Chapter 4

The tall, white double doors loom before me as I walk up the wide stairs leading to the front porch that wraps around to the sides. The building is old, dating back to the mid-eighteen hundreds, and the owners have done well with keeping the Victorian feel over the years. A wooden sign with bold script that reads The Grove is to the right of the doors.

Up until a few years ago, the place was run down. The staff who watched over the patients residing here, save for a few good apples, took advantage of the people who depended on them in disgusting ways. The Grove is now considered the top private psychiatric facility in the state and only houses ten or so carefully selected patients.

Pulling one of the doors open, I walk inside and go straight for the receptionist's desk. An older woman sits behind a computer, and the moment she sees me, she offers a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Mr. St. James. How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Katherine." I shove my hands into my slacks pockets. "And yourself?"

"Nothing to complain about so far." Using the mouse, she clicks something on the computer screen before getting up from her seat. "I'll take you back. She's been waiting for you."

"How is she today?"

She pauses, her head swiveling around to give me a look I know well. "She seems more gloomy than usual, but I'm sure that'll change once she sees you."

With my silent nod, she turns and leads me down a wide hallway toward the back of the facility. The house is over ten-thousand square feet, has twenty bedrooms—only half being used—and sits on twenty acres of land. A third of those acres are wooded. Back in the day, the place was an inn that catered to weary travelers.

When we reach a large room, which has been converted into a recreation area, my eyes are drawn to the woman I'm here to see. She's sitting at the same small, round table she always chooses when she's in this particular room. Her head is bent, the thick mass of dark hair a mess and tangled around her face. A deep look of concentration is pulling her features down as she slowly traces the design on the tabletop.

Just as it always does, a dull ache forms behind my sternum as I gaze at the thick bandages wrapped around her wrists.

I barely noticed Katherine's announcement that she'll be back in a short while to check on us. I pull out the chair across from the woman and take a seat. She still hasn't lifted her head or acknowledged my presence.

"Athena."

It's not until I softly call her name that she lifts her head. A moment passes before recognition dawns. Slowly, her dull, despondent expression gives way to a charming smile.

"Hunter," she breathes, a brilliant light shining in her eyes.

Reaching across the table, I gently take one of her cold hands. Her hands are always icy cold, no matter how warm it is. "How are you this morning, honey?"

Her eyes drop to our clasped hands as she lifts a slender shoulder. "I'm okay, I guess." Her voice is soft and lyrical.

"You want to tell me what you were thinking about just now?" I ask, slowly rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand just as she likes. "You seemed pretty deep in thought."

"It was nothing." She raises her eyes to me. "Just thinking about what's for dinner tonight."

Deflection. That's what Athena does. If she doesn't want to answer a question, there's no forcing her to. I learned the hard way not to repeat questions she doesn't want to answer. The one time I did, it ended with Athena being restrained and injected with a sedative. I never want to see that hysterical look on her face again. The pain of it brought me to my knees as I helplessly watched the staff try to calm her.

"What did you have for breakfast?" I ask, trying to maintain a calm voice despite the turmoil raging inside of me.

"Eggs and bacon with blueberry pancakes."

"That sounds good," I remark.

I stop stroking the back of her hand for a split second, and her expression tightens. I immediately restart the soft movement and her features once again relax.

Athena loves it when I touch her hand. I'm not sure why, but any time I visit her, she wants me to hold her hand. I've spoken with her doctor about it, and he believes the gentle way I touch her is comforting. It doesn't bother me. Anything to bring her peace, I'm willing to do.

Keeping her gaze steady on me, she props her chin in her palm with her elbow on the table. Again, my eyes are drawn to the stark-white bandage before returning to hers. I want to ask her about the bandages, but again, that's a no-go subject.

"How long can you stay?" she asks out of the blue.

I give her an easy smile. "For as long as you want me here."

"Would you stay forever if I asked you to?"

Unconsciously, my smile slips a bit. "Is that what you want? Do you want to stay here forever?"

