"I don't need this," she said, then patted her stomach.

"Please." He laughed. "Carb load. You'll need it today, to pick up the pieces of Dave's-of the work we need to get done." His heart ached as the spark in Alyssa's eyes dimmed.

"Right," she said, and walked away, bagel in hand. The door closed behind her, leaving Blake alone in the office he and Dave had shared, alone with his thoughts, memories, and fears. He sat in the chair and stared at the desk. There were signs of Dave everywhere, from the picture of his family to the scribblings on the calendar and the sticky notes placed haphazardly on the wall.

Blake leaned forward and put his forehead to his hands. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Focus. What would Dave do? That was the problem. He'd known Dave for years, and yet he had no idea what he might do in this situation. Rusty's voice picked at his mind. "My dad didn't give a f.u.c.k about me or anyone else besides himself."

"Dave, what the h.e.l.l was going on?" he said to the empty room.

There was a feeling of submissiveness that went along with seeing a female therapist, and being submissive was not something Blake was comfortable with. He sat across from Danica, reminding himself that it was his choice to be there. It didn't help. He still felt like a high school kid in the princ.i.p.al's office. A beautiful princ.i.p.al's office.

"What would you like to talk about today, Blake? Do you feel ready to talk about Dave?"

Blake ran his eyes over Danica's crazy hair, down her shirt and slacks, trying to figure out what looked different.

"Are you done?" she asked, glaring at him, her eyebrows lifted.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't looking at you like that." Blake wiped his face with his hand, wondering if he was looking at her like that.

"Like what?" she asked.

"You know, like guys look at women. You look different today, and I was trying to figure out what it was."

Danica smiled. "Okay, thanks for noticing."

"Ha!" he said loudly. "I knew something was different. But, honestly, I have no clue what it is."

Danica shook her head. "That's okay. We're not here to talk about my clothing. Dave, remember?"

Blake took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "Dave. Right." Where do I begin? "I took Dave's son, Rusty-he's fifteen-to his basketball practice the other day. Well, I thought I was taking him to basketball practice, but he snuck out with his friends and I caught him."

"That's not so strange for a teenager." Danica wrote something on her notepad.

"No, but...where do I start?" Just tell her. Lay it all out on the line. "Okay, here's the thing. Dave used to talk about going to his basketball practices each week and about how great their family life was, but according to Rusty, Dave never went to his practices."

"Ah, I see. Dave lied to you. How does that make you feel?" Danica sat back and watched Blake, her gaze never wavering from his eyes.

Blake's nerves tightened in his chest. "That's not really what's bothering me. Most people pretend to have much better lives than they really have, I think. Everyone embellishes something." Blake fidgeted with his hands, then leaned forward, unnerved by Danica's silence. He looked up at her again and realized that it was her jacket that was different. The last time he'd seen her she was perfectly tailored, head to toe. Today she wore a flowing, cotton batik jacket with what looked like a cotton camisole underneath. On someone else it might make them look frumpy. Danica looked anything but frumpy.

Blake sat up and said, "I think what's bothering me is that this guy was my best friend, but I really didn't know him. I mean, we had the business together-he did his thing and I did mine, and we skied together. But when it came to knowing what he'd do in certain situations, or what he had going on in his life on any deeper level, I have no clue. I mean, Rusty said his dad didn't give a fu-" Blake caught the word before he finished. "Sorry. He said Dave didn't give a d.a.m.n about him or anyone else, and that's not at all the guy I knew. The Dave I knew adored his family."

"Sometimes a teenager's perception is skewed by something they're experiencing in their lives. He may have seen his father's attention as prying, a pain in the rear."

Blake thought about that. "Yeah, I guess so, but he said Dave didn't go to the practices, either."

"Well, teenagers are all about the here and now, so maybe Dave had missed the last few practices, or maybe he never went at all. Would that have changed things between you and Dave?"

"No, not between us, but it means he might have lied to me."

"And how does that make you feel? How do you think you could have changed that? Could you have done anything so he wouldn't have lied to you?"

"I don't know. I could have asked him questions, talked to him more."

"Probably, but was that who you were in the relationship? You see, Blake, I think we all serve a role in every relationship. Sometimes we're the aggressor, sometimes the center of attention; sometimes we're there for show, like a trophy wife, if you will. Other times, though, we might be the person who builds others up, or the one who needs building up. We can't be everything in every relationship." Danica set her notepad down on the desk. "You know, sometimes friendships are not the kind to share the more difficult aspects of our lives; but that more superficial friendship-or, just sharing the happier moments-doesn't mean it was any less valuable. I think sometimes it makes them more valuable. Maybe that's the type of friendship the two of you shared. Maybe he felt like he could be this other person with you, the one with no trouble brewing."

"But I think most people are a little bit of all those things." Blake leaned forward, paying close attention to what she said.

"Sometimes people can be, yes, but if all those aspects of their personality are not already present, they can't really fake it very well. So you have to ask yourself, who were you in your relationship with Dave?"

