HIS DOE, HIS DAMNATION (An Erotic Billionaire Romance) novel Chapter 142

142 /167

Alaric’s POV:

‘I love you, Alaric.‘

Meadow loved me. The moment she said those words to me, I realized two things at once:

One that I loved her too.

And two–that while our fingers were linked together on top of my desk, I could feel it.

I felt the desk; the hard, smooth mahogany that it was made of. I’d been feeling it for a while but I didn’t realize it until she said those words to me.

I didn’t understand it, didn’t understand why and how…

Or maybe I did understand, but I just didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe some random bullshit a fucking therapist had told me just because she was getting paid to do so.

So much happened in so little time after she told me she loved me. It was like my brain couldn’t comprehend shit and I…

Fuck.

I hurt her.

I’d hurt her before, but now I did it in the worst fucking way. She’d bared her heart to me and I’d ripped it out and sent her away.

Yes, I was fucking aware of what I did.

After I’d pulled out of her and got dressed, she was still bent over my desk, still trembling, still trying not to cry. I called her name again, and then it was like she finally realized what I just said—that I’d just asked her to leave.

And when she rose to her full height, she turned to look at me, but I turned around before she could meet my eyes, walking over to the window.

I would’ve rather looked outside than look at the expression on Meadow’s face. It would’ve broken me.

‘You mean just like the way you fucking broke her?‘

My jaw clenched. For the past two hours, my brain had been giving me a stern talking to. During the meeting, I was hardly able to concentrate. I made Dana take on the role of my assistant during the meeting, and she had some questions–especially after she and some other employees saw Tyler

Cross exit the building with injuries on his face.

I told her nothing, of course. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation. I did, however, ask her to get a replacement.

And now, it had been nearly an hour since everyone left, and I was still in the conference room, staring aimlessly at my laptop because I was fighting the urge to take my phone out of my pocket.

And call her.

No, not Meadow. My therapist.

If I called her, that would mean I trusted her, that I was willing to tell a fucking stranger about what was going on in my life. It was all bullshit. She couldn’t fix it. She couldn’t fix anything.

All therapists wanted was the paycheck. Nothing else.

Curling my fists, I placed them on the conference table. Nothing.

It was as though the moment I rejected Meadow’s feelings, my brain shut down again. I couldn’t feel anything, and fuck, I really wanted to feel my nails digging into my palm.

I wanted to feel the pain. Wanted to feel all of it.

And… maybe that was the reason I finally took my phone out of my pocket and found her number on my phone. The last time we spoke was a couple of years after I’d gone with my mother. I wanted to give it another shot, but eventually, it didn’t work out.

But Dr. Jenkins had asked me to reach out when I was ready.

And now, nearly thirteen years later, I was calling her–if this was still her phone number.

The phone rang five times on my end before she picked up. “Hello?” Her voice was airy and calm.

“Dr. Jenkins,” I said curtly, pausing for a second before continuing. “This is Alaric Ashford.”

“I know,” she answered after a brief moment. “I have your number saved, this is just a bit of a shock, that’s all.” Dr. Jenkins was in her mid–fifties–if not even late fifties. I liked her because she wasn’t friends with my mother. What she used to have then with her was professional. Nothing more.

I didn’t trust people who were friends with my mother.

“Right,” I muttered, already regretting making this phone call.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, unsure. “We haven’t spoken in such a I-”

“Do you still believe that I can’t feel touch because I forced my brain to shut off?” I cut in, leaning back into my seat as I put the device on speaker.

“Oh–uh–well,” she stuttered, probably caught off guard by the way I went straight in. “I believe you don’t want to let your guard down, and you keep holding on to-”