I've been coming here to see Athena for years. My first encounter with her was by accident. I was here to see Dr. Armani when I spotted Athena being led into one of the patient rooms. Before she and the nurse could step through the doorway, her head lifted and our eyes met. A strange connection formed between us that day. She became agitated when the nurse tried to get her to enter the room, so I approached the pair. I sat with her for an hour that day, and I've been visiting her ever since. Other than me, she doesn't have any other visitors.

"I don't know." Sadness creeps across Athena's face, and her eyes drift from me to stare blankly across the room. "I think I deserve to stay here forever."

I squeeze her fingers to bring her eyes back to me. They look desolate when they do.

"Why do you think you deserve to be here, Athena?" I ask, keeping my voice low and even despite my growing disquiet.

Her tongue comes out to run across her lips. "Because I did something horrible," she whispers, as if she's ashamed.

It takes everything in me to not yank the woman into my arms and demand she wipe those thoughts from her head. It's only the reaction I know I would get that keeps me in my seat. While she loves it when I hold her hand and gently rub the back with my thumb, that's the only touch she'll allow. Anything more, she'll turn distraught. Not because she abhors my touch, but because she feels like she doesn't deserve it.

"What happened was not your fault," I tell her sternly.

Angry heat flashes in her eyes, and for a moment, I think she's about to pull her hand away, but she doesn't. Instead, her fingers wrap tighter around my palm, as if my touch is the only thing keeping her sane and grounded. Like if the connection was broken, she would fall to so many pieces there would be no hope of putting her back together.

"It was my fault," she replies vehemently.

"Athena—"

"No!" she yells, jumping to her feet, this time dislodging our connection. She bends at the waist, her hands gripping her wild hair, tugging the strands, and her expression contorts into pain. "It was my fault!" She hits her chest with a closed fist. "Mine!"

Slowly, I get up as an orderly and a nurse watch our exchange, preparing to intervene if necessary. I try my best to calm Athena down. The last thing I want is for her to be drugged out of her mind.

"Athena, sweetie—"

Again, I'm cut off, but at least she's not screaming anymore. Some of the ire and pain in her expression has faded when she looks at me coolly.

"I want you to leave."

A small crack forms in my heart with her emotionless demand. I don't want to leave her like this, but I know if I stay, there's a chance I could make it worse.

I stare at her. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest and her back is ramrod straight. Athena is done. She's closed herself off from me.

This happens every time I try to tell her that what happened to cause her to be in this place wasn't her fault. I know she wants to believe it, I see the desperation in her eyes, but a dark place inside her won't allow her to.

I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep myself from reaching out to her. "If that's what you want."

Her nod is stiff. "It is."

Swallowing past the thick knot in my throat, I tell her the same thing I tell her every time before I leave, no matter if I leave on a good note or a bad one. "I'll be back next time."

I'm not sure if she realizes the flash of relief she reveals on her face, but I hang on to that look with desperate hope.

Gritting my teeth, I turn and walk away. The nurse and orderly I pass, two faces I've seen hundreds of times, as well as many others, give me sympathetic looks. I don't acknowledge them. I don't acknowledge anyone as I leave. All of my focus is on keeping my feet moving forward. Because if I don't, I'll never have the strength to walk out the door.

When I step outside, the sky is gray and dreary, matching my somber mood. I keep my head down as I trek across the gravel parking lot to my SUV. Once I climb inside, I grip the steering wheel, my eyes automatically going back to the building where I just left part of my heart.

Guilt churns in my stomach.

Guilt for leaving Athena.

Guilt for what I'm doing to Cat by being here.

For as long as I've been making these visits, I've never told Cat. She wouldn't understand my need to be near Athena. She wouldn't understand the feelings I've developed for the woman. I love Cat with everything inside me, but Athena has a part of me too.

Athena doesn't know about Cat either. I've kept both women a secret from each other. It's better this way.

Because I know in my heart that if one knows about the other, I very well may lose them both.