Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I nod at Easton, then walk over to the wall and watch him skate with my daughter.
They don’t stay out there long, but when they exit the ice, Rhett’s laughing again.
“You got good quickly,” I tell him.
“I had a good teacher.” He gives me a small grin, then rubs a hand over the dark stubble along his jaw. He heads over to the tables, and somehow, I know he’s done skating for the day.
We take a break to eat, then to open presents. Rhett lingers toward the back, keeping his distance. Meadow beams at his gifts, so excited to have two mannequins for her clothes. I’m pretty sure Rhett blushes.
After gifts we have cake, and then some people head back out to the ice. I go with Meadow and her friends, and when I’m finished, I see Morgan and Dusty first. “Do you know where Rhett is?” I ask.
They shake their heads, and we look around. Morgan finds East, but he hasn’t seen Rhett either, and I have a feeling that when no one was paying attention, Rhett Swift slipped out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rhett
I drive to another session with Talia. I can’t decide if talking to a therapist once a week is really doing anything for me. I don’t understand the point of it, if I’m honest, but I’ve continued to go.
I did change my date and time, though. I don’t know if this is the office Meadow goes to, but I don’t want to risk running into her and Tripp.
I’m just about to sit in the waiting room when Talia comes out for me. I follow her to her office and take the same seat I choose every session.
“How was your week?” she asks.
“Not bad.” Okay, so there is a small possibility I’m never very chatty when I come here. It’s just hard to know what to say, hard to let the words out when I’ve always been told this is weak.
“You had the birthday party, right? How was that? You were a little nervous about it.”
“It was…good. I bought too many gifts.”
She smiles. “Is there such a thing?” she asks playfully, and I can’t help but grin. “Why do you think you did that?”
“Bought so many gifts?” I shrug. “Because I didn’t know what she had or what she would like.” Which is true, but also not. “I didn’t want to get the wrong thing.”
“Gifts are from the heart. Even if it’s something the person already has, I don’t know that it’s necessarily wrong, know what I mean? Sure, they might need to exchange it, but I don’t believe that wrong is what I would call it.”
“Pfft,” I huff in reply.
“You disagree?”
“I guess that’s just not how I work.”
“Do you feel like you put a lot of pressure on yourself?”
My skin prickles with unease. “Yes, but it’s important to me to do well…to succeed.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t understand the question. We just are who we are.”
“Yes. That’s true. And some things are taught to us, so I was curious if you thought that could be part of it.”
I think about the hundreds, the thousands of situations and comments from my father. I do like to succeed, and I do like to do well and make the right choices, but I must admit that while part of the desire comes from me, a lot of it comes from him. “I think it’s a combination. In some ways, yes, that’s the way I’m built, but it was also hammered into me by my father.” My heart bangs against my chest. “He…berated me if I wasn’t perfect. Kept any signs of love or positive affirmations for moments where I made him proud. And those never came from things like helping others or doing something nice. It was only when I did better than others or succeeded. He made me feel like mistakes meant I’m not good enough; that I could never be the son he needed me to be if I wasn’t perfect.”
I wait for her to tell me I’m wrong, that I’m being ridiculous or overreacting, but what she says is, “That must have been hard. I’m sorry you had to experience that,” validating me and my feelings. Trusting my word on my own life.
“Can’t change the past.” I swipe at my eyes, and…holy shit. Is that a tear?
“No, we can’t. But you can work on changing learned behaviors.”
I nod, hoping she’s right.
We talk more about the party, and she asks about my brothers. I share a lot with her about Meadow, which leads to Tripp.
“It sounds like the two of you are becoming friends.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Tripp…Cass—hell, I don’t even call him what everyone else does—he’s just a nice guy.”
“It seems so. I’d like you to work on cutting yourself some slack over the next week. Do something fun or something that’s just for you.”