His hands find my head, one pressed on each side. He lifts my head from the table, forcing me to look at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Freeing my head from his hands, I sit up, pressing my back against the chair. I blow out a breath. “Yes.”
I see the concern furrow his brow.
“This isn’t good, Indy.”
“I know that!” I snap but instantly regret it. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He nods. “What does this mean?”
“It means that, if the Health and Care Professions Council find out, I’ll lose my license. And if he brought up malpractice…I could, at the very least, be sued. Worst case…I’d go to prison.”
“Would Leandro tell them?”
“I don’t think so…but I broke the rules. Not just the rules. My oath as a therapist, Kit. I should tell the HCPC myself, confess now.”
“And lose everything you’ve worked for over a kiss with a man who was fully aware of everything he was doing?”
“It’s not that simple.” I put my head in my hands. “I’m just like him…” I lift my head, my eyes meeting Kit’s. “I’m exactly like Paul.”
His eyes flare with anger. “You are nothing like that piece of shit. You were fifteen when he started a…physical relationship with you. You were a minor. A foster kid. Needy and vulnerable. And he was your fucking caregiver. You are none of those things to Leandro Silva. He is a grown man from a good background, with an established career.”
I slowly shake my head. “He might be all those things, but if he was a hundred percent okay, then I wouldn’t have been treating him.”
“None of us are ever a hundred percent okay, Indy. You know that. Can you tell me what you were treating him for?”
I trace my fingers over the wood patterns on the table. “You know I can’t.”
“I think you’ve already broken the rules when it comes to Leandro Silva, so telling me won’t hurt. It might actually help.”
I take a deep breath. I can trust Kit. I know I can. I hate to break trust with a patient, but I need help. “After his accident…he’s been suffering from PTSD. He can’t get back in a car to drive. He’s unable to race. I’ve been helping him with that.”
“Okay…” He nods. “Any substance abuse?”
“He drank, but he stopped easily enough. He was drinking to forget, and he was using sex with random women to make himself feel better.”
“He sounds like pretty much every celebrity out there right now.” He chuckles.
“It’s not funny, Kit.”
“No, it’s not. But he’s not broken in the worst sense of the word. He suffered a terrible accident that stopped him from doing what he loved, and he needed help finding his way back to it.”
“And I’ve been that help. He’s built a reliance on me, and he is mistaking that for something else. Because of my own feelings for him, I let it happen.”
“You’re always so hard on yourself, Indy. By the sound of things, he’s fully capable of making his own decisions. You haven’t taken advantage.”
I give him a look, telling him exactly what I think of that statement. “It’s wrong, Kit.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“If you weren’t his therapist and he was still the same man with the same problems, then it wouldn’t be wrong.”
“No, but I am, and it is. God, I wish it were that simple.”
“Life is only as hard as you make it. And don’t go throwing your career away over one kiss with a man who knew full well what he was doing.”
I pick my glass up and get up from the table. “Thanks, Kit. For listening…and helping.” I kiss the top of his head as I pass him. “I’m gonna head upstairs. Take a shower, and think things over. I need to process everything.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Indy. You’re only human.”
“But I’m a therapist, and I know better.”
Cradling my glass to my chest, I head upstairs. I look in on Jett as I pass his room. I see him sleeping in bed, his TV still on. I go in and turn off his TV. Kissing his forehead, I close his door behind me.
I go into my bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.
I need to call Dan, break things off with him. I hate that I’ve deceived him like this. He’s a good man, but clearly, he’s not the man for me. I think I’ve always known deep down. But I just wanted a good guy, a safe guy.
Not a hotheaded racing driver.
God, why do I always want the wrong man?
Finishing off my drink for Dutch courage, I dial Dan’s number.
He picks up on the second ring. “Hey, you.”
I feel sick at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”
“How are you doing?”
“Good. Look, Dan, are you okay to talk?”
“Hang on…” I hear a door open and then close. “Go ahead. Is everything okay?”
“I can’t see you anymore.”
“Are you being serious?”
He blows out a breath. “Why?”
“If you’re going to say that it’s not you, it’s me, you might as well just hang up the phone now.”