unDefeated

  With as steady a voice as he could manage, Spencer asked, “Why, Liv?”

  Her thin fingers plucked at the hem of her shirt. It sprung back, just enough to reveal the stark white edge of the bandage he’d placed there. Cringing, Spencer closed his eyes. He could still see the cuts. Deep, angry, purposeful lines carved into her beautiful silky smooth skin.

  “Why what?”

  Flipping his hardened gaze up to hers, he gave her a look. “Don’t do that. You know what I’m asking. Why did you hurt yourself? I thought you were over that.”

  Shaking her head sadly, she sighed. “You know as well as I do that there are some things that stick with you. It’s a constant struggle not to fall back into old habits.”

  Yeah, he really did. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t royally pissed over what she did. “Do you have any idea what seeing you like that did to me? Any at all?” he asked angrily. “It fucking tore my heart out. I thought you were dead, Liv! I came back to ask you to forgive me for leaving, and instead I find you passed out, slashed all to hell, and in a pool of blood.”

  His breathing had become labored, his heart pounding in his chest at the memory. She didn’t understand what she had done to him. He could see it in the dull look in her eyes. Was this what everyone else saw in him? That cool, uncaring demeanor? Just listen, let them shout, get it all off their chest, and then move on like nothing ever happened. That’s what he used to do.

  Whenever Spencer did something he knew would rock the boat—or sink it—he fell back on the idea that a couple of apologies would do the trick. If he could get through the yelling and crying, everyone would feel better and he could get on with his day.

  He never considered that he would one day find himself alone and destitute, relying on someone who was but wasn’t his girlfriend. Complicated—it was the definition of his life.

  “Don’t yell at me,” Liv complained, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. The gesture reminded him so much of himself, he might as well be looking in a mirror.

  Spencer let out a derisive snort. “Don’t yell at you? After the night I had, I think I’ve earn the right. After I carried you to bed and bandaged you, I spent the next hour sopping up blood from the bathroom floor. Ruined your towels, by the way, but your laundry’s done, so you’re welcome,” he said snidely.

  “Then I spent the rest of the night watching over you to make sure you didn’t stop breathing. You were so damn pale. The only thing that kept me from calling for help was how strong your pulse was and that the bleeding had stopped.

  She didn’t say anything. Staring at her profile, he could see by the firm press of her lips that she was trying her damnedest to block him out. Maybe there wasn’t any point. Maybe he was just wasting his breath, but he couldn’t keep quiet about this. Not when everything inside of him was screaming for answers.

  “Liv,” he said quietly, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at her. “I was so damn scared. I—” His words were cut off by an unexpected surge of emotion.

  Reaching out, Liv took his hand in hers and squeezed. It surprised the hell out of him because he hadn’t expected her to be the one to reach out.

  “I’m sorry, Spence. I never meant for you to find me that way.” Her voice wobbled, and when Spencer pulled his head up, he took one look at her trembling bottom lip and watery eyes and he knew she was on the verge of losing it.

  Releasing her hand, he quickly wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his lap. She went willingly, twisting to face him. Straddling him, she buried her face in his neck. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she sobbed. “I just needed some relief. I needed the pressure to go away.”

  “I know you did, baby.” Running his fingers through her hair, he clutched her tightly to his chest, soothing them both, even as worry rooted deep in his gut. How in the hell could he expect to help her when he was still trying to find a way to help himself?

  She’d told him about the pressure once. How it built and built, like blowing air into a balloon until her skin felt too tight around her bones. Somehow, the bite of a blade relieved that…for a time.

  Spencer could relate. He knew how easy it was to get trapped into the pattern of pain and pleasure. It was a vicious cycle that spun on a loop and could quickly spiral out of control. For people like them, who had addictive personalities, it only exacerbated the problem.

  For Spencer, it was always about money. He’d lied, cheated, and stolen for it. He’d sold drugs and more recently, gambled to get it. There was never enough. The feeling of always being one step behind, almost in reach of an invisible, unreachable goal was a constant presence in the back of his mind.

  While he couldn’t speak for Olivia, he imagined it was similar for her. They both had their triggers, things that would set the wheels in motion. He was attracted to the potential to generate cash flow, and she was lured by the promise of escape.

  They both had their share of demons. The trick was learning how to live with them.

  Maybe he was wrong. If they stuck together, learned together, walked together, they wouldn’t have to navigate it alone. They could figure out how to avoid the pitfalls as a unit. Be each other’s support team.

  Hope flared in his chest. He knew what needed to be done. Turning his head, he kissed hers. “You need help, baby. We both need it, or we’re not going to get far.”

  “I know.”

  “I have a doctor. She’s really nice. Listens to me, never judges,” he said, monitoring Liv’s reaction. She didn’t stiffen up or leap away, so he pressed on. “I think we should make an appointment with her.”

  Liv’s reaction was slow to come. “Actually, I already have a doctor. My appointment is next week.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t expected that. It made him wonder if she’d made the appointment before or after she’d gone into that bathroom. Did it really matter what order she did it in, though? At least she was willing to see someone.

