with you and Chelsea together.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t Dr. Cordoba have family sessions with you?”
She shook her head, only realizing afterwards that he couldn’t see it. “No, although he mentioned wanting to try that further down the road.”
“I believe in getting the family involved as soon as possible, since you’ll be the one working with her once she’s discharged.”
Discharged. The most beautiful word Chelsea had heard in weeks. And Clint made it sound like a reality, rather than just a vague possibility. So he really was serious about doing everything he could to make sure treatment was successful.
A wave of gratitude came over her and a knot formed in her throat. “Thank you, Clint. For being willing to break the rules.”
Was she talking about with Chelsea? Or about their time together all those years ago.
“You’re welcome, Jess. For what it’s worth, I think Chelsea is very lucky to have you.”
Her next words came out before she was aware of them forming in her head. But she meant them with all her heart. “Ditto, Clint. I think Chelsea and I are the lucky ones.”
“I’ll call you.”
With that intimate-sounding promise, he said goodbye, and the phone clicked in her ear, telling her he’d hung up. She gripped the receiver as tightly as she could, all the while praying she was doing the right thing. She was about to allow Clint back into her orbit—someone who’d once carried her to the peak of ecstasy and then tossed her into the pit of despair without a second glance. But what choice did she have, really?
She firmed her shoulders. No, there was always a choice. She may have made the wrong one when she’d been on the cusp of womanhood, but she was smarter now. Stronger. She could—and would—keep her emotions in check. If not for her own sake, then for her daughter’s.
THE FIRST FAMILY counseling session was gearing up to be a royal disaster.
Jessi came sliding into Clint’s office thirty minutes late, out of breath, face flushed, wispy strands of hair escaping from her clip.
He swallowed back a rush of emotion. She’d looked just like this as she’d stood to her feet after they’d made love. He’d helped her brush her hair back into place, combing his fingers through the strands and wishing life could be different for him.
But it couldn’t. Not then. And not now.
“Sorry. We had an emergency at the hospital, and I had to stay and help.”
“No problem.” He stood. “I have another patient in a half hour, so we’ll need to make this a quick session.”
“Poor Chelsea. I feel awful. I’m off tomorrow, though, so I’ll come and spend the day with her.”
When they walked into Chelsea’s room, the first thing he noticed was that the lunch she’d been served an hour ago was still on a tray in front of her, untouched. At the sight of them, though, she seemed to perk up in her seat, shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth and making a great show of chewing.
Manipulating. He’d seen signs of it earlier when he’d tried to coax her to talk about things that didn’t involve the weather.
Her throat worked for a second with the food still pouched inside one cheek. She ended up having to wash the potatoes down with several gulps of water. She sat there, breathing as hard as her mother had been when she’d arrived a few moments ago.
“Enjoying your meal?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain blasé. So much for showing Jessi how good he was at his job.
As if this was even about him.
He ground his teeth as his frustration shifted to himself.
Chelsea shrugged. Another bite went in—albeit a much smaller one this time.
Not polite to talk with my mouth full, was the inference.
Well, she’d run out of the stuff eventually. And since she was pretty thin already, he was all for anything that would get food into her system. That was one of the comments on the sheet in her file. She didn’t eat much, unless someone wanted to interact with her in some way. The staff had taken to coming to her room and loitering around, straightening things and making small talk. It was a surefire way to get that fork moving from plate to mouth.
He decided to give her a little more time.
Jessi stood there, looking a little lost by her daughter’s lack of greeting. He sent her a nod of reassurance and motioned her to sit in one of the two nearby chairs and joined her.
“Let’s go ahead and get started, if that’s okay with you, Chelsea.”
Chew, chew, chew.
She moved on to her green beans without a word. Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, he’d go right along with it.
He turned to Jessi, sorry for what he was about to do, but if anything could break through her daughter’s wall it might be having to face some hard, unpleasant subjects. “Since Chelsea’s busy, why don’t you tell me what led her to being here.”
Right on cue, Jessi’s eyes widened. “You mean about the day I called …”
“Yes.”
Her throat moved a couple of times, swallowing, probably her way of either building up the courage to talk about the suicide attempt or to refuse.
“Well, I—I called Chelsea’s cell phone to let her know I was coming home early. It rang and rang before finally going over to voice mail. I was going to stop and pick up some Thai food—her favorite …” Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. “I decided to go straight home instead, so we could go out to eat together. When I got there … Wh-when I got to the house, I—”
“Stop.” Chelsea’s voice broke through, though she was still staring down, a green bean halfway to her mouth. “Don’t make her talk about it.”
Whether the young woman wanted to spare her mother’s feelings or her own, Clint wasn’t sure. “What would you like to discuss instead, then?”
There was a long pause. Then she said, “What you hope to accomplish by keeping me here.”
“It’s not about us, Chelsea. It’s about you.”
“Where’s Dr. Cordoba?” Her head finally came up, and her gaze settled on him.
“He went to work somewhere else.”
“Because of me.” The words came out as a whisper.
Clint shook his head. “No, of course not. He made the decision for personal reasons. It had nothing to do with you.”
Jessi’s
