Aftermath Book Two Crash Series

Chapter Ten

Aria

His door doesn’t even squeak with my entrance and I keep my steps light as I listen to Mason’s one-sided conversation. His desk sits to the back of the room, with the Boston skyline behind him, a gorgeous fully stocked bar to the side, a little cozy sitting area in the front corner, and two doors off to either side corner. It’s a grand office for a grand man with the gorgeous blue sky and natural light hitting Mason and surrounding him like a halo.

Even nature knows he’s important…special.

He’s talking to someone about a marketing campaign and how the current one is failing but I don’t listen to any of it instead I’m stuck on his hunched shoulders and his bowed head. One hand, knuckles white, grips the black receiver against his ear as the other pulls at the strands of his hair as he rolls his neck from side to side.

I see his stress, his pain, the burdens he’s carrying alone. Alone because I’ve put all my burdens on him and pushed him away at the same time. I’ve made myself look unstable or too weak to help him. To carry some of the weight he has on his shoulders when just weeks ago he was carrying his and mine. He took more than he could handle just so I didn’t feel it all.

And what have I done? Guilt eats at my gut and reminds me that I might want to keep my actions behind the scenes right now, but that also keeps unnecessary stress on Mason. I need to be there for him the way he was with me, un-relentless, understanding, and above all supportive.

Toeing off my small heels I wore for the shooting and paired with slick black jeans, a cute off-the-shoulder red top, only covered by my thin black jacket, I pad quietly over to Mason’s side. He’s massively distracted, stressed, or oblivious but either way, it makes me cringe as his head stays down and he stays unaware of me. I could be anyone and Leo doesn’t stay in his office with him, usually, he floats around this floor, like Wyatt right now.

He jumps as I settle my hands on the crook of his neck and slide my hands down his shoulders before wrapping around to his front. He doesn’t make a sound, but his wide eyes swing to mine in question like he isn’t sure if I’m real or not. I told him I would meet him here, but I came early for our “missions” sake.

Walking my fingers down his chest I push him back and yank his chair to the side. The cord of the phone wraps around his arm as I tug at the button on his jacket halfway down so I can slide it off his shoulders, the thick jacket in the way of my goal. I hold his eyes with my own as he helps me his conversation continuing in the background but the important conversation happening silently between us.

I bend a little so I can place a kiss on his forehead before pushing his chair so he faces towards his desk. Sliding in behind him I work my fingers into the tight muscle in his shoulders smiling when he moans into the phone. Mason cringes as soon as the caller pauses in awkward silence. He’s fast to finish the call after that, letting me work at the knots.

The second the phone hangs up he’s reaching up to pull me around as he twists the chair towards me, so we meet in the middle. He only has to tug me a little to pull me into his lap as I tuck my legs underneath myself, my thighs squeezing him together.

“You’re early.” His fingers are rough and callused pulling at my shirt as he runs his hands up my jacket.

Running my hands down his chest I lean in even closer as I give in to the always there magnetic pull. “I finished early at Shirley’s. I didn’t feel like standing around,” I shrug.

He pushes up my thin shirt so he can rest his hands on my squishy hips. The stress of the past few months should have melted some of my sugar hips away but when a baker, at least this baker is stressed…while I eat more. Bake more. Hoard more, like a chipmunk preparing for a long winter. Mason seems to like it and I’ve never been one to stress on my looks so I don’t mind much until I try something on and my muffin top makes itself known.

“Have you set an opening date?” His head drops back like the weight of his head is too much, looking at the dark bags under his eyes and the way his hands are shaking on my hips I think he’s in serious need of some real rest. I make a mental note to ask Michelle to clear his schedule for tomorrow or shorten it. Something.

“Yup, I sent the .pdf to the printer an hour ago. We should be up and running in two weeks perfect timing for Thanksgiving. I might get a few big orders, but really I’ll just be happy to hear that door chime with my first customer.” My words are true, I really do want to serve my first customer. See Shirley’s functioning and serving the way I’ve dreamt. But I can’t stop the unease as it rolls around in my stomach.

I can’t help but feel like I’ll be a failure on some level or that I’m not as ready as I should be. I don’t have the professional experience that most bakers do and I have a lot riding on this. The responsibility alone has me shaking in my boots as reality approaches. And the reality is approaching fast, I put it off too long already.

Mason’s lips tug up at the corners as he smiles but even that looks like it takes energy he doesn’t have. “Are you going to have a grand opening?”

“Yes! The weekend after Thanksgiving to kick off the holiday season! Total holiday themes! And I mean all the holidays. I’ve already started looking up different religious desserts that are famous for their respective celebrations. I’ll have them spread out in different sections like an around the world event but with Holiday desserts.

