“Alec, what brings you here on a Saturday?”
“I wanted to pick your brain,” he said, taking the seat across from Reggie.
The man tossed whatever he’d been reading on his desk and leaned back. “Pick away. I welcome the distraction from these term papers. Absolute shit. I wonder if anyone listens to me at all when I teach.”
“Are you familiar with dysthymic depression?”
“Yes. Long lasting depression, hard to diagnose.”
Alec nodded. “How would one know for sure if someone suffered from it?”
“Well, there are theories on various pathophysiological indicators, such as CT scans and the like, but none of that is universally agreed upon. I’d say, aside from the individual speaking to a professional, you could only look for obvious indicators.”
“I’ve looked online, but I’m interested on your take.”
“Well, the first clue, although not always the easiest to detect, is the length in time the person is coping. I’d say that sort of depression takes hold and doesn’t let up for a minimum of two years, but it can span a lifetime.”
She’d done nothing for six years. “Go on.”
“Well, in that two year block, I’d say there are the typical symptoms, fluctuating appetite and sleep patterns, fatigue, low self-esteem, difficulty making decisions, or an ongoing sense of pessimism. Such symptoms are never absent for more than two months at a time. There doesn’t have to be a major depressive episode for this to happen. Sometimes the onset is drug related or the result of other forms of mental illness, but not always. A person with dysthymic depression might have difficulty in usual social, professional, or academic settings.”
“What causes it?”
“Well, that’s an impossible question to answer. If the disorder can’t be linked to a cooperating illness, then there could be a myriad of causes. Perhaps a stressful life event or some sort of very deep fundamental loss based on a false interpretation of events.”
“How is it treated?”
He sighed. “What you’re dealing with here is a chronically—for lack of a better word—moody person. Due to the length of which the disorder presents itself, people tend to assume it is just the status quo. I assume this is a friend of yours. The most you can do is try to be supportive. Do whatever you can to boost their self-esteem, offer strong support when they need it, teach them reliance, and offer keys to cope with stress. I’m sure your background of practiced theories could help with such tactics. Therapy has also shown promising results. Dysthymia is ultimately a disorder that won’t resolve itself unless the person redefines their faulty beliefs that they’re responsible for what they can’t control and that they deserve nothing more than the unsatisfying life they’re living. They struggle with coping and, unless someone shows them how, they aren’t likely to possess the tools to change.”
“Thanks, Reggie.”
He nodded. “No problem. I have some texts I could loan you if you’re interested. Try to get your friend to see a specialist. Even a family doctor could offer some antidepressants that might help, but I only recommend that in collaboration with therapy.”
Alec nodded, not sure if any of that was likely to happen. “I’ll be sure to pass that information along.”
He sat for a few more minutes making small talk and when he got to his car he faced a dilemma. To go to her or not to go?
“Shit.” He shut his eyes, knowing he couldn’t stay away. He did love her. There was no doubt in his mind, but his pride was bruised. She’d let another man kiss her only a week into their relationship. He was smarter than this. He knew people who didn’t start relationships on an honest playing field often continued the relationship with worsening acts of deceit.
But she told you right after it happened.
She was being honest. But Alec wasn’t sure if her honesty was some sort of self-sacrifice, done in hopes that he throw her over, which he’d basically done like a complete twat, or if she was trying to right a wrong.
Jesus, this entire situation was a bloody mess. Her brother should have worked out his shit with his lover by now. And Tristan…why wasn’t anyone protecting Sheilagh? They were all twisted in this mess and no one seemed content. Now he was involved and equally as torn up over the turn of events.
He didn’t know what to do. His main concern was making sure she was all right. He backed out of the parking space and drove to her apartment. When he spotted Wesley’s car, he hesitated. Parking a block away, he walked to the building and hoped he didn’t run into his son.
The halls were quiet. When he reached her door, directly next to his son’s door, he quietly knocked. There was no sound from the inside. Knocking again, he waited.
He didn’t want to call her name. If Wes heard him and came to investigate there would be a whole bunch more explaining to do and he simply didn’t have the energy at the moment. If he and Sheilagh managed to work things out he would tell her his son was the neighbor she hated and do the same with Wes. One thing at a time.
He pulled out his phone and texted her.
I’m at your door.
A second later he got a reply.
Go away.
Frowning, he texted back.
Not until we talk.
She was obviously home. Her text came through a moment later.
I have nothing to say to you, nor do I need another lecture. I’m perfectly aware of all the terrible things I’ve done and I don’t need any reminders. Now leave me alone.
He stuffed the phone in his pocket and knocked on the door. “Sheilagh, open the door.”
“Go away!”
He sighed. “I’m not bloody leaving until we talk. Now let me in before I make a scene.”
There was some movement inside and then the door opened. Jesus. He pressed into her apartment and quickly shut the door. It was a disaster. She was a disaster.
