The Fallout (The Therapist #3) - W.S. Greer Page 0,23

can.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dr. Colson.”

“All good. I can open the schedule up on the computer in my office for now. It’s cool, but when you leave for lunch from now on, let’s make sure the door is locked, okay? People are shady, even if only given a less-than-ten-minute window. I’m not saying someone came in and sabotaged your computer while you were out getting food, I’m just saying. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re right. My mistake. It won't happen again.”

“No worries, Keisha, I got you,” I reply with a smile as I walk around the desk and head for my office once again.

“Since my computer is down and I can't put it on your schedule, I guess I can tell you in person. There’s been a slight change to your evening session with the Lanes,” Keisha says before I touch the door handle again. I spin around.

“They cancel?” I wonder aloud.

“Well, sort of,” Keisha says. “Mrs. Lane has decided not to come. You’ll only be in session with Eli. He called this morning and asked if it was okay with you, or would he need to reschedule once his wife is available?”

“Did he say Demi wasn't available, or just that she wasn't coming?”

Keisha pinches her lips together before answering. “He didn't give a reason why she wouldn't be here, just that she wouldn't. I hate to be presumptuous, but he didn't sound very happy about it.”

A million thoughts explode in my mind and fly around like a gaggle of butterflies. The Lanes are a couple on shaky ground, and from the sound of it, the ground may have started to give way.

“Okay,” I say, finally pushing the door open to my office. “Tell Eli he's good to come alone.”

13

~ Malcolm ~

When Eli Lane steps into my office, he doesn't look the way he did when I first met him. He’s humbled this evening, and carries the look of a man who’s been trudging through a severe rough patch in his life. His eyes have dark bags under them and are bloodshot, as if he’s been staying up late every night since our first session. He’s not dressed in anything fancy today, opting to go with a plain white T-shirt from Del U, and dark blue jeans. Everything about him seems to be off kilter. His world has been rocked off its axis, and he’s beaten up and bruised. He crashes down on my couch like he just walked here after being pulled off the battlefield, landing with a heavy plop on the cushions

“Rough week?” I ask, taking my seat in the armchair across from Eli.

“You could say that,” he says as he repositions himself on the couch. Eli turns to the side and lays back, making a bed for himself. He takes the pillow and stuffs it under his head as he puts his ankles on the armrest and lets his feet dangle off the side of the couch.

“Comfortable?” I ask, only slightly annoyed by Eli’s adjustment.

“No. Never,” he answers, and I believe him right now. I write his response in my yellow notepad and wait for him to continue. “I think it’s over. It’s fucking over, Dr. Colson. I don't even know why I’m here. It’s done.”

I pause to write everything down before responding. “Well, I think your being here signifies that you haven't given up, at least. You haven't lost all hope yet, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up at all. Demi’s absence, on the other hand, indicates that maybe she’s in a different place than you.”

“Yeah, we’re on two completely different fucking continents,” Eli snips. His words are dipped in frustration and anger from whatever he and Demi have been going through at home, and he’s ready to aim all of that at me. I have to make sure I don't end up being Eli’s punching bag as he lets out his frustration, while also giving him room to let it out. Being a therapist is all about walking a fine line.

“Okay, Eli, let’s hear it,” I implore. “You've obviously got a lot on your chest. Let’s go ahead and get it off. What happened this past week?”

Eli huffs and shakes his head as he pinches his eyes shut. I can see the pain in his face as he visualizes the highlights of the week like a bad rerun, before opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling.

“Nothing I do is good enough,” he begins, and I put my pen to my notepad in a hurry. “It’s been