Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) (21 page)

“Morning, Pops.” My words come out after a big yawn. “Look I forgot to explain everything over the email—it was late. This girl has some kick-ass degrees that include some counseling shit. She needs more hours before getting her counseling license. Whatever that means. Thea says she needs someone to supervise those hours before she can work.” That should be some lingo only counselors understand. Which is why I didn’t ask more about it and believe Pops would know right away. “As she can’t use her degree, right now she’s working at Reed’s, and she’s going to work with me on a project.”

“What kind of project?” I can almost see the knowing and hugely aggravating smirk on my dad’s face. Ugh, of course he’s asking that, and I have no answer for him. Why the hell does he call when I’m only half awake? “Are you sleeping with her?”

“Dude, I never mix pleasure with business.” The butterfly wouldn’t be a casual fuck, so I don't explain further.

“I’m not a dude, Matt. I’m trying to figure this out, Son.” The line goes silent and I double-check that he didn't leave me hanging.

“What’s wrong, Pops?”

His loud sigh comes through the line. “Your father is adjusting to having his parents close by, and I’m trying to hire counselors for the practice . . .” He pauses. I hear a few doors opening and closing and finally he continues. “Maybe retiring wasn’t exactly what your father should’ve done. Gabe needs a hobby.”

I scratch my throat as I head to the kitchen for coffee. Unfortunately there’s nothing in the pot. I forgot to set it to automatic brewing.

“If he needs something to do, I can find him a script or two to read over,” I say, searching for the filters to make a fresh pot of coffee. “Maybe we can do a project together. That should keep him in semi-retirement, but busy.”

“That sounds nice, but only if you have time. I don’t want you to overdo it, Mattie,” he warns, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll call this girl and give you an update. Try to visit more often. I miss you, boy. Don’t forget Sunday dinner is at home this weekend.”

“Miss you too, Pops.”

I hate when he’s overbearing, yet I love it too. Pops is one of the reasons why I’m capable of overcoming shit. He always believes in me, even when he hates that I can’t make up my mind and sometimes can’t finish what I start. I’m passionate about a lot of shit, but the problem is, the passion often disappears too soon. Either because it dies down, or because I find something much better to put my heart into. My family and music are the only two passions I’ll never get tired of, that fill my heart. It does worry me that I’m a fucked-up case who might never accomplish anything, but as long as my parents love me, miss me, and know who I am, I’m not alone and I can continue my journey to find my real call.

A
s I finish mailing my jewelry orders and change in case Reed needs help, my phone rings.

“Everything okay, Reed?” I answer.

“Hey, T. I am wondering if you have a few minutes.”

I’m a fatalist by nature, and even when I work daily on having positive thoughts, his words freeze my entire body. Is he going to fire me?

“Umm, yeah, is everything okay?” I ask, as I step outside into a typically drizzly afternoon in Seattle and walk a few steps toward the bar.
Of course everything is okay. Don’t be such a downer, Thea. He needs you, there’s no way he’s going to fire you. Losing a supervisor doesn’t mean that you ran out of luck.
“I mean, yes. As a matter of fact, I’m the one ringing the back door.”

“Great! I have someone to introduce you to.”

The door swings open, interrupting my brooding thoughts. Reed moves aside for me to enter and right in the hallway I spot a tall man who is watching me. His greyish hair is combed back, and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that enhances his green eyes. The man finally smiles at me. That smirk looks familiar, but before I can place it, he extends his hand. “Christian Colthurst-Decker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I stare at the hand, but my brain is paralyzed along with my upper limbs. This is the man my father talked about through my entire childhood. The guy who stole everything from him, including his happiness. For a long time I believed that tale, until I learned that my parents are takers and believe they’re entitled to everything.

“He might have the name of a rock star, T, but he’s a simple man,” Reed says, giving a gentle squeeze to my left shoulder.

“Thea Dennis.” I finally find my voice and the strength to meet his hand. “Nice meeting you, sir.”

“Sir?” He shivers. “I’m not that old, am I?” He tilts his bushy eyebrows waiting for me to respond, smirk in place.

“No, of course not, Mr. Decker.”

