Surviving Eden (Surviving Series Book 1) Read online

  As I open my door, our eyes meet. I note that he’s wearing his poker face. Levi enjoys a good challenge as much as I do, but at fifteen, he’s not equipped to play in my world.

  “Dr. Thor,” he says, and walks right past me. He sits in the chair directly opposite mine. Dr. Thor is short for Dr. Theodore Grant. All the kids call me this. I allow it if it makes me more accessible in their eyes. It’s a slight advantage, just one tool in the building of an emotional partnership.

  “Levi.” I acknowledge him as I sit, crossing my legs and allowing the file to balance on my knee. As I observe his body language and take note of the fidgeting, lack of eye contact, and his lackluster welcome, I realize that something is off.

  “Did someone do or say anything that has you troubled?” I ask.

  Levi is acutely sensitive and totally in tune with his surroundings and the people around him.

  “My aunt. I overheard her talking to her real son.” He circles himself. “This, is only temporary.”

  This is news to me. It’s my understanding that this is a permanent arrangement. I’ll have to address the situation with his aunt, and I make a mental note to call her. Levi’s home needs to be a safe place, and so far, she has completely failed at the task.

  “Is it possible you misinterpreted the conversation?” My gut tells me he heard the conversation just right, and that’s what has me unnerved.

  “I don’t think so.” He shrugs one shoulder.

  “Levi, let me follow up with this. Now, is there any way you can disregard that from your mind?”

  “I guess.” But it doesn’t address the bigger problem. The one I know threatens to consume him. The reason he’s here, the reason I agreed to help him.

  “Levi, when a new problem confronts you, how do you tackle it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Typical teenager. I need to steer the conversation where we need to go, so I decide to be direct.

  “What’s the one thing you remember most about the day you lost your mom?”

  There’s silence, but I wait it out. Secrets always have a way of revealing themselves. Keeping them in the dark and blaming himself is doing more harm than he realizes.

  “Dr. Thor, I only remember the can of SpaghettiOs. My mom left it out for me after practice. I microwaved it and ate at the table.” His eyes narrow, as if warning me to stop asking the same questions over and over again.

  “Where you alone?” I ask.

  His eyes are shooting daggers at me.

  “Tell me if I’m wrong, Levi. Is it your sense of guilt, fear, or loyalty that’s holding you back?” I lean forward, unyielding in my pursuit of the truth.

  “Even if I was there, I wouldn’t have been able to save her. I never could before.”

  Finally, here’s the anger I’ve been waiting for as I’ve watched him attempt to escape the pain. His eyes reveal his deep panic, but I will catch him if he falls.

  “You’re referring to the other times you witnessed physical abuse at your father’s hand?”

  “Right. If I stepped in, he would take it out on me, too. You learn fast the rules of violence.”

  I realize that this child had to grow up fast and learn how to handle his abusive father.

  “Where was your safe place, Levi?” My eye contact never wavering, I watch him struggle with the question, considering if it’s a trick. He’s smart, because it’s definitely a trick.

  “Under their bed. They never looked there.” If indeed this is where he was hiding, he would have had a perfect view of the scene that unfolded in that very room.

  “That’s a smart place, Levi. Distancing yourself from the violence was the best plan. Is that what you did on that day, too?”

  “No, I told you Dr. Thor, I wasn’t there!” He yells it at me, his anger only a symptom of his profound fear. We are getting closer to the truth, but I will only push him so far. I won’t hurt the trust I’ve built.

  “Okay, Levi, I’ll leave it for now.”

  His entire body relaxes.

  “Tell me about your baseball game over the weekend. First baseman, right?” I witness the beginning of a smile, and the willingness to share the one thing that truly brings him joy.

  “It was great. I tagged two guys out and made a run for the team. We won. It was fun. We went out for pizza later with one of the team player’s parents.” Pride shines from his eyes and it pleases me that he has this small happiness in his life.

  “I’m delighted to hear that, Levi. Stick with it.”

