Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,85
in.”
I tossed the magazine in my hands aside and strode into her office.
She shut the door behind me. “Please take a seat.”
I did, perching stiffly on the very edge of the couch.
She sat in her desk chair. “So what’s—”
“You were wrong,” I blurted, jumping to my feet.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You got everything all wrong.” I paced back and forth in front of the couch. “I did everything you said, and it didn’t go like you said it would.”
“Do you mean telling Mariah about Cheyenne?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
“She didn’t handle the news well?”
“She handled it great,” I said. “Which is why you got everything all wrong.”
She shook her head. “Cole, I’m confused.”
“You said there would be resistance.” I pointed at her accusingly.
“I said there might be resistance.”
“You said it would be a tough conversation, and I might have to give her extra hugs.”
“Okay,” she said patiently.
“You said I’d have to explain why I want to date Cheyenne, and—and be sensitive to Mariah’s fears, and make sure she knows that my relationship with Cheyenne is not going to take me away from her.” I listed everything out, using my fingers like tick marks.
“Right.”
“I didn’t have to do any of that!” I exploded. “She just accepted it! With hardly any explanation and certainly no resistance.”
Jessalyn sat back and crossed her legs. Folded her arms. “I see.”
“You said we shouldn’t have any sleepovers because it would scare her. You said she’d worry that I was trying to replace the parent she lost. You said I would have to be careful not to give her any reason to believe I’m choosing my happiness over hers.”
“And you didn’t have to do any of those things?”
“No! None of them!”
“Cole, can you please lower your voice? I can see that you’re very emotional right now, but we do need to be respectful of the other therapists and their clients.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, continuing to pace. “It just really threw me off. There was no dragon.” I whirled to face her. “Where’s the dragon, Jessalyn?”
She blinked at me. “The what now?”
“The dragon.” Part of me knew how insane I sounded, but I couldn’t stop. I was going on too little sleep and too much caffeine. “The thing that’s waiting for me to breathe easy before it destroys my life right in front of me.”
She regarded me silently for a moment. “Cole, you’re not my client, but I would like to ask you about something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Will you sit down?”
Reluctantly, I lowered myself onto the couch. Ran a hand through my hair.
“This is the first time you’ve dated anyone seriously since losing your wife, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask why you’ve waited so long?”
“Because of Mariah.”
Jessalyn nodded. “Because of that promise you made when she was five?”
“Yes.” I thought for a second. “Also because I didn’t like it when other people told me I should. I don’t like being told what to do. I don’t like being told I’m unhappy or stuck or that Trisha wouldn’t have wanted me to stay single.”
“Fair enough. But Mariah is older now, Cole. And she understands that dating Cheyenne doesn’t mean she’s going to lose you.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, jumping to my feet again. “She’s afraid. She’s very, very afraid. She just won’t admit it.”
“I think you’re afraid, Cole,” Jessalyn said gently. “And you were looking for Mariah to give you a reason to retreat from your feelings for Cheyenne.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! The only thing I’m looking for is the dragon!”
She sighed. “The dragon is you. It’s your refusal to believe that happiness can last. Your fear of loss. Your anxiety about being vulnerable again.”
“I do not have any anxiety about being vulnerable,” I informed her in a huff. “Because I’m not vulnerable. I’m a guy. I’m tough. I’m a cop.” I puffed up my chest and stood taller.
Jessalyn arched a brow. “I can see that.”
“So that’s not what this is about. I’m not worried for myself, I’m worried for the people I love. I want to protect them. I’m a very protective person.” I thumped a fist against my sternum on the last three words.
“Of course you are,” she said. “But in this instance, I think—subconsciously—the person you’re most worried about protecting is yourself. I think you’re in love with Cheyenne, and it’s making you feel threatened and exposed because of the way you lost your first wife. You suffered a deep wound, Cole. It’s only natural to harbor some fear it could happen again.”
“You’re wrong,” I informed her, moving her name to the list of people who