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“At the beginning usually works.”
He laughed. A foreign concept. Sage had always known how to tap into his unspoken needs, not that he’d let her know. Remarkably, she’d retained the same sense of humor, and it still worked on him. “It does. But it’s not easy talking about emotions, experiences, especially when people can’t relate.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand what you’ve been through, but I can be a sounding board. I can make suggestions based on what you say. Honesty is the key here.
“Whatever you decide to divulge will direct where I go with it. The more guarded you are, the less I can help. The more information I have, the more accurate the picture and hence the better the recommendations I can give. Does that make sense?”
Fuck yeah. He’d never realized how much cleverness turned him on. “Absolutely.”
The sad truth? Alexander had never given his heart to anyone. Sure, he’d had a few fucks, but nothing of substance—more as stress relief. And yeah, that sounded heartless, however, he’d made sure his partners felt the same.
Fuck and go. Purely a physical, no-strings-attached release. Until he got his head in order, he shouldn’t commit to anyone. Should he? Because he fucking wanted Sage more than his next breath.
She placed her empty cup on the coffee table and pinned him with a firm yet supportive stare. “I know you want to feel at ease, but to work through this stuff, you need to make yourself vulnerable, uncomfortable. You need to be open to questioning and confronting your thinking.”
He placed his cup beside hers. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Because therapy is not going to be about catering to your wants. It’ll focus on what you individually need to move forward. It’ll challenge you to explore where you’re getting stuck.”
“I figured. I have nightmares, flashbacks. Can you help me?”
She sucked in a deep breath, her eyes refocusing on his. “I want to. I really do.” He sensed a but.
“Except?”
“I know you. My recommendation is for you to speak to someone unbiased, someone who doesn’t have any emotional attachments or connections, someone who will push and encourage you without conflict.” He had to give her that. No cowardice, just total truth.
“So what are you saying? Do you have an emotional attachment to me, an emotional connection?”
Her cheeks flushed ambulance-siren red, obvious even with her olive skin. What did that mean? Did she have feelings for him or had he misinterpreted, exposed some other inner vulnerability…or did she feel guilty about not being able to help? “Of course I do. You’re best friends with my brother. I’ve known you for a long time.”
“No, you haven’t. You knew me when we were still teenagers. We’ve spent the past fifteen years apart. Lots can happen.”
She nodded. “True. But it doesn’t change the fact that it makes more sense to have therapy with someone else—someone who doesn’t know you personally, someone objective.”
Hurt and rejection surged through his veins like poison. The military had abandoned him and now she was, too. He’d wanted to speak to her, someone he trusted, get to know her better…
Sage stood and carried their cups to the sink. “I should go. Think about what I said. I know it’s hard to have faith in a stranger, however, you need someone who can neutrally review your case, your thoughts, and steer you in the right direction.”
He blocked her escape to his front door. “But I trust you.”
“Thanks. The problem is anything I say could be compromised.” Her beautiful eyes met his, full of sincerity. “I’ve always wanted the best for you, Alexander. I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ve only ever wished you happiness—and that means referring you on.”
So considerate. Always sweet and thoughtful and bloody exasperating. He glanced at her plump lips, the desire to kiss her almost overwhelming.
Utilizing every ounce of superhuman effort, he held back. The circumstances weren’t right. He needed to prove to her he could re-establish himself, be a reliable support, someone who she could be interested in, believe in, respect, someone who had prospects. Because she entranced him, always had. “Okay, I value your opinion. Do it.”
“Really?” She looked at him as though she hadn’t expected his easy acquiescence.
“Yeah. I trust your professional judgment.”
She smiled and bit her bottom lip.
“Can you stay for dinner?” How the fuck had that slipped out? What had happened to his brain filter, his ability to discern and inhibit information? Did his fucked-up head play a part? Had his primal need to connect with a woman, with Sage, overridden his rational thinking?