  I’ll also be addressing this subject with his aunt. He needs this diversion, and this one is healthy in so many ways. It’s sad that I’ll have to reinforce the basic needs of a child, not to mention how to care for a child who has experienced a life-altering event, but that’s my job.

  “Are we done, Dr. Thor?”

  “Yes, Levi, we are.” I want to leave it on a positive note. I set a reminder on my desk to call his aunt, then walk him out the door. I know what he witnessed that day, but he’s just not ready to share the horrifying story. We haven’t reached the pivotal point in which he trusts me enough to confide in me. But we will.

  ***

  “Yes, Olivia.” I’m answering in my car. “I’m on my way home now.”

  “Would you like some company?” she asks.

  Yes, but only one specific kind.

  “Of course.”

  I’m already planning the scene in my head.

  “We can order in, if you like,” I suggest.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Beautiful Olivia, my rich and spoiled Olivia. She’s a means to an end, but nothing more. On paper, she’s perfect; just not perfect for me. She must know there’s no future for us; there’s nothing there but physical need.

  Once home, I hear the elevator rise. She has my code, not that it means anything. It’s just convenient.

  “Hey, baby,” she says, walking toward me and reaching up to kiss me.

  I passively return the kiss, then immediately go to the kitchen.

  “Wine?” I offer, watching her place her phone on the island along with her purse.

  “What kind?”

  Like I would stock anything but the best.

  “Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon.” Watching her, I fill two glasses.

  “Very nice, Theo.” Her first sip is long and drawn out.

  “Rough day?” I ask with a hint of sarcasm that seems to stop her cold.

  “Yes, but I’m here now.” She takes another sip, keeping eye contact over the rim of her glass. It’s a sign I recognize as a go. At least we’re on the same page. She finishes her wine quickly and our eyes meet. I reach for her and notice her pupils are slightly dilated. I turn her around, now facing the windows. The lights of the city are blinking bright against the dark skies. I move her severely styled hair aside, whispering in her ear.

  “Xanax, Klonopin?” I always know.

  She ignores my question as I slide the zipper down her very expensive dress, revealing very expensive lace.

  “Come, Olivia.” I offer her my hand, and she eagerly accepts it, stepping over her dress. We enter my office. The dark wood spans the masculine décor, and my desk is immaculate. I turn on the lamp, leaving the room hazy, the details obscure. “You can tell me to stop at any time.” I whisper in her ear, but she won’t.

  “Your bra, Olivia.” I take a step back to remove my jacket, watching her firm curves and slender limbs reveal themselves. I loosen my tie, and slowly pull. “Now your panties.”

  There’s fervor in her response as she watches me admire her exposed body. I sense her silently calling my name as she stands naked in front of me. My muscles flex as I unbutton my shirt. I watch her salivating gaze scan my bare chest, a silent need in her eyes, but that is more than I am willing to give. I prefer the scene to be cold, distant, and completely in charge.

  “Turn around and lean over the desk, Olivia.” There’s a look of engulfing emotion I dismiss immediately as I physically turn her away f
rom me forcing her down on my desk. I unbuckle my belt and slide my pants down, leaving my Calvin’s.

  “Spread your legs.” I hear her haul in a breath and tense. She knows not to say a word. Not yet anyway. I slide down my trunks and my aching hard length springs to life. Condom in place, I step between her thighs and nudge then apart, admiring her black pumps as the head of my staff plays in her nectar.

  I don’t do intimacy, I don’t do love, this is what I do, and I do it well.

  “Fuck me, Theo.” Her thighs are trembling.

  “I say when, Olivia.”

  Her back arches in an attempt to rush me, but I won’t be rushed. I’ve detached myself from anything but my pure physical need. My way, always my way.

  Squeezing her heart-shaped ass, I run my finger close; so close I can hear her whimper. Her sexually charged body is screaming for me to fill her with mine.