Blake sat back again and crossed his arms. I was the guy he egged on, the one he envied. I was the guy who made jokes and banged women. "I don't think I was a very good friend."

"That's a pretty harsh judgment. Were you the friend Dave needed? Was he the friend you needed?"

She was looking at him again in that way that tied his stomach into knots, like she expected an insightful answer that Blake didn't know how to give. "How can I know that?" he asked.

"Well, did you feel as though your friendship was lacking something when Dave was alive, or are you just feeling that way now? Grief can manifest in many ways, and it can skew our memories."

d.a.m.n, you're good. Was he skewing his memories of their relationship? "I think we had a good relationship. We enjoyed our time together-I enjoyed our time together. I can't really know if Dave did."

"No, you can't, and you can't change the type of friend you were to Dave, though I'd imagine you weren't a bad friend. Most people don't hang around with people they don't enjoy." Danica lifted her pen to her lips. Oh, those lips. "Blake, is there a chance that Dave's death is making you question what kind of a friend you are in general? I mean to others, not just Dave?"

He crossed his arms.

Danica set her pen on the desk and leaned back in her chair. "You look like a bundle of hot wires ready to short out. What are you thinking right this second? What are you not saying?"

Anger squeezed his muscles tighter.

"I'm prying, and I realize that. But, Blake, I'm not sure this is about not knowing Dave as much as it might be about something bigger, like maybe not knowing yourself very well."

Blake let out a breath and said, "Okay, yeah. I don't have other friends. There, okay? That's it. I'm not a guy who people hang out with. I'm a guy women sleep with and who guys have a random beer with, or ski with, or look at like I'm some kind of magical creature because I can sleep with as many women as I want." His cheeks felt like they were on fire. He was a caged lion in need of escape. He stood and paced next to the window, p.i.s.sed off that she could sit so calmly while his insides were fuming. "Is that what you want to hear?" b.i.t.c.h.

"This isn't about me." She sounded like a teacher, a princ.i.p.al, a parole officer.

"Right. Maybe I made a mistake coming here." He ran his hand through his hair, then crossed his arms, staring out the window.

"That's completely up to you."

"You sit there like you're high and mighty, like you don't ever do s.h.i.t that makes you feel like a bad person." He spun around and looked at Danica, sitting with her legs crossed, leaning against the back of the chair. She looked calm, cool, and collected, while his anger simmered to a boil.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. We all do things that make us feel inadequate, and it's totally normal to get mad when we realize things we'd rather not see in ourselves."

"Oh, so now I'm inadequate?" he seethed.

"No." She smiled, but her eyes betrayed her. They said something akin to, Of course you are.

Blake crossed his arms and stared at her, this time waiting for her to finish speaking. Putting her on the spot.

"What I'm saying is that if you don't like who you were with Dave, you can't change that, but you can change those things you don't like about yourself with regard to friendships, or anything else for that matter."

Blake grabbed his jacket from the hook and said, "I think we've talked enough for today."

Danica stood, her lips slightly parted, her face soft, her eyes sweetly empathetic. "That's fine. This is your session."

Blake had a sudden urge to take her in his arms and kiss the high and mighty out of her. She was as s.e.xy as she was infuriating. Blake walked to the door and reached for the handle. "Thank you."

When she spoke, her voice was confident and strong, "Blake, therapy is hard. Things usually get worse before they get better."

He turned to face her, one hand on his escape route, the other clutching his jacket.

"You're not here because you're perfect. You're here because you wanted to deal with something. We're dredging up those things that may not be what you want to know about yourself. Think of your mind like a garden. We're tilling the soil, bringing the buried stuff up to the surface-the mucky, hard, rotting, forgotten things that have been hidden for probably far too long. This is the hard part. Seeing it for what it is."

Blake didn't know what else to say. Even though anger twisted and yanked at his muscles, he knew she was right.

"It gets easier. I promise."

He walked out the door without a word.

Chapter Fifteen.

s.h.i.t! It had been hours since his therapy session with Danica and Blake still couldn't shake the tension that tugged at every nerve in his body. He sat on a bar stool, nursing his fourth Jack and c.o.ke, checking out the eye candy. Most women who drank at five in the afternoon were either waiting for a pack of noisy girlfriends or lonely old women hoping to feel young again. Blake wasn't sure he cared which kind of woman he left the bar with, as long as he didn't leave alone. He'd show her just how inadequate he was.

Pickings were spa.r.s.e at Bar None. The redhead in the corner had been eye-raping him for the past hour. He found redheads to be aggressive, which he normally loved, but this time his ego needed a long, luscious stroke. Playful and hot, that would do it. He lifted his eyes to ESPN playing on the television above the bar.

"Imagine meeting you here."

Blake turned around to find Kaylie's firm b.r.e.a.s.t.s at eye level. The right side of his lips lifted into a smile. "It's the only bar in town where tourists don't flock. You look like that and that's the line you choose?" He laughed.