“I’m going to start asking around the soup kitchen too, try and find out what desserts Google doesn’t tell me about. And I want to do a holiday party for everyone in the kitchen too, separately and I don’t have the theme yet. But they deserve to have something special…” I trail off as Mason trails his finger along with the waistband of my pants.

“Those are all great ideas, Crash.” He looks drunk, looking at me through squinted eyes and slow movements.

“Thank you.” I breathe out before interlocking my fingers behind his head and tickling his hairline. “You need some rest, Handsome.”

“I’ll get it when I’m cold in the ground. There’s too much to do in the meantime and not enough hours in the day.” He sits up straighter and opens his eyes wider like he’s trying to pretend his body isn’t begging him to give in to its need.

Scratching at his skull I speak softer as I purr, “I think we should just go home and take a nap. Skip the rest of the day, wrapped up in each other… Sounds heaven-like to me.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head “no”. “You just don’t want to go to the Therapist.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. “Or maybe I’m addicted to your body.” I wiggle on his lap, but he holds my hips down locking me in place.

“Oh, you are definitely addicted to me and you’ll have me. Later. After our appointment.” He might be tired, but it doesn’t stop him from shoving the chair back as he grabs my thighs and lifts us up. I squeal into the crook of his neck as he walks us towards the door and ultimately to an appointment, I want nothing to do with.

***

Dr. Tussing is an older man, older than Edward, closer to the age my grandfather would be if he was still alive. He seems nice enough, his hands are soft with age and wrinkled but his handshake was strong and firm.

His office wasn’t a far drive from Mason’s building, and I was pleased to see that it’s more comfortable than modern. I pictured something stuffy and prestigious like Mason’s house and offices. Really everything in Mason’s life is over the top and takes some getting used to. I’m happy this place isn’t one of them.

His office might be in a big fancy Boston building, but his physical office holds character and warmth. He has a small waiting area with a receptionist and a cute little Keurig station, which was cool enough in itself but then we got inside his office. It opened with big windows and a beautiful view of the sky.

The walls are painted in the warm clay color and a soft mustard accent wall. Every few feet hangs an interesting, thought-provoking painting, like were in an art gallery each pulling at my attention. In the middle of the left wall, there’s a cheery wood bar with a tea/coffee station and an assortment of warm desserts sitting under a couple of heaters. The warm sugar smell fills the space making my tense shoulders relax as a feeling of comfort surrounds me, bringing with it a strange feeling of certainty, like I’m meant to be here.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

Tan, deep, plush couches sit in a semi-circle with a full, thick rug laying in the middle. A table at each end of the couch and a few matching ottomans at the ready to kick your legs up and relax. Mason walked right in pausing only to shake Dr. Tussing's hand and then seating himself in the middle of the far-right couch, settling into the cushions like he’s been there a thousand times.

After shaking Dr. Tussing's hand and getting his blessing to help myself I make way over to the desserts and tea grabbing myself a plate and warm glass. I smirk into the milky tan steaming liquid as I swirl it with a plastic stick the seconds ticking by.

They wait until I sit. I lean closer to the arm of the couch and the table, my excuse the heavy plate and hot cup but am self-aware enough to know I don’t want to be touching, or closer to anyone than necessary if this conversation does creep into dangerous, emotional territory. With my plate resting on the arm of the couch and my legs crossed in front of me, Mason’s thigh still brushes mine, closer than I’d like.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Aria,” Dr. Tussing waits until I’m settled in my seat and happily chewing on a warm gooey chocolate chip cookie before starting the session I’ve comfortably fallen into.

“Oh, give it a couple of minutes and I’m sure I’ll change your mind,” I joke awkwardly as I set my cookie down and pick up my tea. The cup is still warm so I take the time to blow on the steam as Dr. Tussing talks.

“I’ve known Mason for years, if he loves you enough to marry you I know the pleasure of knowing you will be all mine.” He’s a slick old man weaving in a flirty tone in a way that is nothing more than a little fun, no pressure, no gross, grimy feelings. I can feel my walls crumbling already. Damn, he’s good.

Setting my tea back on the table I shift slightly on the cushion and gather myself, re-strengthen my boundaries and locking away my every changing emotion. “Mason’s judgment is usually spot on I do admit. But I think he has a glitch in his system when it comes to me, so save your judgment of my worthiness for after the session.”

He’s wearing a gray suit with a light blue button-up shirt underneath. His arms are relaxed in his lap as leans into the back of the couch. No notebook rests in his lap or recorder next to him, he just looks on with his undivided attention. “If Mason’s judgment is always spot on as you say, why would you assume his choice in you would be the one place he’s wrong? Wouldn’t it be safer to assume he’s right?”

