Chapter 8

Dax woke me the next morning, clearly having been up for some time. Breakfast was made and waiting for me on the table.

"Once you're done eating, you need to get dressed so we can head into town for your appointment."

Pulling the covers over my head, I wished the day away. But he just laughed and pulled them back, exposing me to the light and the dawning of reality. "Ugh, Dax, can't we do this another day?"

"No, baby, we can't. I know you aren't looking forward to it, but it's a necessary evil."

An hour later, we were in his truck, driving down the interstate into downtown. The office building and parking garage were nondescript, and I silently followed Dax to the elevator and up to the third floor. His hand was warm in mine but felt like it kept me grounded, refusing to let me float away. I was barely cognizant of going through the motions checking in and taking a seat to wait. The gentle squeeze he offered was an attempt to reassure my racing heart and anxious mind. Hearing my name from an open door pulled me back to a place I didn't want to be-reality. Even as inviting as the older woman appeared, I was reluctant to stand. But Dax didn't follow suit, and I wondered why he remained seated.

"I'll be right here." He offered me a subtle smile meant to provide me with reassurance and not the panic it did.

"You're not coming with me?" Floored by his unwillingness to cooperate, I dropped my arms by my side and my mouth fell open. I needed him with me. He'd been with me continuously since this all started, I couldn't do this alone.

But he gently shook his head.

"Why not?" I howled a little too loudly.

The lady, whose name I still didn't know, said, "Mr. Cooper, you're welcome to join us if it makes Ms. Pierce more comfortable."

He turned his attention toward her. "She'll be okay. I'm out here if she needs me." With a final squeeze, he dropped my hand.

I wanted to argue, but Dax had already proven that when he set his mind to something, there was no deterring him. My eyes hung on him while I retreated to her office, glancing over my shoulder. But he never looked up. The sting of his callous response hurt.

The door closed behind me, and the woman motioned for me to sit anywhere I wanted. In need of regaining control-and just to be a smartass-I almost sat in what was obviously her chair, but I figured the nicer I played, the faster I could get her to tell Dax I should go home and return to work.

She finally introduced herself as Dr. Wright. How apropos.

"Cameron, why did you want Dax to come with you?" I hated the use of my full name but chose not to correct her-it would only serve to waste time convincing her to set me free.

"Umm, I don't know. He's been with me since I woke up."

"Were you two close before then?" she questioned.

The snort that escaped wasn't terribly ladylike. "No, we weren't."

"Why is that funny?"

"When you look at Dax, what type of person do you immediately see?"

"I try not to judge a book by its cover, Cameron. People are rarely what they portray on the outside." Oh lord, psychobabble.

"Humor me here." I rolled my eyes as I said it, and her lip turned up slightly in her attempt to keep from smiling. She knew what I was getting at, even if she didn't want to admit it.

"Okay, I would say he looks like a bad boy with all the tattoos."

"And?"

"I'm not sure where you're going with this, Cameron."

"First of all, call me Cam." That hadn't taken long. No one used a name to address someone as frequently as she had. "Secondly, I'll just tell you what I thought when I first met him. Beyond just looking like a bad boy, a really, really good-looking one, he was a driver for a package delivery company. He had an attitude a mile high and thought he was God's gift to women. I assumed his lack of education, but a generous gift in the body department probably got him everything he wanted with little regard for anyone else."

"That's a lot to gather from a first meeting."

"No, that wasn't the first meeting-that was the culmination of several brief encounters where he refused to do as I asked him to with packages delivered on my floor. Anyway, the last time I saw him before the...incident...he came into my office and told me I would have dinner with him that night. He told me where to meet him and what time. He didn't ask, he didn't suggest, he told. Needless to say, I didn't show up. I figured if I stood him up, he would get the hint and leave me alone at work, which presumably, he did."

"But somewhere along the way, your opinion has changed?" She wasn't really asking a question; she was simply leading my story to ensure I knew she was still following.

"The whole time I was in a coma, I had these beautiful, vivid dreams. They weren't really about anything I can recall other than color. The hues changed with the music, creating the most radiant kaleidoscope I'd ever seen. Although I can't be sure, I think I've always dreamed in black and white prior. Maybe it was the drugs; I don't know. What I do know is I had an angel with me in my subconscious-one guiding me through the cascade of shades, through the rhythm of the music, and the lyrics-wow."

I wanted to look away, stop making eye contact, but I couldn't tear my attention from her soft expression.

"That voice was heavenly. That voice provided calm serenity, a wave of peace I've never known. When I woke up, that voice had come to life and sat stoically waiting next to my bed. The tatted arms were still there, but there was no arrogance, the hardness normally in his eyes dissipated. What remained was this stunning man, with the softest green eyes and a gentle touch. One who never left my side."

I paused for a moment and considered the events.

"I still don't know the why behind any of that. But he didn't. We became surprisingly close over the next several days in the hospital, but it wasn't until he took me to his house that my fractured image of him shattered completely."

"How so?"

"That man sitting out there is Dr. Dax Cooper. He graduated with honors from Juilliard." There was no way to hide the astonishment in my tone. "He completely renovated a hundred-year-old farmhouse he owns outright. His best friend died ten years ago, and he checks on his friend's little sister every single day as if she were his own. He's protective, kind, and loyal. Nothing like the original package he presented me."

"Does that bother you?"

"Do you mean does it bother me he isn't what I thought he was?"

She nodded.

"No, not at all. I'm not usually surprised by people, but he surprised me."

"Then what about it bothers you?"

"Nothing."

"Are you being honest with yourself?"

I hesitated. Honesty would only serve to prolong my escape, but it did bother me. As long as I was here, I might as well let a professional tell me how to fix it or that it wasn't an issue.

"Nothing about the revelation that Dax is completely different than I assumed him to be bothers me. What bothers me is my desire for the person I met since then." I swallowed hard before continuing. "I was raped two weeks ago. Violently. How on earth can I have feelings for a man I really didn't know before that? Isn't it slightly off kilter to be drawn to a man after one has so painfully marked you? Damaged you?"

"I think there's a lot tied up in those questions. I'm glad to hear you can acknowledge what happened to you. That's a huge step in the right direction. It's possible Dax has played a part in your healing process. It's also possible he is allowing you to become dependent upon him. The mind reacts to rape in very different ways for different women, but almost always leaves them feeling just as you described-off kilter, marked, and damaged."

She continued to talk and ask questions, and somehow, I fell into an easy conversation with her.

"Our time today is almost up, but I'd like to see you back this week. In the meantime, I'm a big believer in journaling. I want you to get a journal and start writing every day about anything that happens to you-good, bad, indifferent. If something sticks out, try to think about why. Bring it back with you on Thursday, and we'll talk about what you wrote. We'll also continue to explore your relationship with Dax, and eventually, your trauma."

I couldn't believe an hour had passed and wondered how much time I'd actually spent pondering my answers before speaking them. This had been virtually painless, but it didn't seem as though I'd told her anything. Nevertheless, she escorted me back to the waiting room to join Dax, who stood and laced his fingers with mine.

Before we left, he waved to my shrink. "Bye, Shelly. It was good to see you."

Once we reached the elevator, and I was sure no one was within earshot, I asked him, "How do you know her? I thought Fisher recommended her."

"He did. I also happen to know her."

"How?"

"That's Jeremy's mom, sweetheart."

I clamped my mouth shut. This had to be some sort of conflict of interest. My God, I had just told that woman about my shallow impression of Dax when I'd met him, and then how wonderful he was while admitting I had racy thoughts about him two weeks after I'd been raped.

Kill me now.