Into the Tide (Cottonwood Cove #1)(81)

The one thing I knew I shouldn’t put on the list because accomplishing it wouldn’t help anyone, including me.

But I couldn’t stop myself.

#13. Tell Hugh Reynolds that I love him. Not a friendship kind of love. That I-can’t-live-without-you, people-write-poetry-about kind of love. The real deal.

Because when I wasn’t with Hugh, I missed him.

When we were at Reynolds’ together, and he was down in his office and I was upstairs, I missed him.

And thinking about leaving him made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.

I wrote it down and tucked my notebook back into my nightstand. I wasn’t going to act on it. Hell, he’d probably freak out. Our relationship was a secret because he cared more about what my brother thought than he cared about what was happening between us.

And that was the great reminder to keep my head on straight and just enjoy it while it lasted, because we were just having fun.

Falling in love with him was what he’d feared would happen, right? He didn’t want any of this, and I’d pushed for it. I knew he enjoyed spending his summer with me because he always wanted me with him, texting and calling when I’d leave the restaurant to do an errand. But maybe this was me reading into things. Hugh was my first love and the first man I’d had sex with. I was probably feeling all these things because I was mixing up sex and love. They weren’t the same. Hugh enjoyed having sex with me. And sure, he loved me like a friend, but that was not how I loved him.

I shook it off because I was just thinking too much lately. Time was closing in on me, and it was forcing all these feelings to the surface. I grabbed my keys and headed to my car. Hugh was already at the restaurant this morning, but I had a therapy session with his mother, and then I was driving out to pick up my father from rehab. He’d completed the in-house portion of the program in six weeks and seemed like a new man. Today was a big day for him. He’d be coming home. He’d continue to attend meetings and follow the program, but he would be doing it from his own home.

I parked in the lot beside Alana’s office and popped in next door at Cup of Cove to get us each an iced tea and a pastry, like I did each time I met with her. It was the least I could do as she’d insisted I keep coming back while I was home, not to mention the endless Sunday night dinners I’d attended every week since I’d been in Cottonwood.

“Ah… thank you for this. I was craving a scone this morning, and you somehow read my mind,” Alana said, taking the drink and the little white bag from me after I walked in.

I sat down in the chair across from her and set my iced tea and scone on the little side table.

“Of course. Thanks for always making time for me.”

“Honey, I will always make time for you.” She smiled and pulled out her notebook. “Talking to you has been so refreshing for me. The way you’re so open to trying things and delving into your feelings. You’re a therapist’s dream.” She chuckled.

I laughed. We talked about everything, outside of my feelings for her son. She knew I was seeing someone, and she said she didn’t need to know who it was. I’d just said that I was happy. That we were having a lot of fun. But mostly, we talked about my dad and my brother and all the tension that lived between them.

“Well, it’s been so amazing getting to spend this time with you.”

She smiled, staring at me for a long moment and nodding. “So, today is a big day. But first, I want to talk about what happened this past weekend. Travis went to the final family session, right?” she asked.

I’d seen Alana on Sunday night at dinner, and she never brought up anything outside of this office that we talked about here. She’d made it known that I could call her night or day if I needed to talk, but that she would never put me in an uncomfortable position and ask anything when we weren’t in a session.

“Yep. It was pretty amazing,” I said with a long sigh as I clasped my hands together. “My father talked about the guilt he carried around my mother’s accident. About his years of numbing himself anyway he could. And Travis didn’t blow up. He just listened.”

“Wow. That’s progress. Did he tell your father how he felt? About all that bottled-up anger?”

“Yes. And it was painful. Reliving that time when we were separated for those few weeks, the anger he felt about having to grow up way too fast, about taking on a paternal role with me and how my father allowed it.” I swiped at the single tear coming down my cheek. I’d learned this summer that you can’t bury things that you don’t want to think about. And even though it’s painful to unpack it all, it’s necessary. It’s the only way to get past it.

“That couldn’t have been easy to hear for either of you,” she said.

“I was actually relieved to have him finally say it because he’s so damn angry all the time. And I don’t want that for him. He has a new baby coming in a few months; he should be focusing on the joy in his life. So, letting it all out seemed like it helped. I could physically see his shoulders relax after he’d said it. And Dad listened, and he cried, and he apologized. He said he’d lost his wife, and he’d been broken. He made it clear that it wasn’t an excuse, but it was the truth.” I sniffed a few times, and she handed me some tissue, and I didn’t miss the way she dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue of her own.