Page 51 of Stand Your Ground
Then again… maybe I could talk about herwithout talking about her.
I shifted, tapping the hacky sack against the sole of my shoe before I started rolling it in my fingers. “I’ve been spending time with someone,” I said carefully. “A friend. Sort of a… mentor. She’s been helping me work through some stuff.”
Doc lifted one brow — not in a judgy way, just his usual “go on” expression — and I knew I’d walked right into it.
“She’s… experienced,” I said, already regretting the phrasing. “She has a lot to teach me, and I have a lot I can learn from her. And I’m trying to. She’s working with me, and I think it’s helping.”
I cringed.
“Shit. I don’t mean—she’s not, like, a coach. Or a player. Or…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “She just… knows stuff. About people. Pressure. Control.”
He didn’t say anything. I hated when he didn’t say anything, and yet it was very rare that I’d shut my trap long enough that he’d pose a question or offer an observation. He knewjustthe right amount of silence to leave me with that I would start yapping again and bury myself a little deeper.
“She’s teaching me things I didn’t even know Ineededto learn,” I said, blowing out a breath. “Like how to be present. How to listen. How to show up without trying to perform all the time.”
“Have you talked to her about Leduc?”
I hesitated, stilling where I’d been shuffling the hacky sack from hand to hand.
“No.”
“No?” Arman scribbled that down. “I find that surprising, if she’s a mentor of sorts. Don’t you think she should know about that history?”
Everything inside me shut down at the thought, but I fought through the ache and worked through it. That was the whole fucking point of being in this room, after all.
“It’s weird. I trust her with stuff I’ve never told anyone, withdoing thingsI’ve never done before. But also… I don’t really trust her at all.”
Doc tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think I follow.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees and hacky sack gripped between my hands as I tried to explain. “She’s got this… shield. Like titanium-grade. She’s composed all the time. Calm. Controlled. She doesn’t do messy.” I paused. “I don’t think shecando messy.”
I felt my chest tighten as I said it, like I was betraying her just by putting it into words.
“If I told her about Leduc — about the way his voice still echoes in my head every time I fuck up — I think she’d hear me. But I also think she’d laugh at me. I think she’d see it for what it is, for whatIam.” I swallowed, sitting up straight again with my eyes on the floor. “Weak.”
Arman didn’t flinch at the word or assure me I wasn’t weak. He didn’tthere, thereme, either. He just gave me one of those patient nods, leaving me space to explore that feeling.
When I didn’t say anything else, he cleared his throat. “It kind of sounds like you’ve written an ending to this story in your head without any of it playing out in reality.”
That shut me up.
I stared down at my hands. They looked too big in my lap. I found myself overanalyzing them for the first time in my life, like I’d just realized they were as awkward as the rest of me.
Then, I thought about how those hands had graced Livia’s body, how she’d let me touch her, taste her. I looked at my dumb fingers and wondered again why she was wasting her time with me.
Because you’re paying her, dumbass.
Still, I wondered if Doc was making a fair assessment. When I’d first asked Livia about what was wrong the night she came to my place, she’d brushed me off. But after our lesson, she’d opened up a bit more. Not too much — but enough for me to see that she had warmth beneath her cool exterior.
There were more layers to her than she presented to the world.
I just didn’t think she was eager to let anyone, least of all me, peel them back.
But did that mean she would judge if I showed her my own vulnerability?
I thought about our first lesson, how ashamed I’d been when I’d busted like a fucking teenager without her touching me.
She’d soothed me. She’d assured me I had nothing to be ashamed of.
