Everything Between Us (27 page)

I give him a questioning look. “I thought that was why you were here?”

He shrugs and slides his beanie off his head, revealing his messy blond hair. “It’s your therapy, Stella. I might have insisted on driving you, but whether I go any further is up to you.” He meets my gaze for a minute, then looks away, waiting for my answer.

I stare at him, his scruffy, unshaven face, which has somehow become the thing I like to look at most in this world.
He knows how to make you feel things,
my mother whispers in my mind. And he does, and I do. A lot of things.
Why?
I want to ask him.
Why are you really here?
But we don’t have time. I have to get in there, and I can’t help it—I want him with me. “Come on,” I say.

He leans across the car and gives me a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

We go in holding hands.
I’m holding hands with Daniel,
I think as a happy, hazy, familiar feeling comes over me. Heather’s previous appointment is walking out as we come in, so she’s already standing in the doorway of her office when we enter the waiting room. “Hi, Stella,” she says, and then her gaze shifts to Daniel by way of our joined hands.

“This is Daniel,” I tell her, my cheeks burning. Because I’ve told her about him. He’s on my hierarchy, the one we put together in my second session, mapping out the steps I would take, the things I would expose myself to, going from least scary to most terrifying. “He’s my …”

“Boyfriend,” Daniel says. He squeezes my hand. I nearly melt.
Boyfriend
.

“Do you want him to come in?”

“Aren’t we going to go out today?” I ask.

She nods. “But we can chat for a few minutes before we go, if you want to …?”

I look at Daniel, and his grip tightens on my hand. Why does he want to see me like this, scared and broken? Wouldn’t he prefer to see me strong?

“I’d like to go in,” he says quietly. “But it’s up to you.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Have you been practicing your spinning and straw-breathing?” Heather asks me as we sit down. “Every day,” I say, avoiding Daniel’s curious gaze. “It’s my least favorite thing to do.”

“And yet you do it,” says Heather, smiling. “Can you describe what happens for me? How it’s going?”

I glance at Daniel. “Um. I’d really rather not …” I don’t want to remind him of how pathetic I am.

“Stella,” he says. “It’s okay.”

Heather looks back and forth between us before turning to Daniel. “Have you ever seen her panicking before?”

He nods, looking cautiously at me. “More than once.”

I aim my gaze at the floor. It’s the only place that’s safe.

“Stella, what’s happening for you now?” Of course Heather would call me on it.

“I don’t want him to see me like that,” I say in a tiny voice. “And I don’t want him to think of me that way. I want to be different.”

“Why?”

I clamp my eyes shut. It was a bad idea to have Daniel in here. Why didn’t I see this coming? “Because I don’t want to be this crazy little girl. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” says Daniel, sounding frustrated. “When have I
ever
treated you like that?”

I shrug and lean my head on my hand, needing to cover my eyes. “Other people think I’m crazy. My mom …”

Heather sighs. “Stella, what do you think of what Daniel is saying? Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have evidence either way?”

This is what Heather does. She won’t tell me what’s true or not; she just asks me what my evidence is. “He … look, everyone else I’ve ever known has gotten sick of me, really quickly. Even my mom is completely fed up, and my dad is in full-on avoidance mode. If that happened with Daniel, I …” I sniffle and start to reach for a tissue, but Heather’s already holding out the box.

“It would hurt,” she says quietly.

I nod and blow my nose, afraid to look at him. Hurt doesn’t begin to describe what it would feel like.

“This therapy’s supposed to be about facing what you fear, right?” asks Daniel. “Am I wrong about that?”

“It’s a little more nuanced than that, but I suppose that’s a quick summary,” says Heather.

Daniel leans over, so his mouth is close to my ear. “Try me, Stella,” he whispers. “Stop running and face me. Let me see you.”

I raise my head and look into his eyes, blue like a lake on a summer day. “But—”

“You scare me just as much,” he says, a bemused smile playing at his lips. “So fair’s fair.”

Heather shifts in her chair. “Stella, we should probably go if we’re going to be in the middle of campus at the right time.”

