To Catch a Falling Star Read Free Page B

than hours of therapy ever compelled me to say. Regret ripples through me. Either I’m bat-shit crazy or horny as hell. Clearly, I can’t think straight. I never intended to say so much and sound so bitter. Now, I’m raw and vulnerable. Fuck.
    A feasible explanation is the well-fitted and hot police uniform she wears. The dangling handcuffs have my mind on a naughty spin. Hell, I’ll need a cold shower.
    Mel stares at the coin and a brief hesitation crosses her eyes.
    “Here, this is a lifeline token. Whenever you have the urge to surrender, I want you to hold this coin first.” Mesmerized by her voice, I raise my hand as an obedient puppy would. She carefully deposits the golden coin in the center of my palm.
    I bring it close to my face and examine. Each side has an etched picture of outstretched eagle wings. It’s an ancient coin, probably sold by the dozen on some cheesy website. Her drawer must be full of the damn things to give to her pothead and stoner patients.
    “The thing about life, Tarry, is that we all have chips on our shoulders. At one point or another, for different reasons, we all stand at the edge of our own limits.” Her eyes are so intent.
    “But we always have a choice. This coin holds the value of that choice. When you say yes to the dark side of your soul, you pay a price. Your wings, Tarry. You clip them. You’ll never reach your potential with clipped wings.” She glances at the token. There is so much compassion on her eyes.
    “If for nothing else, this token entitles you to call me at any time, day or night. Even when I’m no longer your therapist.” She scribbles a number on a card and hands it to me. “This is my cell. I always have it with me.”
    “Okay.” I reach for my wallet. I slide the coin and the card inside. “Thank you.”
    “We need to schedule your next visit. Next Tuesday at six, does that work for you?”
    “Um, regard—” I gather the words to tell her I would rather wait for the other therapist, when a knock at the door interrupts me.
    “Who is it?” she asks.
    “It’s Will.”
    “Come in,” she says as she makes notes in her records.
    “Hey, gorgeous, are you guys done?” Will pokes his head inside.
    “Just about.” She grins at him.
    “Mommy!” A little girl dashes across the room.
    “Hey, sweetie!” Mel opens her arms. The girl from the picture jumps on her lap.
    “Guess what, Auntie Portia’s baby kicked from inside her tummy. I saw it,” she says.
    “Really?” Mel’s voice is an octave lower. She stares adoringly at the little girl.
    “Who is he?” she asks, without missing a beat.
    “That’s Uncle Tarry.” Will pecks a kiss on Mel’s head, then picks up the girl. “He’s like a brother to Auntie Portia. He is going to spend some time living with us.”
    “Hi, Uncle Tarry, my name is Ella. Did Uncle Will tattoo your arms?”
    “Oh, no. I had these before I met him,” I say, as she glances at the ink on my arms.
    “Oh, when I turn eighteen I’m going to get a tattoo too. Mommy said I have to wait though, ’cause I’m only five.”
    “Yeah, you have some time ahead of you.”
    “Ready to go, man?” Will asks me, putting Ella down.
    “Yeah, sure.” Shit, I didn’t tell her I won’t be coming back.
    “Thanks for picking up Ella, Will.” Mel grins at Will with the same adoration she used with her daughter.
    “My pleasure, this firecracker is always fun to be around.”
    “Tomorrow I pull a double. Can you keep her for me until eleven?” She gathers some papers, inserts them in a drawer, and stands up.
    “Yeah, sure. But this is your second double this week.” Will frowns.
    “What can I say? I sell my hours for a living, not million-dollar paintings.” She jokes, but her voice has a fuck-off tone.
    “Just saying, Mel. No need to get all pissy on me,” Will says.
    “You know I’m not pissed. But you sound just like Dad or, worse, like Mom.”
    “I just don’t like to see you overworking when I can