Page 14 of Ice
My phone rang then, and it was her. I answered it immediately.
“I didn’t offer my forgiveness,”her voice was a low murmur, and it echoed through me, like a surge of arousal. How the fuck did she do that?
“I’m sorry I assumed that.” My heart was thudding in my chest, and it wasn’t all shock, or fear. It was excitement too. She’d reached out to me. She’d called me. Maybe I wasn’t a lost cause after all.
Lissa
Itwasamazingwhata little ‘Dutch courage’ could do. I hadn’t been able to sleep again, so I’d fallen back on the age old remedy of a little whiskey in my hot chocolate. Instead of making me sleepy, it had just left me laying there, trying not to think about anyone in particular.
When my phone rang, it was one of the on-call therapists. There were two who covered a night shift, picking up calls or messages from anyone struggling outside of office hours.
For some insane reason, I’d advised them that I wanted to know if Damon Silver made contact out of hours. Said he was a particularly ‘at risk’ case. They’d mentioned that he’d requested an appointment, and I’d requested his number, so I could ‘checkin’. Checking in… it wasn’t the norm, but damn. It was him, and for some reason, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Why had I messaged with him? Entered into banter? And why now was I sitting up in bed, my phone against my ear, and his voice seeping into me through the phone.
“You know what they say about assuming.”
He laughed, well, it was more of a low chuckle, and it sent a tingle of something down my spine. Desire? No. No, I can’t think of him that way. But damn… I was big enough to admit that I wanted to.
“So uh… I’m sorry if I interrupted your evening.”
I glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was just past 2am.
“Evening? I think we’re a little past that.”
He fell silent and then cursed.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I… I felt like an asshole for the way I spoke to you, and uh… I couldn’t sleep. The card had the number on, and I figured I’d call up to check opening hours, and uh… yeah… that’s how I came to message you.”
He didn’t message me, specifically, but now, thanks to my insane need to contact him, he had my personal number. I’m an idiot. That’s so inappropriate.
“Doc?”
I cleared my throat, closing my eyes.
“You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You didn’t message me. I lied. I wasn’t on call.”
I heard movement, rustling of bedding maybe? He was in bed. Was he naked? I bet he slept naked… I pressed my hand against my face. What the hell was I getting into? He was a patient. A client. Both terms applied. More importantly, he was an addict in the early stages of recovery, and I was his therapist. His shoulder to lean on. Not someone to hit on him.
“Doc, is that why this is a different number? Is it your number? Why are you even awake so late?” Oh, he’d checked the time then.
“Jesus… I was worried about you after… I asked them to let me know if you reached out after hours. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He cursed quietly, and said nothing else for a moment.
“Ice?”
“So I come across as a complete fucking dick, and you worry about me? I yell at you, and insult you, and you somehow make yourself available to me out of hours? I bet they even woke you up. This is what it’s like to know me, Doc. I’m a fucking waste of space. Me, not you, or anyone else. It’s me.It’s always been me.Now I’m intruding on your fucking personal life.” His voice was slightly raspy, no wait, that wasn’t the right word. Ragged. Edgy.
“Ice-”
“Doc, I don’t deserve that kind of consideration. Not from anyone, but especially not you. All you’ve done is try to help me, and I’ve acted like a cunt every single fucking time.”
Ouch. That word was jarring. Shocking. I bit back the urge to tell him that I didn’t like it. It wasn’t his problem that it bothered me. And sometimes it was best not to give people on the edge that kind of ammunition. It was something they could use to hit back at you with.
