Wild Addiction (Wild #2)(31)
Author: Emma Hart

This is a wild addiction, one that will never be tamed.

And I love it as much as I hate it.

I can feel it flooding my veins, filling every part of me with a searing need that can only be soothed by his touch. Even his voice—that would take the edge of needing him so completely off.

Because I do. I need him so fucking entirely I almost miss the turn-off to my parents’ place.

I catch it in time and swerve down the old road. It takes me just two minutes to travel down it, and as I slow, I realize that I was doing way over the limit. Shit. I’m lucky a cop didn’t drive past me.

I tug my keys from the ignition and rest my forehead against the top of the steering wheel. Air fills my lungs with my deep breaths designed to calm and sooth.

When my heart has resumed its usual rhythm, I push open my car door and step onto the drive.

The wet drive.

How the fuck did I forget my shoes?

Yet another deep breath happens. Instead of mulling over and reading into this stupid oversight of mine, I run on tiptoes toward the house and ring the bell.

“The door!”

“Who is it? We’re not expecting anyone!”

“I don’t know, dear. Just get it!”

“Just get it, like I’m a flamin’ slave,” I hear my mother mutter as she opens the door. “Liv!” Her eyes light up when she sees me.

“Hi, Mom.” I try a smile.

“Where are your shoes?”

I look at my wet feet and shrug lamely. “At home. I kind of forgot to put them on.”

Her eyes rise up my body slowly. “Forgot? How does one forget their shoes?”

“When one’s mind is otherwise occupied,” I reply. “Can I come in or not?”

She opens the door wide. “Liv’s here!” she calls then leans in. “You know Marchant is here. You know, your father’s therapist friend.”

I swallow my groan. Of course he’d be here, and of course she’d shout my arrival before she told me about him. She’s obviously—correctly—figured out that my forgetting my shoes has to do with my little issue.

“Liv!” Marchant stands, looking much different than he did the last time I saw him. He’s not old—maybe late thirties—but there’s a light hint of silver at his crown and lines around his eyes. “How lovely to see you. You look wonderful.”

Apart from no shoes.

“It’s great to see you, too.” I smile. I like the guy. I do. I’d just like him a whole lot more if he weren’t a brain analyzer.

“What about me?” Dad asks. “Isn’t it nice to see me?”

“Always.” I kiss his cheek and hug him.

His arms around my body are warm and comforting. It’s a grounding feeling I need right now. My heart is skipping several beats each minute from being in Marchant’s presence. And not because he’s fairly good-looking, but because I can feel him studying me and looking right through me.

I take a tentative seat next to Dad and listen in as they continue their conversation. Salmon fishing plans, bingo at the local hall, the farmer’s market this weekend… They glaze over topic after topic, even mentioning the NFL draft before Mom whisks Dad away for his medication.

Now, alone, Marchant’s focus is solely on me. “How are you, Liv?”

“I’m good,” I reply.

“So good you forgot your shoes?”

“It happens to the best of us. You should ask my grandmother.”

A smile curves his lips. “Your mom mentioned you’re seeing someone.”

“That’s right.”

“And how’s that going?”

I sit up straight and stare into his eyes. “I’m not here for an impromptu therapy session, March. I’m not eighteen anymore. I have a handle on my addiction.”

Silence buzzes between us.

“Do you?” he asks honestly, genuinely.

I suck on the inside of my bottom lip. “Mostly. Sometimes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I raise my eyebrows, and he holds his hands up.

“I won’t charge you.” He winks. “No, I’m genuinely interested in how you’re coping, Liv. And to let you know that, if you need an impartial friend to discuss it with, I’m here.”

I study him for a minute. His eyes are soft and compassionate. He’s leaning back in his chair, his hands resting on his legs. He means it. Just to talk.

And I feel the burning desire to talk to someone who doesn’t know but understands. Someone who truly can make sense of everything for me.

The words tumble from me softly. From how we met, to our constant run-ins, to our ‘safe’ agreement. From the dangerous feelings to where we are now. How all of it makes me feel.

“And he’s gone until tomorrow night?”

I nod. “I won’t see him until Monday, but I’ll be busy working to open the new bar, so I don’t even know when.” I run my fingers through my hair.

“Is this the first time you’ve been apart since you accepted how you’re feeling?”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“And that feels…”

I meet his eyes. “Being apart from him is like someone’s torn my soul out and is shredding it right in front of my eyes.”

He blinks, my words throwing him off. Hell, they throw me off. No matter how true they are, I’m constantly surprised by the strength of my feelings for Tyler. I’m constantly surprised by how they consume me.

I take a deep breath and stand. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Wait.” Marchant stands and hands me a card from his pocket. “You ever feel the need for a coffee, call me.”

You ever feel the need for a free therapy session over coffee, call me.

I curl my fingers around the card and take it. “I will.”

“And, Liv?” He steps closer to me and presses two fingers to my temple. “Addiction is all in the mind. So is willpower. You don’t have to succumb to anything you don’t want to.”

I give him a sad smile and gently lower his hand. I put two of my own fingers to my heart. “But my feelings are in here, and no amount of willpower will make those go away.”

“You would be surprised at the power of the mind.”

“The power of my mind is why I am where I am and feel what I do. Nothing about that can surprise me any longer.” I grab my phone from the table next to my chair and sigh. “I understand what you’re saying, March, but it simply isn’t that easy. It’s not a matter of box A and box B. There’s no compartmentalizing when this situation arises. When emotion and addiction collide, you need a whole lot more than willpower.”