Chased Dreams (8 page)

“Whoa, killer!” I teased, handing her my
crutches as I balanced on one leg. “Let me get my shirt off first.”
I grinned as I pulled it over my head, tossing it toward the
hamper. Immediately her hands were back on my shorts.

“Anxious to get things off?” I raised an
eyebrow at her.

She gave a small laugh. “Well, yes, if you
must know. Things have been a little . . . lonely . . . around
here, lately.”

I knew exactly what she meant. Before my
accident, Brittney and I had a very active life together. I knew I
missed it, but it wasn’t exactly like I was in a position to do the
things I used to either.

Smiling as I stared at her, heat began
moving through me. I hadn’t looked at her this way in a while and I
missed it. She continued to help me until I was undressed, kneeling
to slip the sleeve onto my leg and securing it there.

“All of a sudden I’m thinking maybe this
shouldn’t be a one way show,” I said, feeling more than a little
frisky. I winked at her as she stood up.

She appeared to contemplate things for a
moment, and then smiled as she slowly turned around and began
undressing.

Reaching for the shower knobs, I turned them
on, testing the water with my hands, but never removing my eyes
from her. When she was finished, she boosted herself up unto the
counter and gestured for me to come to her.

Quickly, I hopped over, pausing to run my
hands up her silky legs. Her gorgeous blonde hair hung thickly
behind her back. She was so beautiful.

Britt wrapped her legs around me, which
helped to stabilize me a bit, and I leaned against her.

“You sure can get to me easy,” I said with a
smirk, bending down to softly bite her bottom lip. She moaned and I
kissed her deeply, my hands tracing the curves of her body. Things
quickly intensified and I felt her nails digging into my back as
the two of us got lost in each other, kissing, touching, and
whispering.

The steam from the shower filled the room,
making the mirror fog over and heating our skin.

“You’re going to be late for your
appointment if we continue on this way,” Brittney breathed into my
ear before kissing my neck.

“I don’t care,” I replied whispering into
her hair. “Right now, spending time with my wife is more
important.” I wanted desperately to reestablish our connection. I
was tired of feeling like we were drifting apart. We needed this
time together.

I carefully untangled her legs from around
me, holding my hand out to her. “Come on. Let’s take a shower.”

She slipped her hand in mine, patiently
waiting for me to hop into the stream of water before she joined
me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly against me
and I kissed her again, as the heated liquid sluiced over our skin,
heightening the sensations between us even more.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” I
said between kisses, staring at her long eyelashes, now spiky and
wet. Small drops of water ran over her lips and her tongue darted
out to lick them away. “Thank you for all you do for me.”

She continued to stare at me seriously. “I’d
do anything for you, Chase. Anything.” A small sob escaped her and
she laid her head against my chest. “I’m so sorry for everything
that has happened to you.”

I stroked her hair and just held her
quietly, gently swaying back and forth. “Brittney,” I said breaking
the silence and she looked up. “For the next little while I don’t
want to think about anything but you and me. Can you do that?”

She lifted her head and nodded.

I bent to capture her lips once more.

Chapter Nine

Standing outside the glass building with its
thickly tinted black windows, I stared at my reflection in the
doors with Pima Therapists painted in gold lettering on them. I
scowled at the crutches that supported me, making me truly appear
like the invalid I felt I was.

Brittney stepped ahead of me to open the
door, only serving to make me more irritated.

“I feel like I’m at a damn funeral,” I said,
my eyes traveling over all the black glass again.

Brittney sighed heavily. “Suck it up. I know
you don’t want to be here, but please try to make the best out of
it—if not for yourself, then for me.” Her eyes were full of concern
and her voice had that slight begging tone she used whenever she
was nervous about me screwing things up.

“Okay, okay. I will, baby, I promise.”
Instantly I felt bad for not being more considerate of her
feelings—again. I wondered if she ever regretted marrying me. Our
life together certainly wasn’t turning out the way either of us had
planned.

