Always on My Mind (Stanmore FC Soulmates #2)

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Picking at her nails, Jamie took in the office. It wasn’t what she imagined a therapist’s office to be. In the movies, they were always clinical in appearance. Lila’s office, despite the crisp white and beige color palette, had yellow flowers and old leather books, and crochet blankets in the soft cushioned chairs, which made it homey. Or straight out of a Nancy Meyers film, Jamie hadn’t decided.

Not that it put Jamie at ease. A blanket didn’t cover up that this woman was clearly an agent of her father. Dexter Hupp had his hand deep into anyone that was remotely close to Jamie, especially when it came to her career. He’d been in the ear of every manager, agent, and physio she’d been in contact with. A therapist would be no different. She didn’t even want to be in therapy. Who needed therapy when she was perfectly capable of smothering her emotions until her inevitable death?

“Fucking hell. . . ” she muttered to herself, thinking that perhaps she did need therapy after all.

The door swung open and Lila walked through in an oversized button down and jeans, her graying brown hair tied back with a scrunchie. Funky floral glasses framed her face. She resembled the photograph on her website, which Jamie had stalked for most of the previous evening. Lila had been a therapist for fifteen years. She specialized in women’s issues and ran her own practice. All of that was well and good until Jamie found, under the “Other Services” tab on the website, that Lila also claimed to be a psychic. Or “past life regressionist” as she called it online, but that didn’t fool Jamie. She offered Jamie a smile that went unreciprocated.

“Good morning, Jamie,” she said, taking a seat across the coffee table from her.

Jamie sucked her teeth. “Morning.”

“I must say, I’m excited for this journey with you. I’ve never worked with an athlete before, though they do fascinate me.”

Jamie’s brow furrowed, wondering if she ought to be offended by that, but she didn’t get the chance to say as much before Lila continued.

“Especially the men. Can you imagine having that size ego? I suppose you can, given your father is one of the most prolific footballers in England’s history.”

“Spoke to him, did you?” Jamie tried to keep the venom out of her voice, but wasn’t successful.

Lila took it in stride. “Yes, in fact, he booked this appointment for you. He warned me you weren’t keen on the idea.”

“I’m not.”

“And yet you showed up.”

Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

“Well, you are an adult, Jamie. Most adults would simply ignore their parents if given a suggestion they didn’t agree with. And your disagreement is written all over your face.”

Jamie schooled her features, but folded her arms over her chest. The corner of Lila’s mouth turned up as she leaned back in her chair.

“I’m here under protest,” Jamie said.

“Shall I make a note of that in your file?”

Jamie huffed and pushed herself to her feet before striding over to the bookshelf. She expected to find volumes on psychology and other sciences behind therapy, so it took her aback to see book after book of poetry. She blinked at a tattered hardback—vintage by the shabby appearance of it—of an Emily Dickinson collection that held her gaze. Before she realized she was doing it, her hand was reaching toward the weathered spine, fingers outstretched with a familiarity she couldn’t explain.

“Lovely things, aren’t they?” Lila asked, her voice drawing Jamie out of her stupor.

She snatched her hand back to her side.

“You can touch it, I don’t mind,” Lila said. “Though do be careful. It’s over a hundred years old.”

Jamie shook her head, even if her eyes kept flitting over to the book. Where did that possessiveness come from? “No, I. . . sorry.”

“Quite alright.”

“Why poetry?”

Lila crossed one leg over the other. “Because I don’t believe there’s any greater insight into human nature.”

“What? You’re a therapist.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“So you should know that it’s trauma or genetics or something. Poetry, are you serious?”

“Trauma and genetics and somethings are what’s in our brains. Poetry reveals what’s in the soul.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how to answer that. She chanced a glance back at the shelf.

“Are you much of a reader?” Lila wondered.

“No, not really. I wish I read more, but with my schedule, it’s difficult.”

“That schedule should open up a bit now that you’re not involved in European competitions.”

Jamie shot a glare at Lila. “Wow. Okay.”

“Why should you take offense? It was your choice to change clubs, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Jamie stopped short. “You’re not going to trick me into talking by pissing me off.”

“I’m not trying to trick you, Jamie.”

“Please,” Jamie scoffed.

“Truly, I’m not. What makes you think so?”

Jamie scowled at her.

Lila nodded. “I do see how that’s a leading question. Forgive me.”

