Addicted to Mr. Parks (The Park #2) (18 page)

I slapped him unhesitatingly, my natural reaction to an insult, and Steph backed me up that time, pulling her brother away.

“You deserved that,” she said. But Alex continued like a raving, jealous lunatic.

“He’ll hurt you Evey, mark my words.”

I didn’t dignify him with an answer. Instead, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and made my way to Cleaver’s car. Seven missed calls flashed upon my screen from Parks.

I got settled into the car and decided I wouldn’t call him back because I was on my way to him, anyway.

Chapter Seventeen

“Why didn’t you come straight home?” Parks pounced on me the moment my foot stepped out of the lift and into his lobby.

“I went to Steph’s for a catch-up. Why’s that a big deal?” My tone was casual, trying to play it down.

“I expected you to go straight home and be waiting for me when I got back. I told you we needed to talk.”

My laugh came out involuntary as I brushed past him and started climbing the spiral staircase. He followed. “Well, your expectations are too high. Besides, what was I meant to do? Wait for you while you were entertaining Carla?” Her name spat from my lips like a vicious attack.

“I wasn’t entertaining her, Evelyn. It was a
—
”

“Meeting. Yeah, I get it.” I made it to the top of the stairs, headed into the kitchen, and placed my bag on the counter. Parks watched my every move, even leaning against the fridge when I poured myself a glass of water. When I’d taken a sip, I faced him. “You know she said she slept with you. Her actual words were, ‘Parks is a beast in the sheets but a gentlemen in the streets.’ Or whatever.”

His groan made it apparent he was annoyed. “I have already told you I have never slept with the goddamn woman. She obviously has a fucked-up fantasy of us.”

I rolled my eyes back to my glass, making him even more annoyed. I believed him, but I was still mad.

“You’re mad at me for having a meeting?”

I drank down the water, then tipped the empty glass towards him. “You’re mad at me for going to my friend’s house?”

He uncrossed his arms and rubbed at his forehead. “Let’s not do this.”

“Let’s not,” I agreed. After placing the glass into the sink, I turned my back and went into my bag for the container. “Let me grab your dinner.”

“You’ve already eaten?”

“Yeah. I cooked a casserole for Steph and brought you some home.” I placed it into the microwave for a few moments, then turned to reassure him. “It’s all freshly made, don’t worry.” When it pinged, I pulled out the casserole and poured it into a bowl. I found a spoon, then handed him his meal. His eyes studied it cautiously, then he went cold on me. “I’ll eat it in my office. I have a few things to catch up on.”

“You’re mad because I didn’t tell you what I was doing? Or because I didn’t come home when I said I would?”

He answered me as he began climbing the stairs. “Both. And instead of spanking you, I’m going to catch up on work.”

“You need to calm down?” I was shouting up the stairs. “I would rather you spanked your anger out than ignore me!”

Clearly, I knew he wasn’t going to do that. The first time he spanked me out of anger, he vowed never to do it again. I scolded myself for asking him, because it was stupid and reckless. Of course I didn’t like him spanking me in anger. But the thought of him ignoring me shredded my emotions.

“Just go relax and have a bath, Evelyn.”

“Whatever,” I murmured.

After my bath, I slipped on a light blue silk wrap and got comfortable on the bed. I was a few chapters into a new book when he walked into the room, drying himself with a towel. It was a hard task, but I pulled my eyes away from his body and continued to read. Well, tried to. None of the words seemed to sink in. All I could see from the corner of my eye was him drying that dark, tousled hair of his and then his arm moving down to dry off his erection. Up and down he rubbed along his shaft, then he threw the towel on the floor. I continued to ignore him even when he climbed onto the bed.
Hmm.
His scent had my senses standing on end, all excited and jumpy. Freshly showered and all things Parks.

“I hate it when we fight.”

I sighed, brushing him off. “Then stop acting an arrogant,
spoilt
arse.”

He ignored me like I hadn’t even said anything. “You look incredibly sexy in that colour.”

My shrug was dripping in nonchalance when I flipped over the page. Parks pulled down my wrap, exposing my breast, and wrapped his lips around my nipple. My breath caught, my eyes closed, and my grip tightened on my book.

“Stop,” I told him pitifully. He moaned against my taut nipple, rolling it around between his lips. My head fell back gently onto the headboard.

“Beautiful breasts,” he murmured before sucking one pebbled nipple and torturing the other one between his fingers. I dropped my book and ran my fingers through his hair. The pounding beat between my thighs began, so I rubbed them together, trying to ease it, but that didn’t work, so I pulled my hands from his hair and pushed my fingers between my legs.

The fire that burnt deep within my core spread across my breasts as his tongue lashed and teeth twisted my aching breast. “Princess, I have someone coming to see you tomorrow evening.” He rolled his fingers over my clit, massaging it in such a way that my mind blacked out.

“Who?” My voice was weak. I was hardly thinking about who he wanted me to meet. My sex was dampening by the second as he glided his fingers over my folds, then slid them into me. “Ah,” I moaned, lying back on the bed. He was by my side, fingering my sex, sucking at my exposed breast.

“Nia Malone.” He plunged two fingers deep into me. “She’s the therapist I told you about.”

My eyes flew open in anger, but I was also climaxing.
He told me the news on a goddamn climax.

“You bastard,” I moaned, aggressively riding out my orgasm, yanking at his hair. I pushed him off me after my climax and climbed off the bed. Intense orgasm or not, I was
not
happy. “What? I begged you not to, and you still went behind my back?”

