Chapter 11

Tommy

Harmony Place lookedlike a fucking castle.

It was built on the top of a hill overlooking the ocean in Santa Barbara, with buildings that looked like turrets on either side of the main building, expansive gardens with fountains and cobblestone-style paths, and a swimming pool bigger than any resort I’d ever been to.

This place was hardcore, and as I settled into the private room I’d booked on the top floor with a balcony that gave me a view of the Pacific Ocean, I wondered for the millionth time what I was doing here.

One minute it had been a vague idea.

The next I’d booked myself in for two weeks, with the option to add more time if I liked it.

The woman I’d spoken to on the phone sounded intelligent, professional, and not overly sympathetic. She was straightforward and not at all pushy, which I liked. Of course, at these prices, they probably weren’t hurting for business. The wealthiest of the wealthy were the only people who could afford to come here, and people like us were often fucked up. Hell, this was the kind of place Carter had probably come to half a dozen times over the years.

Too bad it hadn’t worked for him.

“Mr. Bane.” A narrow-faced woman with slicked back dark hair and glasses stuck her head in the door. “The therapist you’ve been assigned to is named Dr. Hirschel. You need to report to Office 70B in precisely seventeen minutes for your intake meeting. After that, you and Dr. Hirschel will work out the best times for your ongoing therapy.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Once I’d told them what I needed, they’d given me a list of options and I’d just checked off everything. I didn’t know what I needed so I figured I’d give it all a try. If I was going to be here anyway, there was no reason not to jump in with both feet. Metaphorically anyway, since I wouldn’t be jumping anywhere with my knee like this. They knew physical therapy was my priority, but I was down to try meditation, group therapy, and whatever else they threw at me.

If I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to go back, and I’d made sure they understood that.

Using my walker, since it was easier on me, I made my way to Office 70B. I knocked and a female voice called for me to come in.

I opened the door and was somewhat surprised to see an attractive woman who was probably in her late thirties sitting behind the desk. She had shoulder-length dark hair and a friendly smile, along with a wedding ring on her left hand.

“Mr. Bane.” She got up and held out her hand. “Allisha Hirschel.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand.

“Have a seat. How’s the knee?”

I wobbled my hand from side to side. “Not terrible, not great.”

“Well, let me know if you need to change locations to be more comfortable.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll be okay.” I settled into a relaxing looking chair.

“So.” She leaned back and met my gaze. “What can I do for you?”

I chuckled. “Honestly? I have no idea. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve been told I’m intuitive, but I can’t read your mind. Although, to be fair, I know who you are and am aware of some of the bigger traumas in your life.”

“Carter’s death,” I said knowingly.

She nodded. “And your recent motorcycle accident.”

“You saw the video.”

She nodded again.

“Tell me, Doc—and be honest. Does it look like I was trying to hurt myself?”

She hesitated. “No. But you did look like a man who has very few limits and is willing to take unnecessary risks for a thrill.”

Well, that answered that.

I wasn’t a fan of therapy, but this woman was definitely a straight shooter. More than that, she didn’t have to lie to me. I was here for two weeks, no matter what, and with the option to stay longer depending on the progress of my knee. So why would she blow smoke up my ass? Besides, I’d already known the answer. Mostly, I’d been trying to gauge just how honest she would be.

“You don’t look surprised,” she said after a moment.

“No. I’ve watched that damn video dozens of times and the guy on that motorcycle seems like someone else. I didn’t recognize him.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I’ll be honest, Doc, I don’t do well with the typical therapy stuff. Making me come up with the answers just frustrates me.”

“Okay, then let’s try multiple choice. Do you think you feel that way because you’re in denial about your behavior or because you’re embarrassed by it or something else?”

I paused. “Maybe a little of all three?”

“The something else being what? The fear of admitting you have a problem? Fear that you’re somehow broken?”

“Oh, I’m broken,” I said gruffly. “There’s no doubt about that.”

“We’re all broken in our own way,” she said gently. “There isn’t a single soul in this universe who doesn’t have some broken pieces. I promise you that. The trick is making sure the cracks don’t get so deep we fall apart.”

“That makes sense. The problem is that I don’t know where the cracks are or how to fix them.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I’m here because I have to rehab the knee and I skipped out on therapy when Carter died, so it felt like I’d be able to kill two birds with one stone.”

“You have to be willing to do the work, Tommy—may I call you Tommy?”

“Can I call you Allisha?”

“Sure.” She smiled. “We don’t have to be formal here.”

“Great. So tell me more.”

“The only way this works is if you open up, but I can see it’s going to take a little time to build that trust, which is absolutely fair. But we’ve only got two weeks, so we’re both going to have to compromise.”

“Tell me how.”

“Tell me something personal and intimate. Something you’ve never admitted out loud. Something I can use my fancy degree to tear apart.”

I grinned. “You really want to go there, huh?”

“Why not?”

I liked this woman, and somehow, I was already starting to trust her, but I was also going to test her. Her reaction to what I was about to tell her would give me a better feel for how the rest of the week would go.

“Well, in for a penny, I guess…” I took a deep breath. “The reason I was driving like a lunatic the other day was because the day before would have been Carter’s thirtieth birthday. The cemetery was really busy during the day, so I went up there late that night, around midnight.”

She didn’t say anything, merely watched my face as I continued.

“When I got there, I ran into my ex-wife, who apparently had the same idea I did. We briefly argued about which one of us should leave, then she fell off the tree branch she was sitting on and I broke her fall. The minute we touched it was like sparks ignited, and the next thing I knew, I was fucking her against a tree.”

“Oh. Well, that didn’t go the way I expected it to.” She didn’t appear shocked or horrified, more curious than anything else. “I’m assuming it was consensual.”

“Of course. I would never hurt anyone like that.” I paused. “Well, I guess I need to explain that part. Because it’s convoluted.”

“Go on.”

I gave her a brief explanation of our sexual history before telling her about the bruises on Harley’s wrists and the brutality of our lovemaking.

“It never occurred to me I hurt her,” I admitted. “And while part of me feels like shit, another part of me feels like…” I stopped talking, reluctant to voice what I was thinking.

“Like she deserves it for hurting you when she left.” Allisha finished my sentence.

“So you do read minds,” I said quietly.

“I read body language and I’ve been doing this for a while. I had a feeling I knew where this was going the moment you told me about your sexual history with her.”

“Was I trying to hurt her?” I asked. “Am I turning into some kind of monster?”

“I can’t answer that for sure, but my gut response is no. She always enjoyed the roughness and there was no indication she didn’t enjoy it this time. The real question is, why did you—and I’m talking about both of you—want to have sex in the first place? It’s been three years since the divorce, it didn’t end amicably, and you haven’t really spoken since. What do you think made you want to reconnect that way instead of by continuing to argue?”

I frowned. “Because I’ve never stopped loving her. I’ll never walk away from an excuse to be with her that way.”

“Okay. What’s her excuse?”

I stared at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“If you did it because you still love her, even though you kind of hate her too, is there any chance that she feels the same way?”

“I… no. I mean, she left me. Why would she have left if she still loved me?”

“Maybe back then she thought she didn’t and now she realizes she made a mistake.”

That made more sense than anything else I could think of, but it also pissed me off.

“Well, fuck,” I said in irritation. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

“There is no better or worse. There’s only the reality of how you feel.”

“I’m feeling a lot of different ways right now, Doc.”

She nodded. “And that’s what we’re going to try to figure out.”