I toss my tissue in the wastebasket. “Okay. Give me a second.”

Heather smiles and walks into the waiting room.

“When I come back, I might be kind of a mess,” I tell him.

He runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “And what will you need me to do?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it? Don’t treat me like I’m fragile? Just …”

“Be here?”

I nod and work up the courage to look in his eyes. “And …”
Love me. Please think I’m good enough.

Daniel doesn’t demand that I finish my sentence. He simply searches my expression, and then plants a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Try me.”

Chapter Twenty-three: Daniel

I sit in the therapist’s waiting room while she and Stella do their exposure session out on campus, staring unseeing at the pages of some entertainment magazine. I couldn’t think of any other way to get Stella to let me in other than simply showing up and springing it on her. She is the most stubborn girl, and I didn’t want to argue with her. I just wanted to … push on her. Crawl under her skin so she can’t get rid of me.

I pull out my phone and stare at Liza’s text from a few days ago:
I may need to reconsider our contract for the commission.

As soon as I saw it, I knew what she was up to. She wants me to leave Stella alone, and she thinks this will do it.

It should have been enough. Instead, I’m here, taking a chance. Risking my livelihood. If I try to be with Stella, I’ll have to make my living with teaching and commissions—without offering orgasms on the side. I couldn’t put on my usual show anyway, because Stella won’t leave my thoughts. She’s always in there, poking holes every time I try to fool myself. In all my life, no girl has ever gotten into my head like that. So I’m here. Seeing if she’ll let me in. If she does, I’m in this. I don’t have a choice. But if she pushes me away, I have to get out. It hurts too much.

I know it’s a risk. I’m tossing myself into the ring with a girl who can easily take me apart. A girl who’s probably going to disappear in a few months, headed back to the east coast. A girl who at some point is going to realize that I’m not as special as she thinks. I could run from that, but it would mean I can’t have this time with her now, and that would make me even more miserable. Basically, it’s heartbreak now or heartbreak later, and I guess I’ve always been a bit of a procrastinator.

Stella and Heather come back after about forty minutes, and Stella looks hollow-eyed. I shoot from my chair, but Heather puts her hand out. “She’s fine, Daniel. She did great.”

Then why does she look like that? “Did you panic?” I ask Stella.

She gives me a tired smile. “A little.”

“But you stood your ground, and you endured it without escaping. Even when we were surrounded by all those people!” Heather rubs her arm. “You thought your way through it.”

Stella nods.

“So your homework is to do that another few times this next week, like we talked about. Along with your other exercises at home.”

Stella nods again, but this time I can’t resist going to her. She looks like she’s about to fall over. I put my arm around her waist, but she steps away from me quickly. I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling stupid.

Stella thanks Heather and then we’re off, walking back to my car. Having Stella next to me is the most amazing thing. I’ve only known her in this one environment, indoors, and seeing her in this light, the late afternoon winter sun showing red highlights in her hair, her cheeks and the tip of her nose kissed with cold … I love it. As soon as we buckle our seatbelts, I reach for her hand, but she pulls away again. My jaw clenches. “Have I done something wrong?”

“I’m not fragile,” she says in a flat voice.

I laugh. “And you think I’m treating you like you’re fragile?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod, and I let out an exasperated breath. “You’re the only person I’ve talked to about my mom. Did you know that? How do you feel when I tell you how worried I am about her and my dad?”

“What does that have to do with—”

“Just tell me.”

“Like I want to help you,” she says quietly. “I want to take care of you.”

“Is that because you think I’m fragile?”

She chuckles. “You’re the least fragile person I know.”

“But when I’m hurting, you want to help. You know how that feels to me?” I turn in my seat, and the space is small enough that she’s right there, within arm’s reach. “It’s unbelievable,” I say, my voice growing strained. “It’s the most bare, beautiful, scary feeling, because I’m taking my pain and fear and handing it to someone else. I don’t
do
that.”

“Then why do it with me?” Her brown eyes meet mine.

