Chapter 67
Bree
“I’ll be right out here, waiting for you, gorgeous,” Gage muttered, his lips still pressed against mine, his breath warm and steady in that way that made the world blur around us.
We stood outside Dr. Playton’s office, tucked in the far end of the hallway where the walls smelled faintly like coffee and printer ink. Gage’s arms were wrapped protectively around me, like he was shielding me from something invisible. He always did that–stood between me and the world, even when there wasn’t any real threat. His entire body leaned down, just enough to meet my mouth again, his lips soft and sure, like he wanted to brand the reassurance into me before I went in.
It had been two days since the party–two days of clarity, of us finding some strange rhythm again. Two days without avoidance, without the awkwardness that used to hover between us. Just laughter. Just touches. Just the kind of quiet happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking for it.
And he hadn’t lied when he said he’d spoil me. God, he had done exactly that. I’d gotten foot rubs and late–night sweets; he’d carried me to bed when I’d fallen asleep on the couch, muttering things like “my sleepy girl” against my hair. And every night, without fail, he’d let me curl up between his legs while some football movie droned in the background, his fingers lazily tracing my face–down the slope of my nose, along the curve of my jaw–until my eyelids grew too heavy to fight.
My new favorite thing in the world? That. Falling asleep on him. Feeling his chest rise and fall beneath me, steady and sure.
And right now, standing outside Dr. Playton’s office, I was wrapped in his world again- literally. His hoodie hung loose over me, swallowing me whole. The sleeves were too long, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of his cologne–clean, woodsy, something that clung to me like a promise. He’d said it was getting colder, even though it wasn’t, and before I could argue, he’d tugged it over my head himself, muttering something about keeping me warm.
The green number seven stretched across my back, bold and unmistakable. I’d caught more than one person glancing our way as we walked here, their eyes snagging on the oversized hoodie and the name printed across the shoulders–his name. It screamed belonging. And despite the tiny part of me that used to hate being claimed by anyone, this… felt different. Gage’s claim didn’t cage me. It grounded me.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” I murmured against his lips, trying to sound casual, even though my stomach was a storm of nerves. This appointment had been sitting like a weight
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in my chest all morning.
+25 Points
He pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing, that protective, stubborn look flashing across his face. “I’m gonna wait for my girlfriend, Bree,” he said, his voice leaving zero room for debate. ” And afterwards, I’m gonna take you out for some ice cream.”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You can’t bribe me with ice cream, Gage. Besides, I really should be studying. Especially if you want me to show up at practice tomorrow and not completely tank my test on Thursday.”
His expression shifted–that familiar flash of heat in his eyes that always made my pulse skip. “Alright then,” he said finally, voice dropping a little lower. “Studying and ice cream.”
I laughed, helpless against it. He really was impossible–an enormous, infuriating teddy bear who somehow loved me with every cell in his body.
“I’ll see you in forty minutes,” he murmured, leaning in again, brushing a softer kiss against my lips this time.
Just as I tilted my chin up, ready to pull him closer, the door behind me clicked open.
And there he was–Dr. Playton. Not at all what I expected. No serious face, no sweater vest, no clipboard. Just jeans, sneakers, and an easy smile that instantly dismantled the “Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting” image I’d built in my head.
He looked… calm. Almost unnervingly so. Perhaps in his early thirties, black hair slicked back neatly, a few stray strands brushing against his forehead, he gave off this aura of composed warmth. Not the stuffy, clinical vibe I had imagined, not the “hard–nosed psychiatrist❞ caricature I had built up in my head. No, there was something approachable about him, a quiet, contained energy that somehow made the room feel smaller and safer all at once.
He was fit, not ridiculously so–nothing like Gage–but lean and steady, comfortable in his gray henley and well–worn jeans. His brown eyes met mine the moment he smiled, deep and warm, the kind that could sink you into them if you let yourself, halding just the right mix of attentiveness and calm reassurance.
“Miss Morgan, I presume,” he said, his voice low, velvet–soft, a smile blooming on his lips that made my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.
“That’s me,” I replied, managing a polite smile, the kind that hid the fluttering chaos I felt inside. I wasn’t sure if he was aware of the storm I was carrying, or if he could even detect it from this brief moment, but something about him made me want to be… honest. Almost.
“Come on in,” he said, gesturing gently with one hand, stepping back to open the space before me.
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+25 Points
I was just about to step out of Gage’s protective embrace when his arms suddenly tightened around me, holding me close. I glanced up at him, noticing the furrow in his brows as his green eyes snapped to Dr. Playton. There was a tension there–subtle, but sharp enough to make me catch my breath. I couldn’t place the expression entirely, it wasn’t playful, not like his usual teasing smirk, but it wasn’t anger either. It was something else, something protective, something that said I’m not leaving you, ever.
