Should the Sky Fall : MM Romance (Who we are Book 1) by Amithia Raine

Author:Amithia Raine [Raine, Amithia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-07-21T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

A little over a week later, Dawson has almost gotten used to this being his life now. ‘Almost’ being the keyword.

Which is why he’s currently on his way to the psych appointment, his left foot drumming nervously against the floor next to the brake. It’s not that he’s having second thoughts about therapy, per se. He’s well aware he desperately needs it, and if Cal hadn’t been in charge of their finances and controlled where Dawson spent the money, he’d have gone way sooner. It’s just when he made the appointment, he had a specific goal in mind. He made it meaning to talk about Cal. The old Cal. Now, he needs to talk about the man who wears his husband’s face but is nothing like him.

As if it hadn’t been complicated enough.

He arrives at the location shortly, sitting in the car for a few minutes to gather his bearings.

He takes the stairs to the third floor where Ashley’s office is supposed to be and comes to a stop, looking around curiously. No reception desk, just an unassuming leather bench pushed against the wall opposite the door with Ashley’s name plate. Huh. Okay, so he probably doesn’t need to announce himself. Ashley will come out once she’s done and call him in. Probably.

A jittery sensation pooling in his lower back, Dawson sits down, wringing his fingers together. He checks the time—he’s six minutes early. Six minutes of torture while he waits. His left leg starts bouncing again.

Trying to focus on anything other than his racing thoughts, he attempts to listen in on what might be going on inside. Yeah, not the most polite thing to do, but he’s not trying to eavesdrop, just distract himself. And maybe gauge what’s awaiting him. Not that it matters because he can’t hear a thing. Maybe Ashley’s not there? Dawson could be her first client today. Sure, it’s already three o’clock, but what does he know about therapists’ working hours?

He startles when the door swings open, a man in his mid-thirties standing on the other side. Must be the client Ashley just finished with. His gaze falls on Dawson, and his lips quirk up in a half-smile.

“You must be Dawson.”

“Yes?” Dawson says, not quite understanding why the man wants to know.

The half-smile grows into a full one, and the man steps to the side, casually leaning against the door-frame. “I believe we have an appointment. Ashley Cleaver—“ He flicks an imaginary hat. “But call me Ash.”

Dawson continues to sit there, staring with his mouth slightly ajar. “You’re a man.”

One of the man’s—Ash’s—brows flicks up, his lips pursing like he’s fighting a smile. “Yes, and believe me, there are days I wish it weren’t so, but…” He gives a slow shrug. “We have to work with what we’ve got.”

It occurs to Dawson that Ash is waiting for him to say or do something, anything that probably doesn’t involve staring like a moron. He jumps to his feet, his face on fire. “I’m so sorry. I sound like a douche.

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