  As I loom over her, I enter her wet pussy slowly, inch by inch, tormenting her desire. I feel her quiver beneath me, which makes me more rigid and engorged. I probe in a slow repetitive rhythm until my cock is buried to the hilt.

  With great force, I penetrate her again and again, hearing her breath hitch. My hand grabs her long blonde hair, twisting it around my fist, while the other grabs her hip. “I need to fuck you hard, Olivia, hold on.”

  She obeys without hesitation. I slam into her as my rapid pace increases. The erotic image of my cock entering her body has me right on the edge. My grip tightens as she accommodates for my unyielding pace.

  “Olivia, I’m about to explode, come now!” I release her hair and hold her hips in place as I bring it home. I feel her tighten, and moan. “Fuck!” I say as I come, soaring high on my drug of choice.

  When I come back down, I lean over her, noticing she smells like jasmine and sex. “Good, Olivia.”

  Quickly separating from her and pulling up my trunks, I help her up, but our eyes never meet.

  It’s just sex.

  Chapter Two

  “Staying?” I ask.

  I don’t mind if the answer is yes. I’m not a complete prick, but I won’t be reaching out for her in the middle of the night, or pulling her in to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She knows that.

  “Not tonight,” she answers, as we sit at the dining room table quietly enjoying our Greek salads and Kotopoulo Me Ryzi from a small Greek restaurant around the corner. She calls it Our Place.

  “There’s a charity event next week. I would like you to escort me. It’s black tie,” she says between bites.

  “I’ll be there.” I call this forced conversation: pretending interest when there is none. I’m constantly questioning the healthiness of this relationship. Strike that, it’s more of an understanding. She’s smart enough to realize that, isn’t she? Why is this enough for her?

  “It’s work-related,” she adds.

  “Isn’t it always?”

  Her expression falters as her eyes search for the missing link between us. She won’t find it, because it doesn’t exist.

  Working for her father’s ad agency, there’s always a social event on her calendar. It’s part of her job. She says she creates an environment where she supplies food and alcoholic beverages, and it helps to cement business relationships. Maybe it does, in their world. I’ll show up and be the supportive boyfriend, if that’s what I am.

  “It may be work-related, but don’t think for one second that I don’t enjoy the handsome, powerful man on my arm.” She reaches for my forearm and slightly squeezes it, appearing hopeful, eager, and hungry for something I just can’t offer her.

  “I’d like nothing more than to be your eye candy for the night,” I say with a smugness that doesn’t go unnoticed.

  “Theo.” Her drawn-out use of my name says don’t be like that.

  “I said I’ll be there, Olivia.” Gathering the empty containers and taking them to the kitchen, I subliminally signal that this conversation is over.

  “I have an early start,” she says, following me in with the last of our dinner remnants. She kisses me in place of a goodbye.

  There’s no disappointment on my end, only introspection as to why I’m with someone I only want at arm’s length. Why is this enough for me?

  ***

  I walk toward my office the next morning, overhearing Miss Knight on the phone. “Why is divorce so expensive, you ask? That’s easy. Because it’s worth it.”

  I have no idea who’s she talking to, nor do I care.

  “Men have two emotions: hungry and horny.” She continues talking as I quickly pass her and open the door to my office. She smiles in greeting, acknowledging my presence, and that’s good enough for me.

  Glancing over my schedule, I quickly realize that this is going to be a light day, and a pang of regret comes to mind instantly when I find myself wanting to call Mathew for a tennis match. Fuck. Two weeks, and it’s still fresh. It just hasn’t sunk in at all. Maybe I’m due for a run; it might help clean out the cobwebs.

  “Sir, there is a Vincent Barnett on line two for you.”

  That’s odd, I think to myself. We barely spoke at the funeral. Not to mention the fact that that was the first and only time we had met.

  “Mr. Barnet,” I answer, questioning the formality of our relationship, or lack thereof.

  “Dr. Grant, please call me Vince.”

  Okay, casual it is.

  “Of course, Vince. How are you?”

