Page 59 of Badd Daddy

“You’ve heard all the dirty details.” His eyes lifted to mine, finally. “I expect you have some feelings on it.”

“I do.” I leaned closer, so our arms were brushing. “I think you’re still holding on to Lena. You’re scared to move on. Scared to let yourself heal.”

“I don’t think I know how.”

“You need a counselor, Lucas. A therapist. Someone who can help guide you past this.”

He growled. “A shrink? Hell, no.”

“You have the wrong impression of what a therapist does, I think.” I hesitated. “I saw one—I’m still seeing one, as a matter of fact. All that happens at therapy is you talk about things that cause you pain, past or present. And the therapist listens, asks questions, and suggests ways you can help yourself heal from those things. There’s no magic, no weirdness, no judgment.”

“I’d have to talk about it all over again.”

I nodded. “You would. A lot, I imagine. But that’s part of why it works. Talking about it removes the power of it. The more I was able to talk about Darren’s death, and my many and varied feelings on the subject, the easier it became to simply talk about it. When you refuse to talk about things, you unwittingly give them even greater power over you.”

He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I dunno.”

“There is nothing unmanly or weak about asking for help, Lucas,” I said. “In fact, I would argue that asking for help when you need it is, rather, a sign of strength of character.”

“Strength of character.” Lucas laughed, a bitter bark of a sound. “That ain’t somethin’ I’ve ever been accused of having.”

“Then perhaps now is the time to develop it.”

He eyed me. “Why do you care, Liv? Honest answer.”

I was silent a moment. “Because I like you. A lot. I think I could develop…feelings for you. Perhaps I already have. But in order to protect myself, I have to be careful about who I let into my life, into my heart. And unless you are willing to do what it takes to heal yourself, to find your confidence and strength, I cannot allow myself to get involved with you.” I swallowed hard, hating the taste of honesty. “I want to, I really do. But you’re…you’re still wallowing in toxicity, though you are not drinking any longer. The toxicity remains, and it will win in time, if not addressed. And I can’t…I just can’t, Lucas, no matter what my heart may want.”

“Just your heart?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It all starts with the heart, and leads back to it,” I answered, knowing I’d correctly divined his meaning. “For me, there is no separating my heart from my mind or my body.”

He stared at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. “I see.”

“I want to be your friend, Lucas.”

“But that’s it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

He hissed, frustrated. “I think I need time to…to figure things out.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lucas.” I met his eyes. “Literally or metaphorically. I am your friend. I want to hike with you, paddle with you. Have lunch.”

“But not dinner, or breakfast?”

I frowned, trying to parse his meaning. “Lucas…”

“Meaning, dinner as a date, and breakfast the morning after.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I knew better how to answer. “I…I told you. I can’t separate my mind or my body from my heart—despite parts of me wanting something deeper with you, I can’t go there unless I know I’m getting all of you. I won’t settle for leftovers, Lucas.”

He hissed again, and then groaned. “No, you won’t. And you shouldn’t.” He looked at me, sad beyond expression. “I need to think.”

“Lucas…”

He smiled at me. “I’ll be okay.”

I watched him walk away, and felt a heaviness. A reaching of my heart. A yearning of my body. I wanted to comfort him, and to be comforted.