“No. It’s fine. It’s nothing but a personality conflict. I just can’t treat him myself,” I said, dismissing her concern.
I saw my patients and then psyched myself up to go to the vineyard and speak to him in person. I had to ask him not to attend the support group. I hated to do it, but it was the only safe recourse.
When I reached the vineyard and parked in the crowded lot, I had to walk a long way into the new construction before I found Tyler. He had his shirt off. Damn the patriarchy sideways, why did men do that? All that expanse of tanned, sweaty skin drawn across the cut lines of insane muscles that my fingers itched to trace. It was aggressive, the sexuality that poured off of him. To think that for over a year he hadn’t felt so much as a stirring of response. Then the irony that I had ignited his interest, when I was the last person on earth who could ever be with him. It ached a little, the unfairness of it. That he wanted me, and I sure as hell wanted him and his one hell of a physical response after so long dormant. But I couldn’t have him. It was a breach of ethics, a breach of trust. I couldn’t. I could want until my mouth went dry and parched, but I could not have him.
“Tyler, do you have a minute?” I called. He said something to the other men and came over to the gravel path to meet me.
“What brings you here, doc?” he said.
“Could you put a shirt on?” I said.
“No. It’s hot. Why?”
“I’d just feel more comfortable talking to you if you were fully clothed. I wouldn’t think that would be an issue. Proper attire,” I said, my voice prim.
“You wouldn’t think, except I work outside, and it’s hot. No sense putting on a shirt I’ll sweat through in half an hour. What can I do for you?”
“Fine. I hate to ask this, but I need a favor,” I began.
“Anything,” he said quickly, as if he meant it.
“Stay home from group tomorrow night.”
“Are you going to meet me here?” he looked surprised and a little excited by the prospect.
“God, no! I just need you to not be there. I know the group was helpful to you so I’m willing to give it up. There is another counselor who’s willing to take it over but he can’t start until next week.”
“It sounds like you’re banishing me,” he said with a half laugh.
“I’m doing it for your protection,” I said.
“I’m in danger?” he said archly
“You deserve a counselor you can trust. It would be unforgivable of me to treat you knowing that there is a sexual element or undercurrent to any interaction between us. It’s an abuse of power, a violation,” I said. “I apologize for meeting you for coffee and trying to feed you pie and touching your arm and every other unprofessional thing I did that I hate myself for.”
“My shoulder,” he said.
“What?” I asked blankly.
“You didn’t touch my arm,” he said. “This is my arm.”
I rolled her lips under and nodded as if he were teaching me something entirely new, an anatomy lesson I had no idea of before. He stepped in closer and reached for my hand.
“This is my shoulder, that’s what you touched,” he said, lifting my hand and putting it back where it had been the night before. Then it had seared me through the fabric of his old t-shirt. Now it was a shock of skin to skin contact, flesh with no barrier. My lips parted. “I know exactly where you touched me. I haven’t stopped feeling it since,” he said.
I yanked her hand out from under his and stepped back. “I apologize. That was inappropriate. I came here to ask you to skip group one time until I can reassign it to another counselor. I won’t treat you. But I’ll get a colleague to take over so you can attend and get the help you deserve. I’m sorry, Tyler. I don’t know what kind of game you think we’re playing her, but I damn sure can’t win it. This is risking my career. It’s strictly forbidden, and you know why I can’t treat you.”
“Then I’ll quit attending group. I won’t be your patient.”
“No. Please, Tyler. You were opening up; you were interacting with Ben and the others. It was helping. Don’t give that up. I’m not worth that,” I said, anguished. I couldn’t let him give it up. Not after I had heard the raw grief in his voice, and the tiniest grain of hope when he said some interests were coming back. Even if I couldn’t be the one who brought pleasure back into his life.
“You think you’re not worth that? Me giving up a couple hours a week in an ugly room with some other crazy people? We’re a fucking dime a dozen, Layla, and you know it. That’s how easy it is to fill a room with us. You’re the reason I was going. Not because some magical healing took place there. God, you’re worth a hundred of them, of us,” he said, anger riding at the edge of his voice as he stepped closer.