“Nothing’s going on. I’m fine.”
“You know you can talk to me. I tell you everything that’s happening in my life, but you never tell me anything anymore.”
I wasn’t surprised that Margo noticed I was holding back, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t tell her that I had feelings for a man who’d been locked up for murder—a man I’d been counseling for the past three months. This conversation needed to be over. “There’s nothing to say, Margo. I’ve just been swamped at work, and it can be a little overwhelming at times.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“I’m fine. Really. I just want to forget about things for a little while and enjoy our night.”
“Sure thing, chicken wing.”
I could feel Margo’s eyes on me as I leaned over and grabbed another slice of pizza. I feared she would press me to open up more, but thankfully, she let it go and turned her attention back to the TV.
After we finished eating, I went back to decorating. By the time the movie was over, I had most of the tree done and had almost finished the fireplace. On her way out of my apartment, Margo looked around and smiled, “I have to admit, the tree does look pretty in here.”
“Well, how about that! Scrooge actually likes it.”
“Maybe so, but I still think it’s too early to decorate.” She stuck her tongue out at me, then darted out the door. “See you Sunday night!”
Since my father’s birthday was coming up in a few days, my mother had invited Margo and me over to their place for dinner, but my mind had been focused on other things, and I’d forgotten all about it. Margo was almost to her car when I waved and said, “See you then. Be careful getting home!”
“I’ll try.”
I stood in my doorway and watched as she pulled out of the parking lot. Once her car disappeared into traffic, I closed and locked the door. After taking a moment to admire all the beautiful twinkling lights on my tree, I unplugged everything, then headed to my bedroom, quickly changed into my pajamas, and crawled into bed.
It wasn’t long before my mind had drifted to Dalton. No surprise there. Since my earlier conversation with Margo, he seemed to be the only thing I could think about. The memories of our sessions came barreling through my mind, and I groaned as I rolled to my side and curled into my pillow.
I’d been a counselor for about eight and a half years. In the beginning, I’d worked with families who had troubled children, married couples who faced divorce, and the local police department with assault victims who struggled to discuss the details of their attack. After years of listening to one horrific story after the next, I knew I had to make a change.
When I was offered a job with the River’s Behavioral Management Specialists Group, I knew I’d found my answer. They were a group of counselors who focused on teaching their clients how to manage their emotions before they caused harm to others—something I’d been wanting to do for years.
So, I did the only thing that made sense. I took the job and never looked back.
Things were going exceptionally well until the day Damien, the office manager and my boss, called to tell me that I had been given a new client—Dalton Hughes, an inmate at the state correctional facility.
Until then, I’d only done sessions in the office with my fellow therapists close by to help if anything went wrong. I wouldn’t have that support at the prison, so needless to say, I had my concerns. I considered asking Damien to find someone else, but when he insisted I was the right person for the job and would be highly compensated for my time and efforts, I couldn’t refuse.
I could still remember the first time I met with Dalton.
After making my way through security, I was a frazzled mess. I knew nothing about the man I was about to meet and was completely terrified as I made my way down the long hall to the conference room. I took out my notepad and pencil, then waited as the guard went to retrieve Dalton.
Moments later, the door opened, and my breath caught in my throat when the guard appeared in the doorway escorting in a muscled-up brute of a man with fierce, menacing eyes and a cold, hard expression on his face.
He was wearing an orange prison uniform, and his hands and feet were shackled in chains, making him seem even more threatening. I should’ve been alarmed by the sight, but instead, I was intrigued by this beautiful beast and couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him. His gaze drifted over me, slowly and intently, like he was sizing me up as the guard forced him into the chair in front of me.