Chapter 132 - Inseparable

Daphne

I’ve always wanted to be a mother, since I was a little girl. I used to practice, first on dolls and teddy bears, and then later, when I was old enough to be more help than hindrance, my mother let me volunteer in the nursery. Those dreams had been pushed to the back of my mind as I grew older, crowded out by school, my first shift, boys, and later the devastating loss of my parents and the beta.

I hadn’t thought much about motherhood since that day. I was consumed with mourning, and then with putting my life back together. Supporting my brothers as they took their place as the Alphas, stepping into the very big shoes of our father, finishing high school, and then moving on to university, first for my bachelors, and then my masters in psychology. It’s not that I’d ever given up on the idea, I just figured it was something I would get to later. Later, when my career was established. Later, when I had found my mate and settled down.

Suddenly, later was now. My career was still a fledgling bird that hadn’t left the nest, and I was anything but settled and secure in my relationship with Nash and Louis, but no matter, a baby was on the way, and I couldn’t have been happier.

About the baby. I could be a little happier with my mate situation. But, I had to give my boys credit for trying. They had, after all, managed my first prenatal visit without any major blow ups. “I’ll see you guys at dinner?” I asked hopefully as we left the Women and Children’s unit.

Louis frowned at me, “What about lunch?”

I checked my phone. “No time, I’m afraid, I’ve got a client scheduled for 12:30,” I was touched by his worried look, and leaned into him and cupped his cheek. “Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ve got some granola bars at my desk.”

He flushed a little and leaned closer so that his lips were right next to my ear, and only I could hear him. “I don’t think you should call me that.”

I grinned at him and turned my face to press my lips against his smooth cheek. “Oh, I definitely think I should." I glanced behind to Nash, who was following us, still staring at his copy of my ultrasound. He didn’t appear to be aware of our conversation.

“Nash?”

“Hmm?” He finally looked up. His eyes looked a little red. I reached a hand out to him, and he snagged it and pulled me in close for a hard hug.

“You sure your okay?”

“Yeah, great, I’m great,” Nash mumbled. He pressed a quick, distracted kiss against my lips and then released me. “I’ll see you when you get out of work, Daphne.”

I shook my head. A part of me wanted to go after him, to dive into whatever was eating at him, but before I could play shrink for my mate, I needed to go into my office and apply my skills to the client that was already waiting for me anxiously in the waiting room.

“Hi, Helen,” I greeted the older woman who was anxiously twisting a tissue between her fingers. “You’re a bit early. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

That’s when I noticed the other person sitting in the waiting room, hiding behind a Psychology Today magazine. She could hide her face, but she couldn’t hide her scent, not from a pregnant werewolf. I pressed my lips together and went to unlock my door. I was tempted to ignore her altogether, then I remembered that this was work, and I was required to be professional.

“Miss Larkin? How can I help you?”

She dropped the pretense of the magazine, which I’m sure she wasn’t reading. “Oh, hi Daphne. I was hoping to talk to Dr. Conway.”

I forced my lips into a smile. “Dr Conway is booked with patients all afternoon. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“Well, yes, I was hoping that I could be seen. You know, become a patient.” She gave me a serious face and batted her fake eyelashes at me. She wore an outfit that looked like it belonged to a middle school student, including a plaid skirt that stopped just short of her knees, white socks, Maryjanes, and a v-necked sweater over a white blouse.

“I’m sorry to inform you that Dr. Conway isn’t accepting any new patients now. He will be retiring soon.”

“Oh no,” she pouted out her lower lip like a petulant child. “But I really, really need to talk to someone.” A disturbing look passed over her face. “But you are still taking new patients, right?”

“There’s a waiting list, I’m afraid,” I said. It was the truth, and I was ever so glad to speak it. I doubted that I would be able to remain detached and professional when it came to Pilar Larkin. She had laid hands on my mates. She had touched Louis flirtatiously, and she had caused pain to Nash on the training field.

I was a good therapist, but even I had my limits. I started to turn back to my office, but she was out of her seat in a blink, her hand circling my wrist in a way that set my teeth on edge. “Oh please, Daphne. I’ve been having terrible thoughts lately. Couldn’t you please squeeze me in?”

Why? Why was she so insistent? Could she possibly have a real mental health issue that she wanted to address with a professional? Or was she just screwing with me? I gently but firmly twisted my wrist out of her grasp.