  “I’m calling on behalf of my niece, Eden—Matt and Amanda’s daughter.”

  The mention of her name causes my body to stiffen, and I’m instantly hit with the mental image of violet eyes filled with pain, eyes that looked right through me as if she has some fucked-up superpower.

  “How can I help, Vince?” I’ll be shutting him down quickly.

  “She needs to see someone. Her grief, her behavior, it’s out of control. She needs to talk to someone, and she has refused to see anyone but you.”

  Me? I’m not sure whether to feel grateful or worried. I don’t have any relationship with her, I don’t know her, and we’ve never even spoke. Matt was my friend, but I wasn’t the drop-by-for-a-barbecue kind of guy. I never even saw the inside of his house.

  “You do realize, Vincent, that I’m a psychiatrist, not a psychologist? I rarely commit to on an ongoing therapy relationship.” Attempting to discourage him, I’m fearful of all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

  “I heard you also work for the state, as a therapist?”

  Work for the criminal justice department crosses my desk often, and I can’t turn down a wounded child, but this is not the same thing.

  “On occasion, I do work with children,” I confirm.

  She’s far from a child, though. That much is clear.

  “I need someone I can trust, who she can trust, and who’s familiar.” He’s relentless, his pursuit of me sounding suspiciously desperate.

  “And I’m that person?”

  I’m intrigued, if I’m being honest with myself.

  “I believe you are. You’re not too close that you can’t be objective, yet you’re not a stranger. I’m worried, and I need to know she’s in safe hands.”

  Why is he selling me so hard? What isn’t he telling me?

  “Vince, you do realize that if I meet with her, it will be strictly confidential. You’ll be out of the loop completely.”

  “I understand. She’s …”

  I decide to cut him off.

  “I’ll wait to hear it from her. Have her set up an appointment with my secretary.”

  I’m already questioning what I’ve just committed to, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in my gut.

  ***

  The run is exhilarating. The weather is hot and dry, the brutal sun perfect for expelling stress from my pores. An effective mood elevator, running releases me from my worries, so I relax and let the endorphins do their job.

  Somehow, despite my initial resistance, I’ve agreed to treat a girl—the same girl who has occupied my mind more t
han what’s appropriate.

  Tomorrow is the event with Olivia. She has called twice, confirming my tux has been dry-cleaned and that I’ve picked it up. Her anxiety over such trivial matters is bothersome. If she perceives this as helpful, she’s dead wrong.

  I make it to the penthouse just in time to see the sunset as the pastel colors cross the sky, lighting up the rooms as it pours itself through the glass. The view. That’s how I knew this place was going to be mine.

  I grab a water bottle and pull off my wet shirt, wiping the sweat away and making my way to the bathroom.

  Stepping into the spray, the full thrust of multiple showerheads beats down on me. I appreciate the pulsing impact of the hot water, which causes steam to rise all around me. As I close my eyes, the water cascading down my body, those violet eyes appear again across my brain. I picture her sadness and that single tear falling as I track it down her cheek, playing out the scene over and over in my mind.

  I share her raw grief. A familiar tug in the pit of my stomach comes to life, but I push it away ruthlessly.

  What are you getting yourself into? The question appears out of nowhere. What is it about her that’s calling me? Duty? Obligation to her father? Or perhaps the possibility of sharing the sorrow together is appealing. I’m slightly ashamed of that option. We will never be equals, and we won’t be grieving together. Ethics dictate that.

  I wipe the thoughts of her completely out of my mind, grabbing the latest medical journal on new treatments on my way out of the bathroom. I lay down on my bed wrapped only in a towel. My laptops within reach, and after an hour I check emails and notice my appointment schedule and itinerary from the office.

  There it is: Eden Barnett, two o’clock on Monday. I do the math. It’s Friday now, so that means three days and then I’ll see her. Immediately chastising myself over my inappropriate reaction, I sigh, breathing deeply as I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Normally I embrace my solitude, but tonight I feel strangely alone.