“Sweetheart, no need to be so formal. Call me Chris,” he corrects, starting to walk toward the main door and indicating with his hand to follow. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

Chris takes a seat by the far left corner table where he has a pad, a pen, and a bottle of water. He points at the chair in front of the one he’s sitting in and instead of sliding in, I look around, searching for Reed. But he’s nowhere to be found. I take a deep breath before slipping into my seat.

“I got this earlier today.” He hands me my own résumé and I wonder why Matt gave it to his father. “At first I wasn’t sure why my son sent it over. When I talked to him, he said you’re working toward your counseling license.” I nod. “How many hours do you have left to fulfill?”

“Fifty-three. I passed my test already, but it’s hard to find . . .” I drop my gaze to the table, tracing each letter typed on the white paper while making up my mind about letting him know my background. Then I lift my head and frown. “No offense, but why would this matter to you?”

His lazy smile never leaves his lips, but his gaze narrows. Without a word he pulls out a business card.

Dr. Christian A. Colthurst-Decker. PhD. Psychologist/ Counselor.

I make sure to tighten my bite before my jaw drops. I had no idea this man was a doctor like me.

“I’m opening a counseling practice, and I could use someone who specializes in addictions. However, I can’t have an unlicensed therapist,” he says, motioning toward my résumé. “Reed says great things about your character. He vouches for you, and believes I should give you a chance. Do you have a supervisor for the hours you’re missing?”

I shake my head. “Every time I find a supervisor, they end up hating my style, or saying they can’t jeopardize their license because of me.”

“What exactly is it that you do to jeopardize their license?”

“The way I find a counselor is through a teacher, or a classmate. The last one was through a church where I volunteered on Sundays. The wife of the deacon thought I’d be great helping foster children. I explained my issue to her and she found a doctor who helped me for about fifty hours. But, he found out I worked at a bar . . .” I trail off, shaking my head.

“What was the problem?”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic and an addict,” I whisper, closing my eyes for a couple of beats. “I guess he couldn’t believe I was clean when I handle alcohol for a living.”

Chris assesses me closely. “How many days?”

“Eighteen hundred seventy-one.” My voice quivers. I’m afraid it’s not long enough for him.

“How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-seven.” I hope he doesn’t ask me when I started. Because that’s just the opening for him to leave.

“I was still deep in shit at your age.” There’s a nostalgic tone attached to his words. “Alcohol mostly. Thea, your specialty fits, but I’m concerned about your experience and the state license.” My body slumps and my heart slows down as I wait for him to tell me more. Maybe he won’t hire me, but he might have suggestions. “Would you be willing to work as a receptionist while working toward your license?”

Is he serious? A receptionist. I’d do that and more. For the past few years I’ve taken orders from drunks, cleaned vomit, let men pinch my ass, and more. Why wouldn’t I accept to answer phones and tell people to wait for their turn? His phone buzzes. He checks it and clenches his jaw.

“I have to go.” He rises from his seat. “I hope you’ll consider accepting the position as a receptionist and stay committed to becoming a full-time counselor. We’ll work it out. I’ll supervise you until you have enough hours to apply for your license.”

I want to jump out of my seat, hug the man, and maybe dance around the bar, but I don’t. I stand up and use my calm voice. “Of course, I accept and I will do my best. You won’t regret it.”

“Perfect. I'll email you the details and a list of documents I need,” he says touching the screen of his phone. “Sorry. I really have to leave, but we’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, sir. You won't regret this, I swear,” I repeat waving as he heads to the back door.

Reed crosses the threshold toward the bar several minutes later and smiles at me as he opens his arms. “You got it. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

I smile broadly, my heart is lighter, and my shoulders loosen. I propel myself toward Reed and give him a hug. “Thank you, thank you, for vouching for me.” I know this was Matt’s doing, but Reed recommended me for the job too.

“I’m glad it worked out, T. You’re a great bartender, but I’d rather see you soar on something you’re passionate about.”

“I’ll still work for you,” I offer, because I don’t want to leave what is familiar. “Even if it’s only during weekends.”

“We’ll see about that, T. For now, let’s take it one day at a time.”

That’s easy. The story of my life for the past five years.

One day at a time.