If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(38)

“Hey,” I answer, adjusting my erection. “Good morning.”

I smile into the phone because I can’t help it. This girl makes me smile like an idiot.

“I was just calling to remind you of the therapist appointment this morning,” she tells me. “I figured you’d forget. Or change your mind.”

Pause.

Fuck.

She’s right. I don’t want to go. But I’m willing to go for two reasons. One) I want to stop dreaming about my mother because it’s freaking me the f*ck out. And two) I think it will help put Mila at ease. I know she’s struggling with the idea of dating me. She thinks I’m going to stomp on her heart. To be completely honest, I’m afraid I accidentally will. So off to therapy I go. I can do this. I’m no *.

“Whatever,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “Oh, ye of little faith. I haven’t forgotten. I’m all showered and everything.”

She laughs.

“Oh, really? You mean you aren’t standing at the windows with bedhead and in your underwear? And eating a slice of pizza?”

Startled, I look down and find Mila standing in my driveway. She holds up a white paper bag and grins.

“I brought you doughnuts,” she says into the phone. “Come answer your door.”

I shake my head, but honestly, I’m happy she’s here. Fucking ecstatic, actually. I had been disappointed when she didn’t want to sleep over last night, curled up on my couch with me. She was afraid that she couldn’t trust herself not to move too fast.

This might make me a *, but she’s been the first thing I’ve thought of every morning this week when I woke up. And she’s the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

I try not to break my neck as I hurry to the door and open it. Before Mila can even say a word, I grab her and kiss her hard, smashing her against my chest. I hear the crinkle of a paper bag as we smash it between us. Her arms come up and wrap around me, pulling me closer. She smells like flowers and vanilla. And winter.

“I missed you,” she murmurs against my neck. She’s cold from the outdoors and I pull her inside.

“You just saw me last night,” I remind her as I nibble at her lip. She smiles against me and I add, “But I missed you too.”

I really did.

And that scares the shit out of me.

But of course I don’t say that. Instead, I just pull her into my kitchen where we eat smashed doughnuts, perched atop breakfast bar stools.

Mila eyes hers. “I guess it still tastes the same,” she shrugs. “Even though you flattened it.”

She raises an eyebrow and takes a huge bite of her chocolate drizzled roll. She licks her finger, which causes my gut to clench.

“What time was my appointment?” I ask, looking away from her tongue and glancing at the clock.

“It’s in thirty minutes,” she tells me. “Dr. Nate Tyler. He’s in town. I texted you the address.”

I nod. “I’ve still got it. Don’t worry. I’m going to jump in the shower and then I’m out of here.”

She stares at me. “I really just wanted to tell you good luck. And that I’m proud of you for doing this. I know you don’t like to talk about personal stuff.”

“You got that right, sister,” I mutter as I swing around on my stool. I drop a kiss on her cheek. “I’ve got to get moving if I don’t want to be late. Want to join me?”

She grins wickedly. “I would. If we were two months further into our relationship.” She shrugs. “But as it is… no.”

I raise an eyebrow. “So you can paint naked in front of me, but you can’t shower with me?”

She slugs me lightly on the arm, rolling her eyes. “Now you’re getting it.”

I smile. “Good. I’m just trying to get all of these dating rules down. It’s sort of complicated. Confusing, really.”

Mila grins, wide and beatific. “It’s not that hard. I still like to look, even if I’m not ready to touch yet. But good things come to those who wait, mister.”

I shake my head and start off for my bedroom. “I hope so,” I call over my shoulder. “My hand’s getting tired.”

I can still hear her laughing as I step into the shower and let the water beat down on me. I was only partially joking. My hand is getting tired. But that doesn’t stop me from using it.

********

“Tell me about your drug use,” Dr. Tyler instructs me. He is using the calm monotone that I always think of psychiatrists using. The one that says, If I talk slowly and quietly enough, I’ll keep the psychos at bay.

I shift my weight from one hip to the other in an ugly-as-f*ck blue plaid chair. The doctor is older, graying at his temples and he’s wearing reading glasses even though he isn’t reading. I sigh. I really don’t want to be here. I feel like a bug under a microscope and the dark paneling of this doctor’s study seems to be closing in on me.

“My drug use isn’t the problem,” I tell him. “The dreams that I’ve been having are my problem. They’re f*cked up. I’m sorry,” I quickly correct. “They’re messed up.”

Dr. Tyler smiles a bit as he makes some sort of note on his notepad.

“Why do you think your dreams are messed up?” he probes, his dark eyes assessing me. “Have you ever dreamt them before?”