Guilty Stars

1 EVIE “Your next appointment is here … a Mr. Savin. He’s one of the Diversion Program participants.” Ella placed a new client folder on my desk. I glared at it as if the inanimate object had somehow sprouted teeth and tried to bite me. “I’m seriously not up for this right now. It’s been such a long day, and these folks are always so hard to work with. They’re forced to be here, totally antagonistic and unwilling to even try, or in complete denial that anything was their fault.” My exasperation escaped in a ragged sigh. The program was in its trial phase and involved rehabilitating first-time drug and alcohol offenders rather than punishing them. Each participant had to complete a series of substance abuse classes and attend weekly sessions with licensed therapists, such as myself, who had signed on to accept clients via the program. “You’re the one who volunteered to work with them.” She shrugged. “Only because Dana thought it would be good practice, and since I’m a recent graduate, I didn’t feel like I could argue.” I’d been lucky enough to score a fantastic opportunity with a seasoned psychologist. We technically ran separate businesses but shared an office and our assistant, Ella. I took Dana’s overflow patients when she was booked, which helped kick-start my practice and gave her the flexibility of having a pseudo partner around. Not only was she an amazing resource, but I genuinely enjoyed working with both Dana and Ella. “I’m being petulant, aren’t I? It’s not that bad; I’m just tired today. Go ahead and send him back, please.” Ella smirked. “I’ll go grab him. In the meantime, dip into that secret stash of chocolate kisses you keep in your desk. That’ll make you feel better.” I gaped at her. “How did you know about that?” “Silver wrappers in the trash. You’re not the sneakiest person I’ve ever met.” “I didn’t know I had to be!” I waved my hand at her in mock indignation. “Go get my client, you shameless busybody.” She snickered as she closed the door. The moment I was alone, I did exactly as she suggested and extracted a Hershey’s Kiss from my drawer. Nothing was quite like the sensation of creamy milk chocolate melting on your tongue. The tension eased from my shoulders as the last bits of chocolaty goodness slid down my throat and stimulated my dopamine receptors. By the time the door to my office creaked open, I felt fortified to take on my final appointment of the day. I plastered a warm smile on my face and stood as the door opened. It took every bit of the practiced composure I’d garnered over hundreds of clinic hours to keep that smile in place when I saw the man who sauntered into my office. My heart ricocheted off the confines of my rib cage, but my perfectly schooled mask never faltered. He wasn’t just self-assured; he was dauntless. An unapologetic blast of sultry air stealing the oxygen straight from my lungs as he filled the room with his intoxicating presence. Everything about the man was designed to intimidate. Eyes were said to be the window to the soul, but his, so dark and set so deep, were more a mirror than a window, keeping his secrets safely guarded. Tattoos ran all the way down his arms onto the knuckles of each finger and crept up from the collar of his shirt toward his razor-sharp jawline. His jeans were torn haphazardly—no fashionable rips at the knees —and his fitted T-shirt outlined every dip and curve of muscle, the same as a panther unsheathing its claws in warning. Like nature’s deadliest predators, his prowess was on full display without him having to lift a finger. “Mr. Savin, is that correct? Michael Savin?” Only the faintest hint of breathless wonder escaped into my voice. A single nod, those fathomless eyes drinking me in. “Please, have a seat.” I motioned to the wingbacks near the door and joined him. “I’m Evelyn Carter, and I’ll be working with you over the next six months. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “It’s definitely something. You aren’t exactly what I expected.” “And what was that?” I asked curiously. “Balding man in his late fifties. A wardrobe purchased in the Reagan era. Something along the lines of Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting.” “I could wear an ugly sweater to your appointments if you think that would help.” A challenge. Was he secure enough to open up to a female therapist? My insides buzzed with a curious excitement. His tangible gaze drifted from my upswept hair down to my lips, where it lingered a heartbeat longer than was appropriate. “No, don’t change a thing.” The corner of his mouth twitched ever so briefly before he fought back control over his austere façade. “But I’m not an easy case to dissect. The story of my childhood alone is enough to make grown men cry. Are you up for the task?” I couldn’t stop my lips from quirking up in the corners. “Try me.” We were engaged in an intricate dance, but I would match him step for step. His eyes glinted as he lifted his chin. “I’ve lived here in the city all my life. Never knew my dad. My ma was a crackhead, worked tricks to support her habit. Wasn’t much money left over for food or a decent place to live. I never had any stability, so when I was old enough, I dropped out of school and did what I had to survive. That’s the gist of it.” “I see.” I nodded sagely. “I can’t imagine watching your mother suffer like that, but it must have been comforting to know she was gifted at what she did. She must have been a very talented p********e to send you to Catholic private school on her earnings.” Gotcha. Michael’s eyes narrowed. “And where did you hear that? It’s not in that file of yours.” He nodded toward the folder on my desk. “It’s not, but I believe that’s because you were going by the name Michael Garin during those years. If I recall correctly, your mother participated in the Trunk-or-Treat for Xavier Elementary students that I helped organize during my senior year. She was about my height, brown hair with a sprinkle of silver, warm brown eyes, and zero traces of a c***k addiction.” I lifted a single eyebrow with giddy anticipation of his response.