Lane straightened. “Oh.”
Her lip curled. “Yeah. So I guess I can’t let you be my muse if there’s a chance that in the near future, I’m going to be telling you how I hate sex and haven’t had an orgasm in five years. That kind of kills the vibe.”
He frowned at her admission, his want-to-help instincts surfacing. Five years? The woman who wrote some of the sexiest fucking rock songs out there hated sex? And had she not had an orgasm in that long because she didn’t want to or because she couldn’t? Questions filled him, but he couldn’t delve further. She wasn’t his client at this point. “If you end up as a client of Dr. Rush’s, you could end up working with me at some point, yes.”
She sighed. “Damn. Way to kill the dream, man. I prefer to keep my muses separate from my fucked-up therapy sessions. I need my muse to think I’m wonderful and funny and brilliant.” She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I need someone here to look at me like I’m something other than a Dumpster fire.”
Lane sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs, empathy swelling in him. He’d never been to rehab, but he knew what it felt like to have people look at you like you were screwed up or hopeless. “That’s not what they’re thinking about you.”
She looked up, skepticism all over her face. “Yes they are. And they should be. I am a Dumpster fire. I’m surprised you can’t smell the smoke.”
“Even if you are right now, even if you’ve made a complete mess of things, that doesn’t mean the other things aren’t true.” He reached out and tapped her notebook. “You are wonderful and funny and brilliant. You writ
e songs that make people feel things and create music that chases away bad days.”
Her eyes met his, a little of the tough girl facade slipping. “You don’t know that. I don’t write happy songs.”
“I do know that, and no happy songs required,” he said resolutely. “When I’ve had a crap day, I can put the Bright Fall album on full blast in my car and no demons are left standing afterward. It’s like an exorcism.”
She stared at him. Then her smile appeared like a sunrise, slow but brilliant. “An exorcism.”
“Yeah. Everything but the pea soup and head-turning-backward thing.”
“Man, if I could do that to people, that’d be hardcore.” She playfully made the devil horns sign with her hand. “But messy. And I hate peas.”
“Peas suck,” he said with a smile. “And I don’t know your story or what you’re going through, but I can say that if everything feels like it’s on fire right now, you’re in the right place. You’ve called the best fire department. Now all you need to do is let them help.”
“Fuck,” she said with a sardonic grin.
“What?”
“You realize how doctor-y you sound? You are such a white coat.”
The words threw him a little, and he didn’t register why she was climbing off the couch.
She stepped over to him and gave him a hug before he could intercept. “A white coat with incomparable taste in music. Thanks, Lane from the Sex Therapy Wing.”
He froze for a moment. He hugged clients he was working with if the person initiated and it seemed appropriate, but Jun wasn’t his client and she was a patient here. He gave her an awkward pat on the back and was about to extricate himself from the embrace when he heard a loud throat clear.
Jun straightened, releasing Lane, and he turned to see where the noise had come from.
Elle was standing a few feet away, her lips in a thin line. “Ms. Alexis, aren’t you supposed to be in group right now?”
Jun blanched. “I was just about to head over. Lane was waiting for you and giving me some advice on a song I’m writing.”
Elle’s expression remained implacable. “We can discuss it later in session. Right now, please head to group.”
“Yes, Dr. McCray.” Jun looked appropriately chagrined but when she put her back to Elle, she gave Lane a quick eye roll, like they were co-conspirators who were trying to get away with something in front of the principle.
Lane gave her a tight smile.
After Jun had gathered her things and left, Elle turned to face him. “Why are you here, Mr. Cannon? I don’t recall having an appointment with you.”
Her voice was one part professional, nine parts frosty. He stood and frowned. “I wanted to run something by you before you went on rounds.”
Her gaze narrowed but she cocked her head to the left. “I have to drop off my laptop in my office. You can walk with me.”
She didn’t say a word as they made their way across the main floor. Not until they were safely ensconced in her office did she turn on him and drop the Dr. Ice routine.