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Jim’s hands flex into fists before he releases them again and clasps them in his lap. “Been married already. Didn’t go well.”
“A bad experience would definitely explain your reluctance.” Dr. Owens turns back to me. “Taya, how does this information make you feel?”
I stare at my hands. “Sad, I guess? For Jim, for having such a bad experience. And sad for me because his bad experience means that he’s not willing to try again with me.” I swallow in an attempt to dislodge the growing ball in my throat. “I came to this marriage hoping to make it real. Hoping for a new start.”
Dr. Owens crosses one leg over the other and leans back into his chair. “A new start? Your application said that you came from New York. Do you want to talk about that, about why you’re looking for a new start?”
Goddamnit. This whole day I’ve been blurting out words I shouldn’t be speaking. First with Inara. Now with Dr. Owens. And the mention of New York and my past there makes my eyes burn. I shake my head. “No. Not right now.”
“That’s okay. How about you share a little more about why Jim’s resistance to the marriage bothers you?”
Okay. This, I can do. “I guess it hurts to find out your husband is counting down the days until he can get away from you, like the end of a prison sentence or something.”
A small noise escapes Jim’s mouth. Dr. Owens’s sharp eyes zero in on my husband’s face. “Does what Taya’s saying not resonate with you?”
I turn to face Jim, who’s staring at me with an intense frown etched into his brow. His fingers drum against his thigh as he turns back toward our counselor. “No. It doesn’t.”
Jim goes silent, leaving Dr. Owens to coax him. “How so, Jim? What did Taya say that you disagree with? Remember, this is a safe place to share whatever you’re feeling. Why don’t you face Taya and speak directly to her?”
Jim swivels on the couch to face me. “Things started out that way. With me counting down the days.” He pauses to clear his throat. “But then, I started to get to know you and it stopped feeling like a punishment. I still have reservations, especially given what happened to my last marriage, but I like you, Taya. You’re not at all what I expected. In a good way.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest. Not exactly a declaration of undying devotion, but it’s a start. Baby steps. We have time. Maybe this could work after all. And because it feels natural in that moment, I reach out and take Jim’s hand in mine and squeeze. “I like you too. And I’m glad it doesn’t feel like a prison sentence anymore.”
“Really good communicating, right there. Remember, the key to any successful partnership or marriage is openness and honesty. Those two things are the only way for true intimacy to grow,” Dr. Owens says.
Openness and honesty.
His words ring through my head like an accusation and my stomach twists. I slip my hand out of Jim’s and shove it in my lap.
“But don’t worry if you’re not ready to fully open up yet. Trust takes time to build between two people. Just remember to keep talking and spending time together. That’s the very best way for a relationship to grow.”
While Dr. Owens guides us through some communication exercise, I make a pact with myself. Once I figure out what’s in that cloud drive and get confirmation that my secret won’t freak Jim out and get us both kicked out of the program, I’ll tell him all about my past.
Until then, I’ll work on everything else.
Chapter Seventeen
Jim
If any preschoolerhas the potential to break the sound barrier, it’s Bear’s youngest daughter, Leslie. Two weeks after our counseling session, I’m glaring down at the little girl, but as usual, she remains unimpressed. If a trainee hadn’t burst into tears two days before, thanks to this exact glower, I would have worried I was losing my touch. In all fairness, though, with Bear as a father, there’s probably not much that scares the kid. In that respect, she’s a lot like her older sister.
“Piggyback!” Leslie doesn’t ask questions. She demands results. Taya snickers as I crouch dutifully and allow the child to clamber up my back. Her grip is strong as hell. Like an adorable spider money in a pink tutu. The back of my shirt clings to my skin as she smears me with icing, but before I can complain, her small hands wrap around my throat and hook into my windpipe.
Bouncing in excitement, Leslie slams her heels into my sides. If she were three pounds heavier, it would hurt. As it is, her pink slippers do little more than drive home how slow their owner feels I am on the uptake.
“Piggyback, Uncle Jim,” Leslie cries, already impatient after 3.2 seconds of stillness. “It’s my birthday. Piggyback, please.” Only a four-year-old can make “please” sound like an expletive.
God. Dammit.
There’s a choking noise beside me, and I glare at Taya. I love the sound of her laughter, but her current lack of loyalty is disconcerting since she’s going rogue and teaming up with Leslie.
“Not a word,” I warn, trying out the glare again on an equally unimpressed audience. Taya simply lifts an eyebrow in blatant challenge.
She rises up on her toes and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good.”
Leslie’s tiny girl talons dig into my trapezius, and I bite back what Marge has dubbed a four-letter no-no.