Kaylie climbed onto the stool next to him, swinging her knees toward him. Her dark blue miniskirt barely covered what Blake imagined she wore beneath: a lacy thong.

She leaned toward him. The want in her eyes unveiled. "Buy me a drink?"

He lifted his gla.s.s in the direction of the older, male bartender.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked with a husky voice while he looked lasciviously at Kaylie.

Blake leaned possessively toward her.

"I'll have what he's having," Kaylie answered. She twirled her hair around her index finger. "What are you doing here?" she asked Blake. "Isn't it a bit early for all this?" She pointed to the empty gla.s.ses lined up beside him.

"Tough afternoon." Blake could not take his eyes off of the crest of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, peeking out of her tight, white, V-neck shirt.

"Yeah? Tell me about it. I just got back in town from a wild concert. I'm whipped." She took a drink. "That hits the spot."

"Are you meeting someone here?" Blake looked around the bar, remembering the guy she'd left with the last time he'd seen her.

"Nah." She swatted her hand through the air. "I was supposed to meet my sister, but she just called and gave me some lame excuse about a hard day at work. So," she shrugged, "I figured I'd come in, relax awhile, then go home."

"Sounds good to me." Blake lowered his lids and leaned in close when he spoke. I've still got it.

Kaylie giggled. "Yeah? Okay then." She downed the drink and held up the gla.s.s, asking for another. "So, tell me, Blake," she over p.r.o.nounced the B, giving his name a forceful tone, "why was your day so tough? Didn't sell many skis?"

Blake finished his drink in one gulp, thinking about Danica and her smug look as he opened up to her. "Just a painful meeting. Nothing to worry your pretty, little head about." The last thing he wanted to do was think about Danica. Blake considered ordering one more drink, but he knew he was on the verge of dropping over the edge, and with Kaylie in his sights, he wanted to be on his game-for later.

"Ski shop owners have meetings?" She pressed her knee against his thigh.

"Of sorts," he said. He had nothing to do with his hands. Without a drink, he longed to do something with them. He draped his left arm around the back of her stool.

"Tell me what life is like for a ski shop owner. I would imagine that it's nothing but fun."

His fingertips brushed against her back, and she leaned into his hand. It was so easy for him. He could sleep with her in the next five minutes if he wanted. h.e.l.l, he could slip one hand up her skirt right now and she'd just wiggle so no one else could see. Blake felt the familiar desire in his groin, but his mind fell back to his session with Danica. We all do things that make us feel inadequate. d.a.m.n her. He dropped his arm from around Kaylie and ordered another drink.

"I just lost my business partner." Why the h.e.l.l did he reveal that?

"b.u.mmer. Did you guys have, like, a blowup? A disagreement?"

"He died." Blake took a swig of his drink.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry. That's awful." Kaylie put her hand on his leg.

Blake stared at her hand. He felt like the epitome of the quintessential man with a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, both whispering in his ear. "I miss him." Jesus. Why am I telling her this? He didn't want to think about going into AcroSki tomorrow, or the day after, or even the day after that, knowing Dave would never be there again.

"Aw, I'm sure you do. I can't imagine what that would be like."

Her words oozed empathy, and Blake's hard exterior fell away like a snake shedding its skin. "I can't even talk to his wife. I have no idea what to say to her." He had no idea what was happening to him. When had he developed diarrhea of the mouth-and worse, of his emotions? He looked at his gla.s.s. It had to be the alcohol. He ran his hand through his hair-a distraction from the heat beneath her palm.

"She probably just needs someone to tell her everything will be okay."

Blake wondered if it could be that easy.

"Seriously. I mean, you can't fix it for her, but you can be there, hug her, help her through by just being around."

"She won't want me around. I'm just a reminder that he's gone, and...I never really spent a lot of time with her. I mean, I had dinner with Dave and his family often enough, but I don't know." I never spend any real time with anyone.

She ran her index finger in circles on his thigh, downed her drink, and ordered another. "I can't imagine anyone not wanting you around." She licked her lips.

Blake looked at the mirror behind the bar. The image staring back at him was the image he'd seen in the bathroom mirror when he was with Red-a hungry, tired player who was hiding from the things that mattered in life, even if he wasn't quite sure what they were. He didn't want to be that person anymore, and yet there he was, on the prowl. He looked over at Kaylie's reflection, with her puppy-dog eyes, hanging on to his every word. Then he thought of his meeting with Danica and how she'd listened without trying to fix him. She'd just let him work through his emotions, bring them all out on the table. And she didn't judge him or tell him he was a s.h.i.tty friend. We all do things that make us feel inadequate. All being the key word. And, he commended himself, he was trying to change.

Kaylie leaned in close and whispered, "Wanna go back to my place? I'll help you feel better."

"Absof.u.c.kinglutely," he said out of habit, but he didn't move.