I shrugged. “That very well may be, but in the end, it should give you some closure, help you heal so that it eventually becomes part of your past and not your present.” I was spinning a line of bullshit so thick I could hardly see in front of me. I had no idea what seeing a shrink that specializes in post-traumatic stress disorder would do for him, but every single person I’d chatted with swore by it. Said he had to get help, work it out. I thought I was doing a good job reminding him of what he had, loving him openly, but in the end, maybe it was part of the problem. Only thing I knew for sure was that last night was bad. Really bad, and I never wanted to experience that again or be afraid to lie down next to the man I loved again.
The door opened and, to my surprise, Gina DeLuca walked out. She hadn’t noticed us yet, but when Wes noticed her, his hands tightened painfully around my fingers, cutting off all circulation. Gina was speaking in a hushed voice, wiping her eyes with a wad of tissues she held. The woman next to her was rubbing a hand up and down her bicep, and then, methodically, she pulled her into a hug. The doctor consoled and hugged her. Yep. That’s all I needed to see to know that this was the right place. She operated on love and compassion, and that’s exactly what my guy needed.
Gina turned around and stopped abruptly. Her wet eyes lit up, and a wide smile split across her lips. “Weston, you came.” She shook her head and held her arms out. He moved to her on autopilot, pulling her into a big hug. A pang of irritation that he had to touch her at all rippled down my spine. I clenched my hands into fists to hold back the ridiculous jealousy that surfaced every time I saw the actress. It was unreasonable, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.
Wes stepped back, and Gina gave me a tentative wave. “So you’ve finally agreed to take my advice and see Dr. Shofner. That is so great. She’s been a godsend to me. Call me later in the week if you want to talk about, you know”—her shoulders slumped, and her expression went from jovial to defeated in a split second—“uh…anything that she wants you to work on. Not that you need help but, ugh…” She shook her hands as if they were wet and pumped them. Finally, she sucked in a breath. “Anyway, good luck. I hope she helps you as much as she has me.”
Then she was off, racing out the door like her heels were on fire. Yep, my jealously was sorely misplaced. That woman was broken in every way and needed the friendly face Wes provided. There was nothing between them but trauma at this point.
Wes cast a glance at me, his eyes sad and remorseful. I held his hand. “Nothing you could do. Let’s see about this doctor, eh?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. We turned around and the doctor held the door open. “You must be Weston Channing and Mia Saunders. Please do come in.”
We entered the room, and the scent of vanilla hit my senses. A cream-colored candle in the corner was lit, offering a comforting scent that went well with the room. An entire wall to the left was filled floor to ceiling with books. Neatly lined medical texts along with a few rows of fiction titles I recognized and another holding the greats.
During my time with Warren, I had gotten a lot of reading in. Same with Alec. Both men were huge lovers of the tomes, and I’d discovered a quick fascination for the classics. Books I’d not bothered to read during high school like Great Expectations by Dickens, Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare gave me an escape into another time where things should have been simpler but weren’t. Living life was filled with people, relationships, love and fear. As with anything in life, no matter what era, everything revolved around the simple act of love or the fear of something unknown.
The doctor’s desk, an enormous antique cherry wood desk with round legs and beveled edges, sat along the back wall. It looked sturdy enough to need more than two men to lift it if the doctor wanted to work on her feng shui. On the right wall was a sitting area with a coffee table. A long striped couch in shimmery golds and whites faced into the room. Two high-back reading chairs faced the couch, creating a cozy vibe I appreciated.
“Please, have a seat.” Dr. Shofner gestured to the sitting area.
Wes led me to the couch, and after I sat down, he sat next to me. When I say next to me, I mean he was practically on top of me. His hand clasped mine, and he pulled it to his lap where he proceeded to cover it with his other hand. The doctor noted the movement but didn’t mention it. Wes was very clearly out of sorts. It wasn’t every day one saw a man so self-assured clinging to a woman in such a way.
The doctor sat in one of the tall burgundy chairs, crossed her legs, and rested her chin on her curled knuckles. Her honey-brown hair was done up in an elegant chignon, a pair of tortoise-shell glasses perched daintily on her nose. She wore navy slacks and a beige scoop-necked blouse. Her look was professional, yet approachable. A single charm dangled off a gold bracelet around her pale wrist. It had a heart, and I imagined briefly that someone who loved her had given it to her as a gift, maybe a husband or child. I looked around the room, and from where I was sitting, I could just barely see a family photo facing her chair. Another point for the doctor. A family woman. Her reputation, the help she was giving Gina, and the fact that she was a woman with a family made me believe she could potentially help my guy get through the trauma of his experience in Sri Lanka and Indonesia in a loving way.