7. drowning, not waving

7

DROWNING, NOT WAVING

DAY 8

Kinsey doing my makeup transitions into her doing my hair, then insisting I borrow some of her clothes because according to her I dress like a slob. Unlike my small wardrobe of basics—mainly T-shirts, tanks, and shorts—she has everything from sequined minidresses to designer jeans crammed into her narrow closet.

The result? I look like a high-end hooker.

I sit on Kinsey's bed squirming in my miniskirt as she curls her hair and prattles on about how much she misses the outside world. Topping the list: Brazilian waxes, pedicures, massages, and her teacup Chihuahua, aptly named Teacup.

I listen with half an ear, offering Yeahs and Rights at appropriate times, while the rest of my thoughts spiral in darker directions. If what Nix suspected is true, then Kinsey and Dr. Chastain screw on the very bed I'm sitting on. A repulsive line of thought, but one I can't extinguish.

I wonder if he's a missionary man, always in control, or if he loses his mind and body to passion. Does he talk dirty? Use his teeth? Does he like his woman meek and obedient or feisty?

"Why is your face red?"

I bury my thoughts and meet Kinsey's curious eyes. "We're in the desert in the middle of August. Are you ready?"

I watch her struggle not to point out that the cabin's small air conditioner is on, but apparently she really wants to be my friend.

Bully for me.

"I'm all set," she says with a grin. "Do you like my outfit?"

I make my lips stretch in a smile. "You look amazing."

Kinsey chats the entire walk to the facility, her topics ranging from the dry air that's wreaking havoc on her cuticles, to the temptation of a night swim—against the rules—to Callum's incredible abs, to how excited she is that we're hanging out.

I continue my shtick of pretending to listen. The bulk of my focus is split between not tripping in the ridiculous stilettos she made me wear and the evening sky. The western horizon still clings to a weak memory of sunlight, but overhead, millions of stars twinkle like tiny diamonds.

"It's really beautiful here," I say.

Kinsey, momentarily silent, shoots me a look of disbelief. Clearly my comment doesn't dignify a response, because she keeps walking. I follow with a sigh, around the pool and into the Fish Tank.

Frank and another of the group facilitators, Charlene, stand near one of the couches, heads bent together as they speak quietly. When they hear the door, followed immediately by our pointed heels, they jerk away from each other.

"Hello, ladies," says Charlene with a fake smile. "You both look lovely this evening."

I'm not fond of Charlene; she runs the group on Mondays and Wednesdays and always comes across as condescending. I think she's thrilled to be in a perceived authority role over people like Kinsey, Nix, and Callum. People like me.

There's a calculating gleam in Charlene's eyes as they fix on my face. I open my mouth to praise her for squeezing her gargantuan thighs into her stockings, but sharp nails bite into my forearm.

Kinsey drags me across the Fish Tank with a cheery, "Thanks, see you at the party!"

Once we're out of earshot, I yank my arm away. "What the hell?" I hiss.

"You were going to say something stupid. I was just saving your ass. You insult Charlene and that bitch will make your life hell."

My mouth gapes.

Kinsey smirks. "I'm not as stupid as I look, chiquita . Come on, let's go drink sparkling cider and pretend it's champagne."

"Just when I think shit can't get any weirder…"

She laughs. "This is going to be so much fun."

I think we have different definitions of fun, because the second we walk into the room where our group sessions are held, I almost bolt. Not because of the decorations, which are of the recycled, dollar-store variety, or the supermarket sheet cake on a table. What fills me with panic isn't even the number of people. Pretty much every staff member is here, including the two onsite nurses, kitchen and cleaning staff, and several security guards I've seen prowling the grounds.

The reason my knees lock, freezing me near the door as Kinsey squeals and traipses toward Nix, is that not once had I contemplated Dr. Chastain's attendance. But he's here, standing with one of the nurses, Nora, near the table with beverages.

"Close your mouth," Callum whispers, his arms coming around me from behind.

I'm so numb that his presumption doesn't bother me like it normally would. Turning in his arms to make them fall, I whisper back, "I wasn't prepared to see him. He kicked me out of his office today."

Callum's lips twitch. "Kinsey told Nix, who told everyone else after you left group today." He laughs at my disgusted expression. "By the way, what the bloody fuck are you wearing?"

I growl at him. "Not a word, Rivers."

His tawny brows rise. "Not even to tell you how hot you?—"

I smack his chest and dance back when he reaches for me, only to collide with a body behind me.

"Sorry, I—" My mouth snaps closed.

Dr. Chastain nods. "Amelia." He glances past me. "Callum." Blue eyes flicker back to me, landing and flying away like a butterfly kiss. "Enjoy the festivities."

As he strides toward the door, Nix calls, "Dr. C, you're leaving?"

His suited frame pauses and turns, and on his face is an expression I've never seen him wear. Pride. Happiness. A grin that transforms him into a man with the gravitational pull of a damn sun.

"Congratulations again, Jason," he says warmly. "I hope to hear from you soon."

