Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76436 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Slowly, the reality of what just transpired begins to seep in. I’ve slept with my teacher. Again.
What would my mother say?
Worse, what would Aunt Melanie say?
I know better.
A wave of guilt washes over me, but it quickly subsides, replaced by a sense of contentment that I’ve never known before. His arm is draped over me, possessive and comforting at the same time.
“Angie,” he eventually murmurs against my skin.
“What?”
He rolls over in bed. “I have to go.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jason
For a moment, Angie looks at me like she’s going to say something but then seems to think better of it.
I move from the bed and dress as quickly as I can.
I’ve used her.
I’ve used her to sate my own desires, to escape from the troubles plaguing me.
I force myself not to look at her as I button my navy slacks. I know what I’ll see—confusion, hurt, maybe even a glimmer of understanding. But I can’t face it. Not right now. I’m not sure what’s more frightening—the fact that she might understand…or that she might not.
She remains silent as I button my shirt and put on my jacket. My chest aches with a dull throb of guilt and regret that intensifies with every passing second. But beneath the guilt, I feel relief. Relief that the fire burning inside me has been extinguished. At least for now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure why.
For using her? For leaving?
Or perhaps for everything?
No response. Did she even hear me?
Maybe not.
But the silence doesn’t fool me. I feel her gaze on my back.
It’s heavy, questioning. It’s tangible, almost physical, like a hand reaching out to stop me. But I’ve built walls around me for a reason. Walls that are meant to keep everyone out.
Without another word, I make my way toward her bedroom door, my heart pounding. I pause, hand on the doorknob.
From behind me, I hear her soft whisper. “Jason.”
I don’t turn around. I can’t.
“Would you like me to let your dog in?” I say, facing the door.
She pauses. “No. I can let her in. Thanks, though.”
Good enough for me. I leave her bedroom. Leave her home.
Leave her life.
I walk the few yards to my own townhome and enter, pull my phone out of my pocket, and call Peter.
“It’s Jason,” I say to his voicemail. “I’ll agree to the mental health assessment. I’ll do whatever I have to. I need this surgery, Pete. I need to cut again.”
Later, after I’ve had a pizza for dinner—along with a couple glasses of bourbon—my phone buzzes.
It’s Pete.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“I got your message. Dr. Steel can see you tomorrow.”
I wince at the name. “Does it have to be Dr. Steel?”
“She’s the best, and she came a long way to help us out. Her husband is quite ill, but she still made the time.”
Her husband? That’s Angie’s uncle, Jonah Steel. “What’s wrong with her husband?”
“Cancer. Glioblastoma.”
Fuck. That’s harsh. Usually a death sentence. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Apparently he’s responding well to experimental treatment. They’re cautiously optimistic.”
Experimental treatment? Oh, yeah? Did his hospital make him jump through mental-health hoops to get his experimental treatment? Fuck.
How do I tell him I may have a conflict with his choice of psychiatrist? That I happen to be fucking her niece, who is also my student?
Yeah.
Can’t very well say that.
“Do you have an issue with Dr. Steel?” Pete asks.
And again, I can’t really tell him.
“No,” I say.
“Then eleven a.m. tomorrow. Will that work for you?”
“On a Sunday?”
He clears his throat. “She doesn’t want to be away for any longer than she has to be. So yeah, tomorrow, if you can make it.”
I sigh. “Eleven, you said?”
“Yes,” he says. “You can use my office.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Jason?”
“What?”
“You sound a little off. Have you been drinking?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
He sighs into the phone. “Look, we all know what you’ve been through, Jace. We all—”
“Stop it. Just stop it.” My voice cracks slightly, but I steady it. “Until you lose a spouse and child and your ability to perform in your chosen career, don’t tell me you know what I’ve been through.”
He pauses a moment.
Then, “Fair enough.”
“Good. So we understand each other, then.”
“Jason, if you’ve been drinking, you need—”
“I’m not a fucking drunk, Peter. This isn’t a problem. I ordered a pizza and had some bourbon. It’s been a rough fucking day. Hell, it’s been a rough fucking three years. I’m entitled to have a drink if I want to.”
Then again, “Fair enough.”
“Tell Dr. Steel I’ll be there at eleven. How long will it take?”
“As long as she needs to make her assessment.”
“Fine.” I take a deep breath and sigh it out before continuing. “But I’ve been through therapy before, Pete. One hour didn’t do a damn thing. Hell, hours and hours didn’t do a damn thing. It certainly didn’t help my wife. I can’t believe you even had Dr. Morgan at that meeting today.”