I crutched my way past her into the building
and the two of us made our way over to where a pretty young
receptionist sat at the front desk, greeting us with a smile.

“Hello. I assume you’re Chase Walker?” she
asked brightly, her beautiful smile never breaking. I suppressed a
grin, imagining what she might look like at the age of sixty with a
face creased from smile lines.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied back in an
overly cheerful voice, in an attempt to please my wife.

“I’m not going to lie. I recognized you.” A
slight blush crossed her face and she glanced nervously toward
Brittney for a second before turning her attention back to me. “I’m
an ASU graduate. My boyfriend and I try to make it to all the home
games. We are big fans.”

I smiled and nodded, not sure what to say as
her gaze travelled sympathetically down to my injured leg. For the
first time, her smile faltered. She cleared her throat
uncomfortably, as if she were worried she’d hit on a bad
subject.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” she said,
suddenly all business, gesturing toward the waiting area. “Doc
Williamson will be out in a bit to get you.”

Doc?
I thought to myself as Brittney
and I headed over to some chairs.
The dude is a shrink, not a
doctor. He sure as hell better not expect me to call him
doc.

Dropping down next to Brittney, I took in
the décor of yet another waiting room. This one had stark white
walls and fake plants, along with a large flat screen, which was
off. It practically screamed asylum. The only thing that was
remotely relaxing about this place was the soft music playing
through speakers overhead, in the ceiling.

Brittney’s phone buzzed and I saw it was her
mom on caller ID. She answered it and I let my thoughts wander,
curious about how this appointment might go. The
doctor
was
probably some sixty-year-old man with crazy white hair and glasses
who’d had to find a wife through a mail order catalog. Then again,
maybe he didn’t have a wife. This place sure looked like it could
use a woman’s decorating touch.

Yeah, I really didn’t want to be here, which
was evident by my rising sarcasm. I wasn’t sure I believed in this
kind of therapy, but I knew Brittney was worried.

My thoughts were interrupted when the door
next to us swung open and an attractive, dark haired man stepped
out. I couldn’t help my chuckle. I was wrong about his looks, at
least.

“Chase?” he asked, with the same smile as
the girl at the front desk. It was kind of creepy. I began
wondering if large, fake smiles where part of the requirement to
work here. I hoped they didn’t think it was comforting. It
wasn’t.

“Right on, that’s me,” I replied, a shot of
nervousness passed through me and I glanced at Brittney. “See you
in a bit.”

“Good luck.” She mouthed back, giving me a
genuine smile of encouragement that made me love her even more.

Dr. Williamson held the door open for me as
I made my way through, then stepped in front of me. “Follow me,
please.”

I did as he asked, taking in some brightly
colored paintings lining the hall that were totally random. There
were no images in them, just splashes of paint. I briefly wondered
if some of their crazy patients had painted them. I’d never seen
anything quite like them. I really wasn’t feeling the décor of this
place, but if it worked for them, then so be it. Who was I to judge
their taste?

We stopped at a door with a brass nameplate
that read Edwin Williamson, Ph.D., and he opened it, gesturing for
me to go through before he closed it behind us.

I took in
Edwin’s
white office, since
that was how I was determined to think of him from now on. I still
wasn’t sold on him being a doctor. He was going to have to
prove
that part to me. I didn’t give a damn how many framed
certificates and licenses were on his wall and bookshelves. Even I
could make and print out something fake like that, and I was no
computer genius. Okay, maybe I was taking the sarcasm a bit far,
but I was serious when it came to him proving his skill. I’d heard
too many horror therapy stories to immediately trust some stranger
with my problems.

“Go ahead and sit down, Mr. Walker,” he
said, pointing to a large black leather sofa that faced a matching
chair. I briefly wondered if he expected me to lie on the thing,
before dismissing the idea as too cliché.

“Well, how does this start?” I asked, as he
took a seat across from me, picking up a pad of legal paper and pen
from the small end table to his right. My jaw clenched nervously
and I felt awkward as he locked eyes with me.

