Page 56 of Not You Again

“Exactly.” Dr. Shaw gestures to the targets on the opposite wall. “Talk while you try something new. I’m here to mediate and offer perspective. Only if you need it, of course.”

Kit nods. We walk over to the line where we’re supposed to throw axes from and he mumbles, “Weirdest therapy session ever.”

I snort, then smack my hand over my mouth.

“See?” Dr. Shaw says from the table behind us. “You’re communicating better already.”

I force a smile. Kit and I listen to one of the employees explain how to throw an ax and do it safely. I attempt a couple of practice throws, my ax only bouncing off the target and clattering to the ground. Kit, however, was made for this kind of thing. He shrugs off his jacket and tie, unbuttons the top two buttons on his shirt, and rolls his sleeves to his elbows. While his arms are truly magnificent, my mind can only focus on thighs, thighs, thighs as he lunges forward to release the ax with a primal grunt.

“There is something I’d like to address,” he says when the attendant leaves us to it, snapping me out of my fantasy.

“Okay,” I say slowly, gripping the handle of a new ax. Ignoring the way my heart rate picks up, I choke up on the handle, winding up for a throw. “Go for it.”

“This morning, we …”

“Oh my God!” I shriek, my ax slipping from my hands, not even making it halfway to the target. My cheeks burn with humiliation. I can’t believe how we acted in our bedroom this morning, and now Kit wants to talk about it? Here? I mean, he did out our previous relationship on day one, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Andie,” Dr. Shaw says soothingly, like she would to a child throwing a tantrum. “Can you please listen to what Kit is saying? I want to make sure you hear him.”

I swallow and force myself to face him. Kit frowns, eyes fixed on his hands as he gets his grip on an ax. I shoot daggers at him with my glare. If he so much as mentions a hint of the intimacy we shared this morning, I’ll—

“You told me you were worried that side of me was gone.” He winds up, then launches the ax toward the target. It sinks in with a satisfying thud. It’s not a bullseye, but it’s close. He shakes out his arms and looks at me, head tilted in question. “I’ve been trying all day to figure out what you meant.”

Unable to articulate a single thought—my head is still spinning from this morning too—I reach for another ax.

“Andie,” Dr. Shaw interjects when I’m silent for too long, fussing with my grip. “What side of him did you mean?”

“Um.” I squeeze my eyes shut and search for a way to explain it that won’t give away what we did this morning. A tall order when his groans are still echoing in my head. “The side that’s … less than perfect, I guess.”

“Less than perfect,” Dr. Shaw echoes.

Kit frowns. “I’m not perfect.”

When Dr. Shaw gives me a look, I heave the ax over my shoulder and focus on the target. “You’re so controlled and closed off.” My words get lost to a grunt as I throw the ax. It’s the first one of mine that lands anywhere on the target instead of the floor. I take a deep breath and look at Kit. “Sometimes it feels like you’re not even here.”

Kit blinks, his jaw going slack. But he has no response.

“It seems like that surprises you,” Dr. Shaw says. “Can you tell Andie why?”

“I thought you didn’t want me to—” He shakes his head and drags a hand through his hair. He picks up a new ax and tries again. “Andie, any time I try to show you how I feel, it’s like you throw a shield up between us.”

I clench my jaw tighter.

“You’re doing it right now,” he says with a chuckle. “Look at how tight you’re wound up.”

This time, when his ax hits the target, I flinch.

I force myself to unclench my fists.

“Let’s take a deep breath together, okay?” Dr. Shaw demonstrates an exaggerated breath for us. Kit and I follow, and I have never felt so ridiculous in public.

The pause in action allows my mind to wander back to how Kit panted after his climax this morning. Warmth spreads from my hands to the rest of my body, tingles chasing it down my spine. I hope this shirt provides my happy nipples with enough coverage in front of the cameras.

Kit walks toward the targets, collecting our axes to bring them back to the line. He grunts when he wedges them out of the target, the muscles in his shoulders rolling underneath his shirt. When he walks back toward me, I look at the ground.

“Kit,” Dr. Shaw guides him, “how does it make you feel when Andie puts up that shield?”

He looks me in the eyes, leaning on an ax he props against a barstool. “It makes me feel like you’d rather be anywhere than with me.”