Then his gaze found mine again, intense, unwavering, a fire dancing in his green depths. “I love you, gorgeous,” he said, his voice low and serious, “and I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”
His words weren’t just for me. I could feel it in the way his stance shifted, in the heat of his gaze–they were for Dr. Playton too, an unspoken declaration that this girl, right here, belonged to him.
“I love you too, Gage,” I whispered, confusion lacing my tone, my stomach fluttering at the strength of his claim. Before I could pull myself together, he leaned down again, capturing my lips in a heated kiss that left no room for hesitation. It was possessive, intense, and entirely Gage–and entirely terrifyingly wonderful in front of the man I was about to open up to.
I finally broke away, giving him a bewildered look that made him smirk just slightly. Then I turned and walked into Dr. Playton’s office, my chest still rising and falling from the residual heat of Gage’s kiss. The door closed softly behind me, and the faint sound clicked into place like a protective boundary between me and the outside world. Dr. Playton’s eyes crinkled with amusement, though he didn’t comment on it, letting me settle into the space.
“Please, Miss Morgan, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the plush couch by the window. Sunlight spilled across the carpet, bathing the room in a soft glow.
The office was surprisingly cozy. Bookshelves lined one wall, bursting with colorful spines, some leaning precariously against others. A few vases held fresh flowers, small and cheerful, their petals catching the light. A coffee table rested in front of the couch, holding a neatly stacked pile of notepads, a pen, and a small framed photo that made the space feel lived–in, human. Across from me, a comfortable chair faced the couch, and behind it sat his desk, organized but not sterile, papers stacked with purpose, manila folders aligned like soldiers.
I sank into the couch, pulling Gage’s oversized hoodie tighter around me, letting it cocoon me like a shield. “Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Playton,” I murmured, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric.
He sat down in the chair across from me, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Please, call me Clyde.”
I tilted my head slightly, curious. “Only if you call me Bree then,” I replied, letting a faint smile
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tug at my own lips, feeling the hoodie fall softly around my shoulders.
+25 Points
“Alright then, Bree,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his hands resting on the notepad and pen on the coffee table. “I want to start off by asking: have you ever talked to someone professional before?”
I shook my head, letting my hair tumble across my shoulders. “I haven’t, no.”
He nodded, crossing his legs before resting the pad on his knee. “I know it can feel strange at first,” he began, his eyes trailing over my face. “But you can just talk. Nothing you say will shock me, and nothing is off–limits unless you want it to be.”
I nodded, wanting so badly to just open up and tell him everything. I was here to work on me, to make myself better, to face my wounds so I could be an even better girlfriend, an even better friend, an even better daughter.
“So,” he said after a brief pause, giving me a moment to settle. “You’ve just started college, I see–a freshman. How are you settling in?”
I reached up, brushing some hair behind my ear, and looked down at my feet. Where do I even start? How much do I tell him? And, God, why did he have to have such expressive eyes?
“I take it that was your boyfriend out in the hall,” he continued gently, trying to draw me out.
“He is,” I admitted, nodding as heat crept into my cheeks.
“That must be nice,” he smiled kindly. “Getting to be on the same campus as he is. Would you mind telling me how you met?”
I could see what he was doing, how he wanted me to start with something happy, something safe–a little comfort before diving into the messy parts. Classic. A clever way to make the harder stuff feel less intimidating.
“We met a few weeks ago, actually,” I said, my fingers fumbling with the sleeves of Gage’s hoodie. “I was kinda shipped off to summer camp, and then, boom–right in the middle of everything stood Gage.”
Yeah, I’d fallen right into his trap. Clyde kept asking questions about my time at camp, about Gage, and it worked. It made me relax. Before I knew it, I had taken off my flip–flops, sitting cross–legged on the couch, talking about all the fun things that had happened at camp.
Then he tilted his head, pen poised. “You said you were shipped off… can you tell me what that means?”
I swallowed, looking back down, feeling the familiar ache creep into my chest. The memories rushed in–the cheating, the photos, the name–calling. Everything.
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“Well, I was… stupid during my senior year in high school,” I muttered, my voice lower.
+25 Points
“I don’t like the word ‘stupid,‘ Bree,” Clyde said, leaning back slightly, another soft smile tugging at his lips. “None of us are stupid, I refuse to believe that. I like the word‘ inexperienced‘ a lot more.”
“Well,” I shrugged, “then I was thoroughly inexperienced, and definitely not ready for what
Oliver had in store for me.”
Clyde’s brows furrowed slightly, his pen darting across the notepad like it had throughout our session. “And who is Oliver, Bree?”
Emilia M
I just had to put in a bit of our protective, possessive golden retriever energy in there get another chapter of Bree and Dr. Clyde Playton
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