Her hair was a tangle of knots. Her eyes had dark shadows under them. Her clothes were mismatched and stained. But the worse sight was the tears in her eyes and the red rings behind her lashes that told him she’d been crying for a very long time.
“There. You’ve seen me. Now leave.”
He didn’t know what to do. He glanced around at her apartment and searched for some inspiration. Finally, he gripped her hand and dragged her into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and adjusted the water.
“Take off your clothes.”
“No.”
“Sheilagh, I’m not playing around. You’re going to shower and then we’ll talk. Now strip.” He was really just using the shower to stall.
“Why are you here, Alec? We broke up.”
“We didn’t break up, we had a disagreement.”
“I kissed someone else.”
“We’ll talk about it after you shower.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off in front of you.”
“Fine. I’ll leave you be. When you’re finished we’ll talk.”
He left her to her own devices and as he thought about what would happen when she finished, he tidied up her place. Dishes went into the sink, clothes into the basket, and books onto the shelf. He frowned when he saw she hadn’t even unpacked her bag from last week.
As he carried some papers into her bedroom that was actually her office, he accidentally bumped her laptop and the screen lit up. It was an email yet to be sent.
Dear Dr. Lasik,
I’m still not feeling well. I’ll get the notes, but likely won’t be in class again this week.
Sincerely,
Sheilagh McCullough
He frowned. She hadn’t gone to class last week? No matter how bright a student was, attendance was necessary. There was only so much a professor would excuse before requiring a doctor’s note. What was she thinking?
She’s not thinking!
He left her office and started on the dishes in the sink. The water shut off in the bathroom and he quickly tossed the cloth he’d been drying with and went to sit on the couch.
>
She would likely notice he’d cleaned up, which wasn’t the issue. Clearing his throat, he eased back and waited.
The door opened a moment later and she came out in nothing but a cloud of steam and a blue towel. “You cleaned.”
“I just put some things away.”
She had no apparent reaction to this, no lowering of her brow, no show of gratitude. Not that stimulating a reaction was why he did it. It concerned him how monotone her statement had been and how blank her expression remained.
She went to the dresser on the wall and pulled out a shirt. Her damp head popped through the neck and as the shirt covered her hips the towel fell to the floor. He watched as she stepped into a pair of black panties and that was all she apparently intended to wear. She sat on the bed, a look of exhaustion in her eyes and waited for him to speak.
“Can we talk?”
She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m fine, if that’s why you’re here.”
“Have you talked to your brother?”
“No.”
He’d expected her to ask which one. The fact that she didn’t need clarification told him she hadn’t spoken to any of her brothers. “Have you heard from Tristan?”
Her narrow green gaze sliced through him. Good. That was at least some reaction. “No and I don’t plan to. He knew the minute he kissed me it was all wrong.”
“And how did you feel when he kissed you?”
“Horrible,” she said, turning away.
“Why horrible?”
“Because it wasn’t you. I didn’t want to hurt you or Luke, but that’s what I did.”
He frowned. When she’d first told him he was drunk. The absolute worst possible scenario played in his head. He saw two young people wrapped in each other’s bodies, lost in passion, taking what had been denied for so long.
He was an idiot.
He knew better. His ex-wife was gay. He’d seen her make an open commitment to Claire at a ceremony many years ago. That was when he knew his reality had been a sham. Elizabeth was gay. Tristan was gay. There was a severe difference between affection and actually being in love with someone.
“Sheilagh, how long did this kiss last?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Thirty seconds, maybe less.”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “He kissed you, though? You didn’t initiate the kiss?”
“No,” she said empathetically. “I wouldn’t do that.”
He nodded. “Your brother’s angry right now, but the way I understand this, it’s not your fault.”
“It’s always my fault.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You don’t know, Alec. I’ve thrown myself at Tristan a number of times. Not since I found out about him and Luke, but the opportunity was sort of always there. It isn’t like I used the word ‘no’ a lot.”
“Do you think you were a whore?”
Her lips tightened and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears under her rapidly fluttering lashes. She didn’t answer.
“You are not a whore, Sheilagh.” When she looked ready to either break or argue he stood and went to the bed. Taking her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him. “People sleep together. It’s one of the sure ways to discover if we suit another person. Doing so more than once does not make you a terrible person.”
“It does when you know that person isn’t the one, when you spend the time wishing he was someone else, and afterwards you’re so disgusted with yourself you wish everything would just go away, including yourself.”
He dropped his hands. “When we’re together, did you ever wish I was someone else?”
She met his gaze and blinked. “No. I always knew it was you. You were who I wanted.”
Thank God.
“Good.”
“I’m sorry, Alec.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry too.”
She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. He simply held her for a while, knowing it was probably what she needed most. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since last night.”