Mason extends his arm on top of the couch across my shoulders, his fingers rubbing through my jacket, trying to give silent support. Shrugging out of his hold I sit forward. This is awkward already and so cringey I can’t help but squirm in my seat.

I was forced to open up about the situation with Brian and some of my relationship with my father because I needed to stay alive and protect the people around me. I talked about something I had never talked about before, ever. And now sitting here with two men watching and waiting for me to crack open my heart and soul so I can pour all my bare emotions and deepest thoughts into existence?

I do all I can to avoid feeling and thinking these things in my darkest moments but opening it all up to anyone else. That’s a long shot. It’s turning my back on every instinct I’ve ever had and making myself more vulnerable than I’ve been. I’ve been hurt beyond recognition, yet I’ve never given the key to my being to anyone, and I refuse to start now.

Both men notice my awkward movements as I close myself off a little more. Mason looks on with a shuttered expression, hiding some of the hurt and protecting himself from what he knows is to come. The doctor looks on with a knowing expression. It isn’t condescending but it still cements my next words.

“No one can be right about everything. I expect I would like you very much Dr. Tussing if we ever had the chance to talk normally without you psychoanalyzing me that is. As it is today that’s why we’re here and I want to be forthcoming that I don’t plan to open up or pour out my soul. Not today and not a year from now.

“Being here is the least I can do for Mason. He’s been too good to me and for some reason, he thinks he loves me. Scratch that, I know he loves me and I’ll be better, become better so I can be as good to him as he is to me. But I’ll do it on my own like I always have.

“Life has been crazy, I’ve been a little depressed and processing but I’m alright, just like I always am.” I grab for the blueberry muffin next. I peel the wrapper away from the cake before taking a healthy bite.

Mason stays quiet but I feel his glare stabbing at the side of my face. I can feel the pull of his gaze begging me to look his way so I can see the truth I’m trying to hide from. I’m not okay and we both know it. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop pretending.

“Mason told me you have an aversion to therapy, that’s fine. It isn’t for everyone, but I know everyone benefits from it if they give it a chance. I’m not here to judge you nor will I shove my opinions at you but I can help you work through the jumbled thoughts and ragging emotions you’re dealing with.

“We don’t need to go deeper than you want but what you just said, what you’ve been saying, and what Mason has observed tells me that you would greatly benefit from talking through some of the crazy you’ve dealt with so far.”

I have to sip some tea to wash down the muffin that’s turned to stone in my throat. “I’ve been through plenty in life and none of it has ever required therapy, okay?” Shooting a burning glare at Mason I go on, “I don’t know what Mason has told you, seeing how everything I tell him is private. But I’m doing better every day. My abusive ex kidnapped me and I’m here and he’s gone forever.

“He can never hurt me again and I’m okay with that. More than okay. It’s huge to know I never have to worry about him again. And each day as that settles more and more into my reality I gain a little bit more of myself back.

“I’m opening my bakery in two weeks and I’m filming in...” Tapping the screen of my phone I see the time and groan with the knowledge that I’m stuck in here for at least another ten minutes. “Forty minutes. I’m doing just fine.”

“Aria,” Mason starts with a slight growl in his tone that makes goosebumps break out and my anger to rise.

“Mason if you don’t mind, I’d like to do the talking for a moment,” the good doctor interrupts Mason. Smirking at him I turn back to Dr. Tussing slightly satisfied to have Mason put in his place.

“We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I’m here to listen and guide you as I can. That’s all. So, talk to me Aria, tell me about your bakery.” He never uncrosses his legs or unwraps his hands from in front of him. He stays still and quiet, so he doesn’t pull my attention to him any more than necessary.

I tell him all about Shirley’s and my opening plans. He nods along and asks questions when they pop up, lolling me further into a sense of comfort, trying to trap me into opening up. I tap my screen one more time as I finish telling him the last detail on opening, happy to see it time to leave or I’ll be late to opening.

“Well, it’s been fun gentleman, but I have to get to Darius’ restaurant and I can’t be late. There are actual guests this time.” Rising to my feet I hear Mason grunt in aggravation behind me as I reach out to Dr. Tussing for a parting handshake. He grabs my hand in a warm embrace but doesn’t shake it, instead, he pats it between his hands and holds my eyes.

“I won’t force you to do anything, but I would really love for you to join us again, maybe a weekend session?” Immediately I’m shaking my head no and about to say it out loud too but I stop when I hear the whispered plea behind me as Mason's bent shoulders and heavy eyes flash in vision and guilt rears its ugly head once more.

Who am I to say no to sitting through another couple of sessions if it’ll bring some peace of mind to Mason?