  The thought of her going in alone, though? He didn’t like it. He wanted to be there for her as much as he wanted her there for him. The concept of going in alone wasn’t foreign to him, but it wasn’t preferable either. He wanted her there. Wanted to be able to reach out and hold her hand when the questions got tough.

  An idea struck him, and he ran with it. “What if…” He swallowed, nervous as to what she’d say. “Do you…do you think we could go together?”

  Lifting her head, Liv’s cool blue eyes stared into his. “You mean, at the same time? Like couple’s therapy?”

  “Something like that.” He smiled sheepishly, feeling like a total idiot for asking.

  Dropping her head back on his shoulder, she slipped her hand around his neck. The feel of her fingers toying with his hair caused a pleasured moan to build in his throat. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Hell yes. “We’re going to get through this together, Liv,” he said fiercely. “No more hiding. No more lies. Together.”

  “Really?” she sniffled.

  Tightening his hold on her waist, he said, “I’m tired of being alone. Aren’t you?” Her small nod had him sagging in relief. “From here out, it’s you and me, baby.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Puffing his cigarette, Spencer peered up at the three-story brick structure lined with heavily tinted narrow, rectangular windows.

  She wasn’t sure when he’d taken up the habit, but he was smoking like a chimney. Olivia couldn’t blame him for being apprehensive. The first time she’d come here was years ago. She’d taken one look at the place and almost turned around and walked back the other way. The building was government owned and operated, and looked more like a small prison than a mental health facility.

  But Dr. Peterson was a really nice guy. He was patient and understanding, and he knew what he was talking about. Without him, she never would have come as far as she had. After last week’s breakdown, she realized something: She’d gotten cocky. Having g
one over a year without an incident, she thought she’d left it in the past—the hurt, anger, betrayal. The feeling of isolation and distress from the realization that she was completely alone in the world had been too much for a girl her age to bear.

  Thinking she had all the tools she needed to be a healthy individual, she’d stopped going to her appointments. When the notices started coming in that she’d be dropped as a patient if she missed another one, she’d stopped scheduling them altogether—no point in wasting everyone’s time.

  Now she realized she should have kept them. Dr. Peterson told her that her condition was so deeply rooted, that she would likely need years of therapy to get through it. After all, it had taken years to develop it.

  “I arranged it with the receptionist. He knows you’re coming,” she informed Spencer.

  Pressing his lips together, he didn’t look convinced. She knew this had to be as hard for him as it was for her. It was never easy admitting you needed help. She was definitely not looking forward to telling Dr. Peterson about her misstep. The thought of disappointing him was tough to face.

  Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, Olivia reached out, lacing her fingers through Spencer’s. “Everything will be fine,” she said, reassuring him as much as she was herself.

  He still looked suspicious, but rather than argue, Spencer took a final drag on his cigarette and dropped it on the ground, snubbing it out with his boot heel.

  Together, they traversed the cracked marble floors and rode the elevator to the second floor where they checked in at the front desk. The receptionist was the same one she remembered from the previous times she was there. Young and pretty, she had skin the color of caramel that was set off by a modest teal blouse, and dark brown hair that graduated to a pale blonde at the ends in keeping with the current trend.

  The nametag hanging from her collar read Ashley, and when she looked up, her toffee-colored eyes smiled in greeting. “Signing in?”

  “Yes. I have an eleven o’clock appointment for Olivia and Spencer,” Olivia informed her. After assuring her that the doctor was with a patient and would be with them shortly, Olivia seated herself next to Spencer.

  Immediately, he scooped her hand up, gripping it tightly on his thigh. He was a bundle of nerves as he stared up at the television mounted in one corner of the room playing a baseball game.

  She was grateful for the contact. She understood how he felt. Even under the best circumstances, she’d never been comfortable talking about her feelings. This was not the best of circumstances, and she was adding another person to the equation to boot. Although she had some experience with group therapy, she had absolutely none with couple’s therapy.

  What would they talk about? What kind of questions would Dr. Peterson ask? Oh God. Would he want to know about their sex life?

  Before she could go into a full-blown panic attack, the door to his office opened. Heads jerking up at the sound, she and Spencer froze as they watched the tall, middle-aged man with graying hair and wire-framed glasses step out, followed closely by a dark figure. Dr. Peterson smiled down at his patient—a teenage boy with long, shaggy black hair that hung in his eyes—spoke something softly to him, then directed him to Ashley’s desk to set up another appointment.

  When he looked up, he caught Olivia’s eye. “Olivia, Spencer, you’re up.” He waved his arm in a grand gesture, and together she and Spencer got to their feet and followed him into his office.

  “Please, have a seat,” Dr. Peterson said, directing them to a comfortable looking couch as he took care of closing the door.

  Crossing the room, she watched nervously as he shifted some papers around on his desk. When he found what he was searching for—an iPad and stylus—he headed back their way, his brown leather loafers squishing on the multi-colored industrial Berber carpet.

  Occupying the chair across from them, Dr. Peterson propped his ankle on his opposite knee, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and swiped his finger across the screen. “Now that we’re all set let’s start with what brought you here today.”