“Why don’t we order some take-out? Or we can go to my house and I’ll make something for you.”
“You don’t like my apartment.”
“It’s not that… I…I have a confession to make.”
She eased back and frowned at him. “What?”
Taking a deep breath and licking his lips, he said, “You know your neighbor?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s my son.”
She drew back and blinked. “No, he’s not. He’s not British. His last name’s Hill.”
“He’s British. He just has an American accent and Hill’s his mother’s name. Wes was born before I returned to the UK. He sometimes goes by Devereux, because he had it legally changed—hyphenating the two—when he turned eighteen, but for most of his life it was simply Hill.”
Her face scrunched up as if this information offended her senses. “But he’s an asshole and you’re so…diplomatic.”
He smiled tightly. “I’ve asked him not to call you a bitch. Please don’t call him an asshole.”
Her mouth opened. “He called me a bitch?”
“You just called him an asshole. You also threatened to beat him with a bat until he screamed.”
“Oh my God, does he know we slept together?” she shouted.
There was suddenly a knock on the wall. His son’s muffled voice came through the plaster. “Keep it down.”
She glared at the wall then turned on him. “You want to handle this, Dad?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sheilagh, it isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Your son hates me, Alec.”
“He doesn’t know you.”
“This is just wonderful,” she said, crossing her arms.
She was angry, but angry was better than morose. “Look, it isn’t what anyone expected, but it is what it is. Perhaps—knowing this—will give the two of you the ground to start fresh.”
She gaped at him. “Alec, I’m two years older than him. How do you think he’ll feel knowing I’m sleeping with his father?”
“You’re talking about a kid with two moms. He’s not judgmental.”
“I can’t believe this.”
He stood. “Put on some pants.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m going to talk to Wes.”
“Alec, maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Sheilagh, he’s my son. You’re my girlfriend. I have to hide you from enough people. I refuse to treat you like some shameful secret around my family.”
“What if he’s pissed?”
He tossed her a pair of polka dot pajama bottoms. “We won’t know until we find out. And if he is, he’ll get over it.”
Shaking her head, she shoved her feet into the pants. “I think you’re making a mistake.”
He went to the door and opened it. Leaning into the hall he knocked on Wesley’s door. “Too late now.”
He stepped into the hall and his son opened his door, a look of surprise on his face when he saw him standing there. Sheilagh stood on the other side of the wall where Wes couldn’t see, worrying her lip.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
“I have to tell you something.”
“Is everything all right? Is Mom—”
“Everything’s fine. I need to tell you…” He glanced back at Sheilagh. “I’m in love.”
Her eyes widened and his son laughed. “What? Since when?”
“It’s recent. I met her in January and we’ve been a couple for a short time, but I’m certain and I wanted you to know.”
“That’s great! I’m happy for you. Do you wanna come in and have a drink or something?”
He glanced at Sheilagh. “Aren’t you going to ask me who she is?”
“Do I know her?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Who is it?”
He reached out a hand and his son’s s
mile fell. Sheilagh took a hesitant step forward and slipped her hand in his.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wes muttered. Then he scowled at the both of them. “This is ridiculous. What could you possibly see in her?”
He felt Sheilagh draw in a sharp breath. She tried to untangle their fingers, but he tightened his grip. Glowering at his son, he hissed, “That’s the last time you say something unkind to or about her. Do you understand me?”
Wes gaped at him, then snapped, “She’s my age. You’ll wind up losing your job. I’ll lose my tuition! Are you insane? This is completely selfish!”
After sticking out a marriage for as long as possible to a gay woman for the sake of family, he found it difficult to believe he was being accused of acting selfishly. Such blame seemed better suited for his son. “No one is losing their job or tuition. Get a grip, Wes.”
“You get a grip! What the fuck, Dad? And you…” He shook his head, growled, then slammed the door in their faces.
Alec glanced at Sheilagh. Her head hung and her hair hid her face. He brushed it out of her eyes and frowned when he saw her laughing. “Are you laughing?”
She gave him a look of innocence. “Seems to me he’s the one acting like a bitch.”
He grunted out a short laugh. “He’ll get over it. Come on. Let’s go to my place.”
Her laughter fell away and she stared at him with so many questions in her eyes. She seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. “Alec, why are we doing this?”
“Doing what?”
She waved her hand between them. “This. Us. There are so many reasons for us not to get involved.”
“None of those reasons are good enough for me.”
“Your job? Your son? They seem like pretty solid reasons to me.”
“Wesley will come around. He’s just reacting right now. Give it three days.”
“What happens in three days?”
“Nothing. I just believe that’s how long it takes to deal with something clearly, without emotions clouding your judgment.”
Rather than getting her things together she sat on the couch. He followed her in and knelt in front of her. “Sheilagh, I know you’re hurting. Please. Let me in. Let me help you.”