“I don’t know. Because you seem strong enough to carry it, I guess. Because I have trouble
not
sharing it with you. Because, more and more, I
want
to share it with you.”
Only you.

She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I feel strong when you do that. I don’t know why. I’m proud, to know that someone like you will let me be there for you.”

I lean forward. “So now we’re back to you. When I reach for you—” I slide my hand into hers before she can escape. “When I put my arm around you, when I ask you how you are, when I worry—” I put my other hand on the side of her face, burrowing my fingers into her hair. “It’s not because I think you’re fragile. It’s because I want the same thing. I want to be there for you and take care of you because it makes me feel good, too, and proud that you’ll let me in like that. Are you going to deny me?”

I stay still, waiting for her answer, steeling myself to call this whole thing off if this is too much to ask. Her hand covers mine, and she holds it to her cheek. “Are you sure?” she whispers.

“I’m sure,” I say, surprised at how easy the answer comes, at how true it is.

Her gaze is hard on mine, so bold and curious and wondering that it stirs inside of me, coiling like a vine along my limbs and pulling tight. We move forward together and meet halfway, and the kiss isn’t about lust, but it is about need. There’s only simple necessity in this moment, of my hands in her hair and hers on my neck, of us finding each other and peeling away the outer layers, being bare and not trying to hide. After a few minutes, she pulls back.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m sure, too.”

I fasten my seatbelt and feel my phone buzz with a text. Hoping it’s not Stella backing out, I fish it from my pocket and check. It’s from Liza.

Have to cancel our contract. Call my lawyer if you have questions.

I toss the phone on the passenger seat and twist my key in the ignition. There it is. I’ve been waiting for this to happen for the last two weeks, ever since I started taking Stella to her sessions and her “homework,” which, ironically, is always about leaving home.

My drive up to the north side is spent thinking about how things are changing for me. In the last month, I’ve made half as much money as my usual. Yeah, I’ve been giving private lessons, but they don’t pay as well when I’m not offering side action. It’s been two weeks since I went to Stella’s therapy session and decided I was going to see where this thing with her could go.

Every single day, I fight the urge to pull back.

Instead, I find myself heading back for another round.

When I roll to a stop by the side entrance, Stella’s waiting for me. I hop out, my heart automatically beating faster. She grins and walks into my arms, and her nose is cold as it grazes my cheek. She’s pulled her hair into a loose knot on the back of her head, and I bow my head and kiss the soft place just below her ear. She smells like cinnamon again. “What did you make today?” I whisper against her throat.

She lets out a husky laugh. “Right now I can’t remember.”

I raise my head, my arm still firmly around her waist. “How about now?”

Her eyebrow arches and she reaches into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a bag with several cookies in it. But really, calling them cookies isn’t adequate. Each one is the size of my palm, tightly swirled on either end, crusted in caramelized sugar. “Cinnamon palmiers,” she says. “You’d said your mom liked cinnamon, so I thought—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I’d mentioned
once
that my mom liked cinnamon, and also that she’s been trying to gain a little weight because she knows she’s going to lose a lot when she starts chemo in a few weeks. I clear my throat and take the bag. “Nothing. I just … appreciate it.”

I kiss her forehead and walk around the car to open the passenger door for her, blinking away the sting in my eyes. “So, what’s our agenda for this evening?” This is the first time she’s come out when it’s dark, and I think it’s because it makes her more anxious. She’s told me a lot of her panic attacks have happened at night.

Stella lets out a long breath. “Restaurant. But it needs to be crowded. I was thinking about Maguro’s.”

“You like sushi?” I order from the place at least twice a week, though I’ve cut back lately because I’m trying to save the cash. Still, this will be worth it.

“Yeah.”

At the strained sound of her voice, I once again remind myself that this isn’t a date. It’s one of Stella’s assignments from her therapist. “So you’re going to eat in a restaurant. I like this kind of homework,” I say.

“And we should sit at the sushi bar.” She looks terrified by the prospect.

“Why?”

I glance over at her and meet her gaze. She gives me a pained look. “Because it means I have to talk to the chef.”