  Olivia watched as the doctor’s kind eyes shifted back and forth between them. She wished Spencer would go first because the worry over confessing that she’d compromised her recovery was threatening to gnaw a hole through her stomach. But Spencer was just as stubborn and apparently he wasn’t any more willing than she was to begin the conversation.

  “Olivia, how about we start with you,” Dr. Peterson said, shifting his focus to her.

  Nerves struck her, and Olivia tugged on her pant leg, trying to smooth a stubborn crease from the stiff jean material. “Um…okay.” Where to begin? Should she just jump right in, confess everything? Or ease into it, taking the roundabout path? It’d been over a year. There was a lot of ground to cover.

  Dr. Peterson made the choice for her. “You look like you have a lot on your mind. How have things been going for you since our last talk?”

  “Fine. I picked up a second job,” she offered. “Cutting hair. I really like it.”

  He nodded, touching his fingers to the iPad. “That’s very good, Olivia. Is this a recent development?”

  “Fairly. I just started there about a month ago.”

  “I see. And does this new job have anything to do with why you’re here today?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. It’s a great job.”

  His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I see you brought a friend with you today. What is the nature of your relationship?”

  “Spencer’s my…” What was she supposed to call him exactly?

  “Boyfriend,” Spencer cut in, saving her. “We’re dating.”

  “Mmmhmm, I see.” Dr. Peterson made another note on the tablet. “How long have the two of you been seeing each other, Spencer?”

  “Off and on for a few months.”

  “So this isn’t a relationship without problems.”

  Far from it, Olivia thought to herself. To him, she said, “Don’t all relationships have problems?”

  “Most do, in some way or another. When a problem arises, how do the two of you handle it?”

  “What do you mean?” Spencer asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Do you talk it out? Fight? Walk away until one or both of you has time to cool off?”

  Stress. He wanted to know how they handled stress. “A little of everything,” Olivia admitted.

  “I walked out after a fight the other night.” Spencer’s words caused her stomach to tighten. The roundabout path. She wanted the roundabout path!

  “Oh,” Dr. Peterson said, tilting his head curiously. “What was the fight about?”

  Rubbing his palms over his pant legs, Spencer sighed deeply. “I screwed up. Got high and threw a party while she was at work. Then I broke up with her.”

  God, it sounded so shitty when he put it that way. Olivia could almost understand why Ally said what she had. If Jami were treating her friend the way Spencer just described, she probably wouldn’t be feeling the warm fuzzies toward him either.

  “How did you handle that, Olivia?”

  Olivia’s gaze flicked up. “Um, poorly I guess.” Reflexively, Spencer reached over and clasped their hands together. She squeezed back.

  A knowing glint flickered in the doctor’s eyes. “Am I correct in assuming that this is why you made the appointment?”

  She nodded sadly, feeling like a total failure. “Yes.”

  “I know this is a difficult subject for you, Olivia, but I’d like you to tell me more about what happened. Take your time.”

  Take her time? She wanted to speed right through it. Just dump it in a pile at his feet and run out the door. It was difficult to think about it, let alone talk to someone about it. It helped marginally that both of the men who’d be listening already knew her history, though.

  Sucking in a steadying breath, she released it slowly and forced the words out. “After he left, I—I cut myself.”

  Dr. Peterson didn’t yell at her. He didn’t cluck his tongue in dis
approval or cry out in shock. He didn’t even ask if she was okay. He just looked at her, maintaining that appearance of calm collectiveness that was both maddening and reassuring at once.

  “Why did you cut yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I was upset. Angry that he’d just left without giving me a chance to say my side. I felt…powerless. And alone. Really alone.”

  The heavy feel of Spencer’s arm around her shoulders as he tugged her to his side and kissed the top of her head helped to ground her.

  “Is that how you feel today, alone?”

  “Not right now, no,” she replied, shaking her head.

  “I assume that you two are back on again, since you came together,” Dr. Peterson surmised, looking meaningfully at the way their bodies were tightly aligned on the couch and how protectively Spencer held her.

  “Yes, we’re together,” Spencer said firmly. “I have my own set of problems to deal with, and we thought it would be a good idea to do this therapy thing together.”

  “Are you hoping that therapy will somehow keep you together?”

  “No, that’s on us. I’m just hoping that it—you—can teach us how to get through the rough patches.”

  Dr. Peterson smiled, and Olivia figured that must have been the right answer. Setting his iPad in his lap, he regarded them thoughtfully. “I will certainly try. Now, what do you say we crack open a couple cans of worms and get down to business?”

  ***

  “My brain hurts.”

  “Are you kidding? My stomach hurts. I kept waiting for my nerves to go away, but Dr. Peterson kept throwing me for a loop.”

  “He’s a heavy-hitter,” Spencer agreed as he leaned in to take another bite of the hot fudge sundae they were sharing.

  After their appointment ended, they’d both been mentally taxed. Despite the cool weather, Spencer’s suggestion to go get ice cream had been the perfect solution to ease their tortured emotions.