Page 49 of Soulmate of the Mafia King
“I absolutely have touched it!” Holly protested. “It’s not my fault Jen’s not paying attention.”
“Not paying—Dr. Lauren says I have hypervigilance!” Jen said, her voice creeping dangerously close to yelling. “There’s literally nothing I don’t notice.”
“Okay!” I said before Holly could reply. “Jen, why don’t you take one of the roll-up puzzle mats and set up—” I glanced at Lily, hoping she knew where a free table was in this place.
“In the dining room,” she said.
Jen sighed, but grabbed the boxes of pieces and headed off for a mat.
Holly smiled at me. “Thanks.”
I nodded and pulled Lily out of the room. “The dining table?”
She shrugged. “Everything else is covered. Seriously, everything.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “We’re losing it, aren’t we?”
“No.” She put a hand on my arm. “We’re still providing the best care we can. It’s just… a little cramped.”
Lauren squeezed by us and smiled tiredly. “Did I hear you say cramped?”
I grimaced. “Unfortunately. Do you have any ideas?”
She looked around. “I hate to say it, but I think we need another facility.”
I leaned back against the wall, resting for the first time all day. Things had been hectic for weeks. “Maybe. But it’s not like that’s going to happen overnight. I don’t even know if Tom has the liquid funds to buy more property right now.”
“Coming through!” The art therapist who ran group twice a week barreled toward us with a painting in her hands, and we scattered.
I headed up the stairs a few steps, just to get out of the way, and fought down the sinking feeling Lily was wrong. We weren’t providing the same standard of care we had been a few monthsago. The place was cramped, turf wars like the puzzle table argument broke out more and more, and I couldn’t ignore what had happened in group before this. There weren’t enough of us—or enough rooms—to let these women actually process their trauma. We were turning over beds faster and faster, trying to stay ahead of the fray, and I was scared it was hurting the women I’d promised to take care of. It didn’t matter we got more from the streets and abusive households than trafficking schemes. All of the women were my responsibility now, and the idea we weren’t doing right by them threatened to overwhelm me.
My phone rang. I glanced at the called ID. Tom.
“Hey,” I said as I picked up. “I’m kind of slammed right now, can we talk?—”
“Come outside,” he said.
I squeezed my eyes shut. A split second of fresh air wouldn’t hurt the chaos in here, and it might help me get my head on straight. I walked out the front door and into the sunshine.
Tom, leaning against his SUV, hung up the phone as I walked out. He didn’t have any bags, so this wasn’t a delivery.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying not to sound as fragile as I felt.
“We’re going for a drive,” he said.
“You might be.” I glanced over my shoulder. “I can’t get away for more than a couple of minutes. They need me in there. After two intakes, we’re back over capacity.”
He patted the hood of the vehicle. “I promise this’ll help.”
“You can’t?—”
He covered the distance between us and swept me up in a kiss. “I promise.”
I melted against him. They needed me in there, but God, I wanted to believe him. After a moment, I nodded against his lips.
“Good.” He released me and opened the door so I could climb into the car.
A few minutes later, we were driving through an upscale neighborhood part of me recognized. Huge houses. Even bigger lawns. I’d been here before.