Kinsey squeals and Nix hoots, picking her up by the waist and swinging her around the room. When I look back at the doorway, Chastain is gone.

I'm a stupid, stupid woman. Only someone stupid, or crazy, would sneak out of a party at their rehab to stalk their therapist.

Not that my decision is surprising. Not to me, anyway. And as I approach the closed office door, wreathed with light from within, I realize it probably won't surprise him, either.

My brain screams at me to turn around, but my hand lifts and knocks on the wood.

"Come in."

Stop, you idiot. Run.

I walk inside, then close the door and sink against its support. I'm out of breath, like I just sprinted a mile.

Holy shit, I'm a mess.

On the other side of the room, Chastain leans against his desk, slim hips squared. His suit jacked is tossed across one of the leather chairs. My chair. His tie is loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone. Stubble shadows his jaw, drawing dangerous attention to his full lips.

My mouth goes dry.

I want to destroy him.

"Amelia," he says wearily, "what do you need?"

A dangerous question. But I'm not so far gone that I'll tell him the truth.

"I don't know. I never do. I just… act."

His brows lift over the slim, dark frames of his glasses. "Were you hoping to catch me dozing? Maybe so you could shave my head?"

Smart doctor. When I don't say anything, he answers my silent question. "You stare at my hair quite frequently. The way I comb it irritates you, doesn't it?"

I snort, then slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. Giggling is inexcusable. Little girls and women like Kinsey giggle. I do not.

Dr. Chastain's lips curve a tiny bit, his eyes challenging.

I fucking giggle.

Waving both hands in the direction of his immaculate hair, I ask belligerently, "How do you even get the part so straight? Do you spend an hour every morning with a comb?"

To my shock, he chuckles, lips parting in a soft smile. And dammit, it's a gorgeous smile.

"And how long did it take you "—he waves a hand in mirror of my action—"to get like that ?"

I glance down at the sparkly top and miniskirt. "It's better you don't know. "

"Kinsey's clothes, I'm assuming?"

Why, does she play dress up for you? Have you peeled this skirt off her?

I nod, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

"Amelia," he says mutedly, all humor gone. "Why are you here?"

My eyes bounce around the office, avoiding his piercing stare. "Callum said you stay on the property somewhere."

His brows draw together in confusion. "Yes, there are staff cabins."

I nod jerkily. "That's great. I mean, convenient."

"Amelia," he begins warningly.

Staring at the carpet before my feet, I bite my lip to halt the word-vomit. It spews out anyway. "Will you let me mess up your hair? Please?"

He doesn't move, but I feel the razored edge of his focus. "What does it feel like, that urge?"

I shake my head wildly. "Like an itch. Inside me. My bones. This need to do something dangerous."

"Messing up my hair is dangerous?" he asks carefully.

Touching you would be dangerous.

"Yes," I whisper.

Ten feet separate us—a paltry distance—but I'm held tenuously in place by his eyes. They aren't kind or guileless, but they're familiar. Too familiar. Like some part of my psyche recognizes some part of his. We're alike. We have secrets. We keep parts of ourselves hidden.

I wonder if anyone has seen those hidden parts of him, and whether I want to.

Oh, I want to .

But I also know, without doubt, there would be a heavy price to pay.

The door at my back reverberates with a light knock. Through the wood, a female voice asks, "Leo? Are you still here?"

My lips shape his name. Leo. His gaze drops to my mouth. Then he clears his throat.

"Yes, Nora, come in."

I step away from the door as it opens, a smile plastered on my face for the pretty redheaded nurse.

"I was just leaving," I say before her surprise turns to suspicion.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, nervous eyes darting to Leo. Leo. "I can come back."

"That's quite all right," he confirms.

Nora blushes. It's not a good look, her blotchy cheeks framed by red hair. Immediately, I feel petty for the thought. She's never been anything but kind to me.

"Good night, Dr. Chastain," I say brightly. "Thanks again for your advice."

He nods, stone-faced. "I hope you'll think about what I said."

What has he said? Nothing. Everything.

I have no idea what he's referring to, but I nod back and make my escape. Halfway across the Fish Tank, a thought barrels into me. Leo touching Nora. Making her blush all over, making her cry out his name.

"Mia?" questions Callum.

He and Preston stand on the other side of the Fish Tank. Beyond them, voices and music drift from the party .

"Are you okay?" Preston asks softly.

No.

"I will be," I say and kick off my shoes. "Come here, Preston."

He blinks those beautiful green eyes and obeys. Behind him, Callum's brows arch in surprise.

"What about me?" he asks lightly.

I shrug. "You can come, too."

When Preston is close enough, I grab his hand and thread our fingers together. His breathing accelerates, coming in nervous pants.

"What are we doing?" he asks. Scared. Excited.

"Whatever I want," I whisper back. "Ready?"

His throat bobs and he nods. I grin, plant a quick kiss on his smooth cheek, then drag him out the back door of the Fish Tank. By the time the dark waters of the pool loom before us, we're running.

Preston gurgles in alarm.

I laugh and leap into emptiness, taking him with me.