“I can give you an intake form,” I said reluctantly, “But I can’t make any guarantees.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much, Daphne.” She really did seem genuinely relieved.

I went into my office, and returned with a clipboard and pen. “Fill these papers out, be as honest and open as you can. When you are finished you can slip them into the inbox, there,” I pointed at the locked box on the unmanned reception desk. “I’ll be with a client, but I’ll review your application later.”

Leaving Pilar with the forms, I quickly shut the door to my office. I had only a few minutes to munch a granola bar while I reviewed my case notes for Helen. At precisely 12:30, I opened my door and called her inside.

I had made the office as comfortable and relaxed as I could. There wasn’t room for a big couch, but I had found two large, comfortable chairs, and a small round coffee table to go between them. I had purchased some potted plants and some paintings that I found soothing to hang on the walls.

After Helen, there were three more clients scheduled. In between, I took time to write my notes into their files, review their cases, and prepare some questions for the next patient. The majority of my new patients suffered from depression and anxiety in some form or another. Rachel was dealing with an eating disorder, and Odin’s anxiety manifested in some obsessive compulsive behaviors.

He wouldn’t leave my office until he’d checked the window, to make sure it was locked, and flipped the light switches on and off exactly nine times. I sighed when he finally picked up his jacket and exited to the main hall.

I was relieved to see the waiting room was empty. No more patients, and no Pilar.

I swept up some tissues that Helen had left twisted up on the floor and threw a half-consumed water bottle in the trash. I was just about to grab my briefcase and leave when Dr. Conway called me from his doorway. “Daphne? Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” I put my bag back on the chair and crossed the waiting room to his larger, sunny office.

“How was your appointment this morning?”

“Great,” I said enthusiastically. “Everything looks normal, the baby is healthy and strong.”

“Excellent, so glad to hear it,” he shoved his glasses up his nose. “I was just going through the inbox, We have three new applications,” He held up a stack of papers, “These two can be moved to the waiting list, we’ll send out the usual letter letting them know there will be a significant wait for services, but this one,” he held up another form. “Well, we might need to move this one to the top of the list.”

I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly which form he was holding.

“Yes,” Dr. Conway continued. “I’m afraid this young woman might be in crisis.”

I gritted my teeth together and tried to maintain my cool demeanor. “My schedule is already full,” I stated reasonably.

“I understand, Daphne, but remember when we discussed our policy and procedures for clients who are presenting as high-risk.”

Oh, Pilar was definitely at high risk. High risk of having her fake eyelashes ripped off and stuffed up her nose by me. However, I only smiled serenely at the elderly doctor. The policy was that we would forfeit our lunch hour in the case of a client who presented with a mental health emergency. “Of course,” I agreed, “But I thought that applied to established patients only.”

He gave me a very solemn look. “This woman needs treatment, Daphne. I’m sure you will agree.”

She needed treatment all right. She needed to be put in restraints and locked in a padded room. “I’ll take a look at my schedule and see where I can fit her in,” I said, trying to keep the resentment out of my voice and off my face. I held out my hand and accepted the questionnaire from Dr. Conway’s bird-like hand.

“Good, good. It’s a shame really, there just aren’t enough providers in the area to care for all the patients in need. I’m going to press the king again about recruiting another psychologist to join you.”

I made a sound of agreement and turned back to my office before he could launch into one of his favorite lectures: the sad state of mental health services in the Northern Werewolf community, and the lack there of. I heard it at least once a week. I stuffed Pilar’s forms into my briefcase and turned to leave, locking the door behind me.

“What games are you playing now, Pilar Larkin?” I grumbled as I stuffed my keys into my purse and pulled out my phone.

I debated whether I should tell Louis about my newest client. I thought that, as king, he should know that she was up to something. But ethically, I wasn’t supposed to discuss my patients with anyone, not even the monarch.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I’d barely eaten anything for lunch, and I was now eating for two.

I let myself into my suite and tossed my briefcase onto the sofa. I kicked off the heels that were pinching my toes and changed into some ballet flats. I had more than an hour before dinner, so I decided to see if I could find Nash. Louis would be busy doing King-things, but maybe Nash would have time for a cuddle. I rolled my neck and shoulders.

Maybe I could sweet talk him into giving me a massage.