Road to Recovery (15 page)

Every therapy session she finished was
one step closer to the last one. She was almost done, only a few
more. One week left. Cursing her bad luck, she almost made it
through without anyone other than Cori knowing.

Brooke thought she was so smart
scheduling them close to her lunch hour, or saying she had a
meeting. No one ever thought anything of her leaving the office
with her large bag that she had stuffed her gym clothes into. Not
that it was anyone’s business, but she didn’t want to talk about
it. Just do it. End of story.

And now she was going to be forced to
talk about it. But there was only so much she would say—or feel. Or
allow herself to feel again.

She left the front door unlocked for
him, knew he was only moments behind. The tension of her
would-be-conversation with Lucas was causing muscle fatigue in her
back. Trying not to limp, she walked to her closet to change out of
her work clothes and get more comfortable.

Lucas walked into her closet when she
was pulling her shirt over her head. She dropped it back down, then
deciding that offense was the best course of action, she started,
hoping that it gave her a bit more control over the situation. “I’m
sorry I didn’t tell you. It actually didn’t even cross my mind.”
She fibbed, but then added the truth. “I followed up with a new
doctor and she wanted me to have a few therapy sessions to make
sure I was where I said in my recovery. A few more and I should be
done. I’m fine.”

“
You’re fine? That is all
you have to say?” he asked, a shocked expression on his
face.

“
Yes, I’m recovering well.
You can see that. The doctor wanted to see that for
herself.”

She could see he was
frustrated but didn’t understand why. Agitated, he raked his hands
through his hair. “Yeah, I can see you’re fine, physically. And
when you aren’t. Not that you would ever say anything about it,
because you
never
talk about it. Ever. You never talk much about yourself, at
all. Nothing personal, nothing that ever matters.”

He paused and saw her head tilt to the
side, her brows come together. “What? Conversation not going the
way you thought it would in your mind?” He started to pace, until
he seemed to realize they were in her closet and
stopped.

“
You can’t plan it all out,
Brooke. You don’t get it, do you? Why didn’t you tell me? Because
you thought I would pity you? Do you think I’m that naive? I think
I know you well enough by now to know that’s the last thing you’d
ever want from anyone. You don’t want help and you don’t want
anyone to be concerned about you, least of all me. The man you’ve
been involved with for almost a month now.”

“
That’s right, a month. I
don’t know why that means I have to tell you everything that I have
going on in my life.” She winced as soon as it came out of her
mouth and saw his reaction.

“
Are you kidding me? Now who
is being naive? Do you not see how I feel about you? Maybe I’m
wrong. Maybe you don’t feel the same way. But I guess I expected a
little bit more respect than you would give a friend.”

She stood still, no expression on her
face, no emotions all at, frozen. She didn’t know what to do, what
to say. This wasn’t going anything at all like she thought. She
wasn’t prepared for this.

He sighed, dropped his shoulders.
“Let’s start over. Brooke, I care about you. That doesn’t mean I
pity you. It means that I’m concerned about you. I don’t want to
see you in pain. I want to help you, if I can.”

He held his hand up when she started to
protest. “I’m not only talking about physical pain. Open up to me.
I’m not trying to control you, or change you for that matter. I
want you to let me in. Just a little. Don’t you have anything to
say?” he asked, while she stood there continuing to stare at
him.

She was mentally fighting with herself,
wishing she knew the right thing to say. She lowered her head in
defeat. “What do you want from me? I am who I am.”

“
I want you to talk to me.
Why is it so hard to share parts of yourself? You know so much
about me, but I hardly know anything about you. Nothing personal,
at least.” He reached for her hand, which she allowed him to take.
“Let’s go sit and talk, please.”

She followed him into the
living room where she sat on the couch, drew her legs under her,
and turned to face him. “I don’t know what to say,” she repeated
again. “I don’t know what I
should
say.”

“
That’s your problem. Don’t
think about it. Just say what’s on your mind. Do you know, I’ve
never known anyone who thinks as much as you. Not everything has to
be thought through. Haven’t you ever said what was on the tip of
your tongue? Ever? Regardless of the consequences?”

She laughed humorlessly and shook her
head. “Not that I can remember.”

“
Why is that? Have you ever
thought of that? Stupid question, I know you have. So be honest,
why are you so controlled about everything? Why does everything
have to be thought through so much before you speak? Before you
act?”

Reaching out, he laid his hand across
her tightly clenched fists. “Your knuckles are white. I don’t get
it. What’s going on, Brooke?”

Not even realizing what she was doing,
she opened her hand under his. Maybe it was the feeling of his
strong hand on hers, or maybe it was the fact that he looked and
acted like he really did care. Like he cared about what she was
thinking and feeling, rather than telling her how she should think
and feel. Or maybe she was too tired to fight anymore. “Yes, I’ve
thought of why I’m that way. Plenty. I’ve never voiced it out loud,
but I’ve thought of it often enough.”

“
Then tell me. Why can’t
you? Do you think I’ll be mad? Do you think I’ll think differently
of you if you weren’t always so controlled? If you don’t always do
and say the right things? Brooke.” He paused, squeezed her hand.
“I’m not going to think any differently of you if you lost control
once in awhile.”

He shifted closer to her. “The only
time you ever lose any bit of control is in the bedroom, even then
you regain it back quickly and shut back down again. Back to the
person you think I want you to be. You want me to say it—it’s sexy
as hell when you lose control. I know you can do it. I don’t know
why it hardly ever happens.”

“
There is a time and place
for everything,” she said automatically.

“
That is a practiced
response. I want the truth and I want you to tell me why you feel
that way. If you can’t give me that, Brooke, then we are wasting
our time here.”

His tired eyes looked into hers.
Desperation made her inhale deeply. The fear of losing him made her
close her eyes, as she blurted out, “It wasn’t allowed.”