“Tell me about you,” he replied in a
matter-of-fact tone.

That was it? I’d known this guy all of two
minutes and he just expected me to start spilling my guts to him?
This was going to be hard for me. It usually took a lot for me to
open up to others. I held things pretty close to the vest.

A brief image of Brittney, with a hopeful
expression on her face as she asked me about getting therapy,
floated into my mind and I felt my stubborn resolve begin to
crumble.

I sighed. “I’m not one to tell my story
easily, but I’ve had some heartache in my life,” I spoke
honestly.

He chuckled. “A big, strong guy like
yourself is nursing a broken heart?”

His blasé demeanor immediately rankled my
senses. “Excuse me?” I said, clenching my fists, feeling my guard
go right back into overdrive.

“Oh, don’t let me get you upset. I was
merely joking,” he said, plastering that fake smile back on his
face. “I often find humor helps to relax the environment. It can
help loosen things up.”

“It’s not working,” I replied, staring him
down. The smile slid from his face and his bright blue eyes
suddenly flashed extreme discomfort before he glanced at his paper,
which still had nothing written on it.

I’d seen that look before, usually when I
zeroed in on a guy across the line on an opposing team. They knew I
was coming hard at them.

“Are you intimidated by me?” I asked,
squinting at
Edwin
as I picked out his nervous habits one by
one. Part of my skill on the field came from being overly observant
of those I was playing against. Suddenly, I felt as if I were in a
giant chess tournament with this guy.

“Mr. Walker, you’re here to
fix
your
problems, not to cause more,” he answered sternly.

Anger raged through me. “My
problems
?” I’d never been able to take people telling me I
had problems. My life had definitely not been any kind of cakewalk,
true, and I’d made some really bad choices on occasion, but I
wasn’t going to be lumped into the class of some mental case.

“Sir, I think you need to really choose your
words wisely. I came to you because I’m trying to find some comfort
in my life, but since the moment I arrived at this place I’ve only
felt uncomfortable.”

He dropped his pen and notepad to the table
beside him, gripping the edge with his hand. “Comfortable is a word
used for spas, Mr. Walker. This is a facility to get help,” he
replied, matter-of-factly. “Maybe you should attend some anger
management classes before you try therapy.”

My face grew hot as my pulse raced. “I don’t
need help, mister.” I climbed to my feet, balancing myself on one
leg as I raised myself to my full height. “But you might need a lot
of help if you continue on this way.” My fists clenched and I found
myself wishing I could punch this dick in the face.

The door suddenly swung open and a huge
burly man, twice my size, came in. I glanced to where Edwin’s hand
was gripping the table and realized there must be a call button
there. He’d called the friggin’ white coats! Rage boiled through
me.

“Do we have a problem?” The intruder asked
as he moved toward me.

“We’re about to,” I growled. Not one to back
down from a fight, I naturally took a step toward the newcomer.
White-hot pain shot clear through my leg and I collapsed to floor
the like the invalid I now was. Slamming my fist against the floor,
I cursed my weakness. I’d been overcome by the need to beat the
shit out of something or someone, and now I was writhing on the
ground in agony.

The doctor swiftly exited the room and I was
glad to be out of the presence of the stupid ass.

Rolling to my back, I stared at the
white-coated man looming over me. “Well, this is a first,” he said
in a totally harmless manner as he extended a hand toward me.

“What is?” I asked, confused.

“I’m usually the guy putting people on the
floor, not helping them up.” He chuckled, and I let my ardor cool
as I realized he was honestly trying to be helpful. I took his
hand, trusting him. He’d only been doing his job. There was no
reason for me to be angry with him.

“Thank you,” I mumbled after he helped me to
my feet and got me situated back on my crutches. Humiliation washed
through me. I hated feeling like this.

I found Brittney waiting for me in the
hallway, her mouth drawn into a tight line, leading me to assume
that the doctor must’ve spoken briefly with her. She didn’t say a
word as we were kindly escorted from the building, the once smiling
receptionist refusing to even make eye contact with me now.