A thick silence came over the room like a fog. Lila seemed unperturbed by it, drumming her fingers on her chair and humming softly to herself. Jamie’s eyes slid back over to the bookshelf, finding the Dickinson book again. She didn’t know why, but it stirred something in her chest. And it conjured up Tessa’s smile in her mind. That sweet, gorgeous smile, which often accompanied her warm laughter.

“You don’t have to tell me anything major, you know,” Lila finally said, and Jamie forced her memories of Tessa to the back of her mind. “Anything that’s on your mind, even if it’s simply things going on at training.”

“You think I don’t know the minute this session’s over you’ll give my father notes on everything I said?”

Lila blinked and sat up. “Is that what you think?”

Jamie found herself unable to look at her, so she cut her gaze to the floor. Something in Lila’s tone made her ashamed she’d made the accusation, similar to when she first spoke to her new manager. Cheeks growing warm, she toed the carpet with her shoe.

“Jamie, your father may pay for these sessions, but that does not entitle him to anything that transpires in this office.”

Once again, Jamie found herself desperate to believe it. She wanted to trust. But her father’s shadow loomed in her heart, imposing and dangerous. She shook her head.

“He always finds out,” she said, half to herself.

“What does he find out?”

“Everything.”

“Surely not everything. I bet if you thought hard about it, you could come up with at least one thing your father doesn’t know about you.”

The memories of Tessa she’d been keeping at bay surged to the forefront of her mind. Her smile again, and that laugh. All the Northern Irish and Derry slang she’d use more frequently the more emotional she was about something. Their trip to Derry, where Jamie got to hold her hand at a table for the first time, because the Gallaghers had sworn to protect her. Mundane things like going to the chippy together to pick up dinner. And intimate things like waking up with Tessa’s blonde hair tickling her nose. Every kiss, every touch, every late night talk. All of it without her father ever knowing.

“Yes. . . ” Jamie said softly. “I can think of one thing.”

“Well,” Lila said with a smile. “That’s a start.”

The rest of the session, Jamie only gave away surface level things. Her favorite film ( The Parent Trap , the 1998 version), her family and growing up in London, and a few things about football. And to test the waters, she mentioned Tessa. Not by name. She referred to her as “an old friend,” but she knew if her father heard about it, he’d call and question her. If he did, it meant Lila was in his pocket. If he didn’t, Lila could be trusted.

When their time was up, Jamie was the first to get to her feet, and she headed for the door. She had a hand on the knob when Lila called her to a stop.

“One moment, Jamie.”

Reluctantly, Jamie turned to face her. Lila carried the Emily Dickinson book in her hands as she approached, then held it out to Jamie.

“Go on, then. Start reading more.”

Jamie took it, however reluctantly. The moment her fingers brushed the hard cover, warmth spread from her hand down to the tips of her toes. She barely held back a gasp at the sensation. She forced her eyes back to Lila’s face.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Lila said with a nod. “Besides, I need some assurance that you’ll be back.”

Jamie’s mouth twitched up, threatening a smile. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“I hope you enjoy it. I’m really looking forward to hearing your thoughts.”

Jamie swallowed, nodded, and swept from the room before anything else could be said.

The next day, as Jamie was getting ready for training, her phone rang with her father’s special ringtone. After tying off her plait, she answered.

“Hello?”

“How’d it go yesterday?” he asked quickly. “With the therapist woman?”

Jamie chewed her lip, glancing at herself in the mirror. “Fine.”

“What did you talk about?”

She stiffened. Did he truly not know? “It was basic stuff. Y’know, where I grew up, what the family was like. All that.”

“Good, good.” He paused for an extended beat. “Nothing more specific?”

Her stomach lurched. Maybe he did know. “Specific how?”

“Jesus, Jamie, the reason I sent you there in the first place. Switching clubs suddenly, abandoning your contract? Did you get that sorted?”

She blinked. He didn’t know. If he did, he’d have mentioned it by now. And his line of questioning combined with his frustration, led Jamie to believe he’d already called Lila and had been told she wouldn’t say.

“Sorted?” she asked.

“All the mental stuff. Is it done?”

Her fingers found the book, tracing the author’s name with her nail. It still gave her a tingle every time she touched it.

“Actually, Dad, I think I’m going to need a few more sessions.”