbows on my bent knees. “I’m sure there’s a lot you want to say. What’s one of them? I can handle it. I’m a big boy.”

For the briefest second, her eyes scale down the front of me. From my work boots to my stained work jeans to the black and white plaid shirt that I left the top two buttons undone on. But I see it, no matter how fast it happened or how quickly her gaze met mine again, as if her eyes never lingered at all.

She picks something nonexistent off her shirt. “I can see that,” is all she says, professionalism thick in her tone.

Chuckling, I can tell she’s trying not to cross any lines. I respect it, even if I wish she’d let down one of those barriers. “One free pass. Anything you want, say it. Don’t hold back.”

Indecision flickers across her face, and I wonder if she’s actually going to give in. It feels like forever before she sets herpen down and interweaves her fingers together, resting them on her lap. Her nails aren’t painted the way I was used to seeing on Georgia. They’re short and neutral, not attention-grabbing. Neither is her makeup. She wants to blend in, not stand out.

“It seems like you’re using Georgia as an excuse not to move on with your life,” she says, her voice the same even tone it always is. “Why put yourself out there and truly heal from the past if you have somebody you’re already comfortable with? I know a lot of people who choose to settle because they don’t want to start over and be vulnerable with new people. But you shouldn’t fall into that trap. You have a lot to offer somebody, Mr. Danforth.”

I smile genuinely for the first time since starting these sessions. “You sound like my mother.”

Her lips twitch before neutralizing again. “I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve heard that, but it’s not.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” I amend. “My mom is an honest person. She wants what’s best for me. For some reason, she thinks I’m ‘stuck’ and need an extra nudge to get back into living my life again.”

“What is it about Georgia that makes it hard for you to let go?” she asks next. It’s a valid question, but not one I can answer easily.

Leaning back, I make myself comfortable on the couch again. “You can’t erase history, doc. No matter how much you may want to.”

“No,” she agrees. “But you can learn from it.”

There’s no point in arguing with the truth, so I simply nod instead. “There are many reasons why letting go completely will be impossible.”

“So, enlighten me,” she presses lightly.

Swallowing, I wet my lips and let out a deep breath. “I always thought I would do it once.”

“Do what once?”

“Marriage. Love.” I shake my head, looking up at the ceiling and remembering everything that’s happened since the day I told her I’d help her. “Our story was unique, but it was genuine. At least for me. I never thought I’d have to do it all over again.”

Maybe I settled the first time around and told myself it was good enough, like so many people have done before me.

I wanted to believe Georgia was the woman for me. That it was fate who put her in my path. I told myself a lot of things to justify my actions.

To make myself believe I was right.

Because if there’s one thing I fucking hate in life, it’s being wrong.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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