Last Second Chance

Chapter Twelve

It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to walk away from her the night before. To walk her to her door like the gentleman he could never be. But he’d done it. The small inches of progress they’d made would have to tide him over. For now, at least.

After his group session, Dr. McLendon had checked in with him to see if he was okay. He’d reassured her that he was perfectly fine and would try and restrain himself from trashing her office like so many tour buses and hotel rooms before it. But when he walked into the Atrium, where his manager was meeting him for lunch, his determination to behave like an upstanding member of society vanished.

Stella Jo Chandler stood near a table on the edge of the expansive sunlit room. The white shirt she was wearing clung to her skin and was open just enough to draw his eyes to her barely visible but definitely ample cleavage. A skirt that matched her skin tone almost exactly hugged her perfect curves. And damn him straight to the fiery pits of Hell, shiny black stilettos nestled her petite little feet. He’d never been the type to get all hot over something as mundane as feet, but he had a feeling Stella Jo’s would be just as adorably sexy as the rest of her.

The woman was captivating on a level he’d never experienced. She was so many thing—things he didn’t deserve and would never be worthy of. Intelligent, beautiful, alluring. Mysterious at times. Guarded almost always. Which was why when she did open up to him, he lost all control of himself.

But it wasn’t the outfit, or even the heels, that sucker-punched him and left him seething where he stood. It was the fraternity-looking fucker standing with her. Smiling at her, nodding along as she spoke. Van knew he was probably watching her perfectly pouty lips, imagining how they’d feel around his cock.

Or maybe he already knew.

Dude looked awfully familiar with her, but Van didn’t recognize him. Hadn’t seen him around the facility before.

“Over here, Mr. Walker,” his manager called out.

Reluctantly tearing his gaze from where Stella continued chatting with a man he’d already pictured murdering eight different ways, Van made his way over to Sid.

Without bothering with a greeting, he slumped into the chair. His body angled toward the man across from him but his eyes kept wandering over to her. She’d touched his face yesterday. Her gentle caress of his face had felt like sex. Soothing, satisfying, and a sweet taste of how good it would be to let her touch him anywhere she wanted.

“Van,” his manager said, interrupting his thoughts. “That the same woman from last time I was here?”

“What?” He did his best to look confused. Was there any other woman in the room? On the planet? It didn’t feel like it.

“Look, whatever’s going on with you and her, it needs to stop.” Sid’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “This isn’t like the other times. I can’t impress upon you how serious Epitaph is about you completing this program successfully.”

“I get it.”

His manager shook his head and leaned forward. “Do you? Because it looks to me like you’re one wrong blowjob away from flushing everything we’ve worked for right down the—”

“She’s not like that,” Van nearly shouted in the other man’s face. Composing himself, he glanced around. Thankfully no one else had paid much attention to his outburst. “It’s not like that. With her,” he finished with a forced calm he didn’t feel.

“Okay. Good. So then why are you staring over there like another mutt is pissing on your property?”

Van raked a hand through his hair. Hard. “No idea what you’re talking about, Sid. What are you doing here anyway?”

His manager glanced over at Stella before returning his attention to Van. “I’m checking up on you, for one. Somebody’s got to. And your therapist contacted me, said something about family day coming up. You want me to call Nessa?”

Van felt his eyes go wide. “Why in the ever-loving fuck would you call her?”

Sid shrugged. “You were engaged to her, Van. She’s about the closest thing to family you have left.” He rubbed his goatee. “Well, except me. And I care about you, kid, I do. But I’m not sitting through some head-shrinking session for anyone. I didn’t do it for my ex-wife and I’m sure as shit not gonna do it now.”

Propping his elbows on the table, Van glared at Sid with all of his powers of pissed off. “Listen to me. Do not—I repeat, do not—call that crazy bitch. I mean it. The farther she is from me, the better.”

“Okay, relax.” Sid held his hands up. “I won’t call her. But I gave the lady who called her number. So you might want to talk to them.”

Jerking upright so quickly his chair nearly fell backwards, Van felt his blood pressure rising to a dangerous level. A breaking-shit level.

“Thanks a fucking lot, Sid. ’Preciate it.”

He didn’t even glance in Stella Jo’s direction as he stalked out of the Atrium. He had bigger problems to deal with than whether or not the purple Polo-shirt-wearing piece of shit actually meant anything to her.

“She isn’t family,” Van told Dr. McLendon once she’d let him into her office. “We were involved for a while. Then we weren’t. It’s been over for a year, and she’s done nothing since but try and make my life more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“What do you mean?” He exhaled in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension from his chest.

Nessa had made his life fucking miserable, even more miserable than usual, in every way possible. He didn’t want to rehash all the shit she’d pulled for a multitude of reasons. But mostly because even the thought of her gave him a migraine.

“I mean, between the two of you. You were involved for a while. Then you weren’t. Why did you stop being involved?”

“Because she was a psychotic bitch.”

The doctor frowned and he felt bad for having snapped at this woman who was only trying to help.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I guess you want me to be more specific, huh?”

“It’d help.”

He leaned back on the couch, looked up at the ceiling, and then rubbed his hands over his knees. “She was friends with my… She was a family friend.” Taking a few breaths to steady himself, he focused on the facts, not the emotions tied to them. “We got engaged right after high school and moved to LA together. When the band started to take off, she became…”

He wasn’t sure how to explain it. Vanessa Reeves had always been a bit unstable. Hell, for that matter, so had he. For a while, it was what had made them so perfect for each other. Van and Vanessa. Vanessa and Van. Though he was pretty sure their relationship would most likely have ended in a murder-suicide mystery no one could solve. And that was on a good day. But once the band had hit it big, she’d started to behave like she was downright insane—in more of a literal sense than an exaggerated one. It had been more than even he could handle.

“Difficult,” he finished, though that didn’t cover the half of it.

Dr. McLendon raised a blond eyebrow. “In what way?”

He sighed. “She partied hard. Sometimes even harder than me.” A few blurred images of incidents involving Nessa appeared behind his eyes. “If I didn’t pay enough attention to her or she thought I made eyes at another woman during a show, she’d make a scene. Threaten people, throw herself at another guy—sometimes even one of the guys in my band.”

“That sounds like a volatile situation. How did you deal with it?”

Van met her imploring stare. “Got high. Wasted. Whatever. Blew her off for a while.” He shrugged. “Then some time would pass and she’d come back, saying she was going to off herself if I didn’t take her back.”

It took every single ounce of self-control he had to remain calm. Nessa knew about Val. Knew about the way everything went down and had still used the one thing she knew would hit him where it hurt to get him to forgive her crazy ass.

“I see. I’ll talk to a care coordinator and make sure she isn’t contacted.”

He was thankful that the doctor didn’t ask any additional follow-up questions. Between seeing Stella with some random dude at lunch and Sid dropping the atomic bomb that was Nessa on him, he was done talking. But he did have a burning desire to see a certain care coordinator himself.