He squeezed her hand tighter. “What
wasn’t allowed? Honesty? Speaking your mind? What?”

With her eyes still closed, she laid
her head on the back of the couch and let the words tumble out—the
words that always danced around in her head, but never were voiced.
Or allowed to be voiced. “My mother worked very hard to raise the
perfect family. She was the perfect trophy wife. Everything was
done with a purpose. That purpose was to give my father an easy
life. A life he would want to come home to at the end of the day. A
family my father would be proud of. Letting the world know he had
it all. Successful career, a beautiful wife that doted on him,
well-raised responsible children. It was all about pleasing him.
She took pride in it. I think she found more enjoyment in it than
he did. He never asked for those things that I saw, but she did
them for him. It gave her a purpose. One she thought I should
share.”

She took a deep breath and paused,
waiting for Lucas to respond. When he didn’t show any signs of
interrupting, she continued. “My father is Dr. Richard Malone. You
might have heard of him?” she asked. She opened her eyes and looked
over at Lucas, saw the recognition on his face. His next words
confirmed it.

“
The cardiologist at
Fletcher Allen? Who is overseeing all the clinical trials?” At her
nod, he said, “I’m pretty sure he guest lectured here once, though
I didn’t meet him.”

“
I’m sure he’s been here,
along with plenty of other hospitals and universities around the
world. He travels quite a bit, guest lectures, and
trains.”

She found it was easier to talk as long
as she didn’t look at Lucas. A psychologist would have a field day
with her, but she pushed that thought from her mind. She closed her
eyes again. “My mother never worked a day in her life. She was well
educated, but she stayed home, played the doting housewife and
mother. That’s what a perfect wife was in her eyes. He wasn’t home
very much, obviously. Her job was to take care of him when he was
there, old-fashioned thinking on her part. And raise us, my brother
and me, to be well behaved and respectful in the presence of
others.”

She shifted a bit on the couch. “My
brother, Mac, is four years older than I. He has no problem
expressing himself. He loves everything about life. He’s a
pediatrician, loves kids, and has more patience than a saint. All
hugs and kisses with Mac.”

A small smile formed. “He always wanted
to cuddle as a child,” she remembered fondly. “But my mother always
said it wasn’t polite and for him to keep his hands to himself. All
he ever wanted was a hug, but it wasn’t ‘appropriate’ she would
tell him. Never appropriate to express your emotions.”

She shook her head, pressed on. “He
never seemed fazed by her rejection. He would go off and hug and
cuddle with the nanny when he was younger, who was more than
willing to reciprocate.”

Without thought she threaded her
fingers through his, grateful he was letting her talk without
interruptions or questions.

“
Let’s be honest, Mac was
normal. Don’t all kids want to cuddle with a parent? But all I saw
was rejection, which made me think he wasn’t the normal one. So I
acted more like my mother. Since she repeatedly told him it wasn’t
appropriate, I expected some type of praise for behaving correctly,
but it never happened. By the time I realized Mac was the normal
one after all, I had become the person I am. I had spent most of my
life trying to control everything, and every emotion. Being
perfect. I’ve been this way for so long, it’s hard to let go. The
one time I tried to loosen up a bit didn’t go over so well, so I
went back to the way I was.”

Opening her eyes, she turned to look at
him and saw his face soften. “Was that so hard to say?” he asked
her.

With a slight smile, not quite reaching
her eyes, she blew out a breath. “You have no clue. I feel like an
idiot even saying it out loud. Which is probably why I never did
before. It’s classic, you know? Mommy didn’t show us she loved us
enough, so one child acts one way, and the other the opposite. In
the end neither of us was given what we were looking for.” She
leaned toward him.

He placed his arm around her, tugged
her head onto his shoulder. “Don’t feel like an idiot. No one has a
perfect life, and no one is perfect. Don’t ever be afraid to open
up with me. And if you ever want a hug, please, come and take it.”
He grinned and held her close. “I personally like it.”

It felt good to be held like that,
almost too good. She was in dangerous territory. She needed to pull
back a little. “Our first fight,” she said with a laugh. “Not too
bad, all and all.”

“
Oh, baby, this wasn’t a
fight.” He returned her laugh.

“
Oh really, then what was
it?”

“
A difference of opinion.”
He pulled her closed and placed a kiss on her forehead.

***

Exactly one week later, Brooke was
tucking her ivory silk shirt into the waistband of her tan skirt.
With a final tug on the zipper, she slipped on her coral and ivory
patterned heels, stuffed her gym clothes back in her bag, and
walked out of her last physical therapy session. Glancing at her
watch, she realized she still had fifteen minutes before she had to
meet with Lucas in his office.

It was just enough time to bring her
bag back to her office, but not enough to grab a bite to
eat.

She wasn’t sure what this meeting was
all about. She had left the weekly staff meeting hours before. When
she was gathering her papers, he asked if they could meet again at
one o’clock. She had nodded but didn’t have time to question him as
to why because she had a conference call scheduled and was already
running late.

“
Hi, Brooke. Lucas is
expecting you. You can go right in,” Rhonda stated, glancing up
from her computer. Before Brooke could reply, Rhonda was right back
to typing without missing a beat.

Brooke knocked once and then opened the
door wide. “Hi.” She stopped when she noticed he wasn’t sitting at
his desk. Walking into the room further, she saw him at the small
conference table off to the side, opening containers of food and
pulling plates out of a brown bag. “What’s all this?”

“
Celebration lunch.” He
looked up, grinned, set the rest of the food out. “Last therapy
session today, right?”

Speechless for once, she walked forward
to see what he had to offer. Grilled chicken salad, most likely for
her, and a roast beef sandwich with a side of chips, plus two
bottles of water.