Chapter 60 060
RYAN
I drove straight to the therapist’s office after dropping Emily off.
I didn’t even think about it. Didn’t argue with myself the way I usually did. I just drove. Took turns on autopilot. Let the city blur past while my mind stayed stuck on one thing—Zara’s voice from the night before. The way she had asked her question so quietly, like she was afraid the answer might break something.
Aaron had sent the address weeks ago.
Not with pressure. Not with a lecture. Just a simple text.
If you ever need someone to talk to, she’s good. No judgment.
I had scoffed when I saw it back then. Almost deleted it. Told myself I didn’t need a stranger poking around in my head. I had survived worse things on my own. I could survive this too.
But today felt different.
Today I wasn’t trying to survive.
Today I wanted to be better.
For Zara. For Emily. For whatever fragile, half-healed thing still existed between us.
The building came into view sooner than I expected. A low brick structure tucked between a dentist’s office and a law firm. Nothing dramatic. Nothing intimidating. Just… there.
I parked and stayed in the car.
The engine kept running. My hands stayed locked on the steering wheel. My heart was beating harder than it had any right to. This wasn’t a life-or-death situation. It was a chair and a conversation. And yet my chest felt tight, like I was about to walk into something irreversible.
I felt ridiculous.
I also felt exposed.
And underneath all of that, I felt tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind of tired sleep didn’t fix. The kind that came from holding too much in for too long.
I turned off the ignition.
The sudden silence rang in my ears.
I stepped out of the car and walked inside before I could change my mind.
The receptionist looked up with a calm, practiced smile the moment I stepped inside. She was younger than I expected—early thirties maybe. Glasses perched neatly on her nose. Soft voice. Kind eyes. The kind of presence that made you feel like you weren’t a burden for needing help.
“Hi,” she said gently. “Can I help you?”
“Dr. Clyde’s office, please.”
She tilted her head slightly, fingers hovering above the keyboard. “Do you have an appointment?”
I shook my head. “No. But… can you check for the name Aaron?”
Her fingers moved smoothly over the keys. She picked up the phone, spoke in a low voice I couldn’t quite make out, listened, then nodded to herself.
“You can go up,” she said, pointing down the hall. “Second office to your right on the first floor.”
“Thank you.”
I turned toward the stairs, my chest already tight. I took them slowly. Too slowly. Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was climbing toward something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
The hallway smelled faintly of lavender and coffee. Warm. Comforting. Not clinical. Not cold. And somehow, that made it worse. It didn’t feel like a place where you could hide behind professionalism or sterile distance.
It felt real. Too real.
I stopped in front of the door.
Plain wood. Nothing fancy. A small brass plaque screwed neatly into the frame.
Dr. Elise Clyde, PhD.
I stared at it longer than necessary. My hand hovered in the air before I finally knocked once.
“Come in.”
I pushed the door open.
She was nothing like I imagined.
No sharp suit. No clipboard clutched to her chest. No cold expression waiting to analyze me. Just a woman in her mid-fifties sitting behind a simple desk. Short silver hair cut neatly around her face. Warm brown eyes that held curiosity without judgment. A soft cardigan the color of oatmeal draped loosely over her shoulders.
She looked up and smiled.
“Aaron called,” she said. “Told me you’d show up any moment.”
I let out a breath that was half laugh, half surrender. “Of course he did.”
“Ryan Thompson?” she asked gently.
“That’s me.”
“Have a seat, please.”
I walked forward and sat in the chair opposite her. The cushion sank beneath my weight—too soft, too inviting. Like it was designed to make people relax. That alone made me uneasy. I felt exposed.
She didn’t rush me. Didn’t ask how my day was. Didn’t offer small talk. Didn’t fill the silence with meaningless questions.
She just waited.
The seconds stretched. The quiet pressed in. My jaw tightened without me realizing it. My leg started bouncing before I could stop it. I hated this part. The silence. The expectation. The unspoken demand that I open up things I had spent years locking away.
My frustration rose fast.
“Are we going to keep staring at each other?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.
She glanced at her watch calmly. Completely unbothered. “We have approximately fifty-five minutes left. This is a one-hour session.”
I exhaled hard, running a hand over my face. “Okay… so do your thing.”
She shrugged lightly. “No. Please take the lead, Mr. Thompson. What brought you here today?”
Something inside me snapped.
I stood up so abruptly the chair scraped softly against the floor. “Fuck this.”
I turned toward the door, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Embarrassment burned hot under my skin. This was a mistake. I didn’t need this. I didn’t need to sit in a room and—
“I thought you wanted to get better for someone.”
Her voice was calm.
It stopped me cold.
My hand landed on the doorknob. I froze there, fingers gripping the metal. I closed my eyes, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Yes, I do.”
I stood there for another moment, gathering myself, then turned back slowly.
“I want to be in a better space,” I said, my voice rough. “So we can work things out.”
She didn’t interrupt.
She just listened.
“I asked Emily out on a date again,” I continued, the sound of her name cracking something open in me. “And I just… I want the family I once had. I want it to be Ryan and Emily against the world like before.”
My throat tightened.
“I’m tired of pretending life without her is great,” I admitted. “Because it’s not. It sucks. It sucks so bad.”
The words came faster now, tumbling over each other once the dam broke.
“I’ve loved her all my life. Since we were kids. And not having her around me these past three years has been…” I shook my head, unable to finish the sentence. “It’s been hell.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “I kept telling myself I was fine. That I’d moved on. That I was strong enough to handle it.”
I looked up at her, my chest tight.
“Turns out I’m not.”
Dr. Clyde smiled then.
“Good,” she said softly. “Now have your seat and let’s talk.”
I blinked.
I hadn’t even realized how much I’d said. How much I’d let spill out without meaning to.
I let out a long breath and sank back into the chair.
“Shall we?” she asked.
I nodded.