"Just having an off day." I offer a weak smile.
She tilts her head slightly. "Is there something specific on your mind that's making it difficult to focus?"
There's my opening. I could deflect with a joke, keep things light. That's what the old Nate would do—avoid vulnerability at all costs. But I'm trying to be better than that now.
"Yeah." I look down at my hands, at the healing cuts across my knuckles. "There is something."
Elena waits, giving me space to continue. The silence stretches between us, charged with possibility.
"I've been thinking about what you said before. About how I push people away when they get too close. And you're right. I do that. I've always done that."
"It's a common defense mechanism," she says softly.
"Maybe." I look up, meeting her eyes. "But knowing why I do it doesn't make it any easier to stop."
She nods, encouraging me to continue.
"The thing is..." I take a deep breath, forcing the words out. "I think I push people away because I don't believe I deserve them in the first place. Not really."
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "Say more."
"It's like..." I struggle to find the right words. "After Teddy died, my parents made it pretty clear I wasn't worth loving. Not their fault, I guess. I'd killed their favorite son."
"Nate—" she starts, but I hold up a hand.
"I know, I know. It wasn't my fault. Six-year-olds don't understand consequences. But that message got burned into my brain, you know? That I was a horrible human. That I wasn't worth the effort."
"And you've carried that belief into adulthood."
"I guess I have." I let out a bitter laugh. "Look at my track record. I sabotage everything good in my life because some part of me doesn't believe I deserve it."
"And what about now?" Her voice is quiet. "What good things are you afraid of sabotaging now?"
Our eyes lock, and suddenly we're not psychologist and client anymore. We're just Nate and Elena, two people with an undeniable connection and a mountain of complications between them.
"This," I say simply. "Us."
She doesn't pretend not to understand. Doesn't retreat. She just sits there, her beautiful dark eyes fixed on mine, something raw and honest in her expression.
"I know I messed up." My voice drops lower. "I said things I didn't mean because I was scared. Because I was afraid and I did what I always do—I pushed you away before you could decide I wasn't worth the trouble."
Her throat moves as she swallows. "Nate, we can't?—"
"I'm not asking for anything you can't give," I interrupt gently. "I just want you to know that I understand why I did it. And I'm sorry. And I'd like another chance with you."
The office feels too small suddenly, the air too thick. Elena's eyes drop to her hands, which are clasped tightly in her lap.
"I don't know what you want me to say." Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Say what you feel."
She looks up at me, sadness written across her face. "What I feel doesn't matter. There are rules, Nate. Ethics. My career?—"
"I know." I lean forward, not touching her but close enough that I could. "But tell me anyway. Please."
A moment passes, then another. I can practically see the battle happening behind her eyes—duty versus desire, professionalism versus passion.
"I feel..." She hesitates, then continues in a rush, "I obviously feel things for you that I shouldn’t. Things that could cost me everything I've worked for."