“Goddamn it, Evelyn, you’re saying it like I’m doing it for me. It’s for
you
. To help
you
. She’s one of the best. She doesn’t act like a doctor. More like a friend. I’m helping you as much as I can, and hell if I can’t get you the best help.”

He knew infinitely that I never wanted a therapist. “But
you’re
helping me just by being here for me. Don’t you see that?”

I looked away from him as he climbed over the bed to where I was standing by the edge and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m not going anywhere, Princess. I will always be here for you. I don’t think you realise how much I care about you. I would never have relentlessly pursued you in the beginning if I didn’t care.”

My eyes softened, and I finally turned to look at him. “I just don’t like the idea of you going behind my back. I get you want to help, but you have to keep me informed.”

“Keep you informed,” he noted on a damn irresistible smirk that had me suddenly pinning him to the bed. The look of desire he held for me so well pooled in his eyes. “What do you want to do to me, Princess?”

Pushing my lips into his, I kissed him deeply. “I want to fuck you slow.”

“Then fuck me slow,” he breathed.

Positioning my knees aside his hips, I got ready and took his lips with mine, kissing him sensually while hovering my sex just above his cock. The magnetised force that so wanted our privates to touch was extremely hard to fight, but I wanted to tease him. I wanted to take him slow and feel everything.

The lengthy groan that rumbled from his throat showed my teasing was getting to him, but he remained still, letting me take my time with him. I kissed his sweet-smelling neck, licked gently across his jaw, and then made my way down his chest before lifting my head back up to meet his piercing eyes before taking his cock in my palm. I rubbed the wide head of his crown along my folds, moistening myself even more.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, gently sliding his hands across my temple and into my hair. He just wanted to touch me, and anywhere on my body was appropriate.
Hell yeah it is.

My arm was shaking as I held myself up and guided him into me with my other hand. “Hmm.” My moan was low as I pushed myself down his length so slowly it was almost torturous, but I wanted to revel in the fullness. Wanted to bask in the way he felt inside me and forget all the talk about my problems.

He mumbled my name under his breath, clenching his jaw as he restrained himself from taking over. My hips stayed still with him inside me while I took his bottom lip between my teeth. Teasing his lips, I pulled them between a bite and drew circles with my tongue around the plush, pink skin, copying the circular movement of my hips.

“You feel so fucking divine.” His lids fell heavily as I circled, then he moved his hands to take my hips to guide them around.

“No.” I slapped them away. “This is mine.” He kissed my pout, then pressed the back of his head back down into the pillow on a childish huff.

“Why, Mr. Parks, your impatience is childlike.”

“I don’t give a fuck what my impatience is. Just fuck me, woman.”

And I did.

Chapter Eighteen

The next day came too quickly. Parks had arranged for someone to come and see me, and it had a considerable negative effect on my work throughout the day. From the moment I’d woken up, Parks noted the apprehensive mood I was in and did well not to question me on it. My mind kept tossing between resentment that he would arrange something like that behind my back and then gratitude towards him for continuing to help me along this journey to recovery.

After work, we’d had dinner and I changed out of my work clothes and into joggers and a jumper. I pulled my hair up into a messy bun and waited for the therapist to arrive. In the distance I heard knocking at the door, then the polite greeting from Parks to the doctor. Oh, not a doctor, more like a friend, Parks said. Well, I was about to find out.

They found me pacing the living room floor when they entered, and Parks was quick to introduce me to the lady. “Evelyn. I’d like you to meet Doctor Nia Malone.”

She wasn’t what I was expecting. She was younger, cool-looking. Her hair was a mass of messy brown curls with a purple streak in the fringe, but it suited her. Her kind brown eyes were decorated with thick-rimmed, purple glasses, and her skinny jeans, Converse, and purple leather jacket made her look kooky. Of course I said the first thing that came into my head.

“So you’re fond of the colour purple?”

“What gave you that impression?” She laughed, taking off her jacket, revealing a purple T-shirt. She mindlessly handed her jacket to Parks, who looked at it rudely as it lay in his hands.

Parks placed the coat over the kitchen island, then praised Nia again. “Thank you so much for your help, Nia. I am extremely grateful for your time.” He came by my side and slipped an arm around my waist.

“Are you?” She looked at me, already sussing that it wasn’t my idea.

Parks spoke for me. “Yes, of course she is.”

Nia turned her head slightly his way. “I’m sorry, Mr. Parks, but I was actually talking to Evey.”

I loved her! Discreetly nudging him like a child, I smirked at her reprimand, and he scowled.
He got told.

“To be honest, no. But you’re here now.” I wasn’t rude, just telling her my thoughts.

“Right, I’ll leave you both alone.” Parks dipped down to kiss my cheek, nodded to Nia, and left.

I watched the back of his body disappear before making conversation. “Wow, not many people put Wade Parks in his place.” I gestured towards the sofa, and she followed.

“I think you do, and not only verbally.” Her voice was soft, soothing, and calm. A voice you would hear on a yoga tape. But she also seemed tough, intelligent, and firm.

“Which means?” I lowered down on the sofa and crossed my legs. To my surprise, Nia got comfortable on the rug in front of me and leaned back on her palms.

“You put him in his place verbally but also mentally. What I mean by that is your presence puts him at ease, puts him in his place. His place is next to you, and it seems that’s where he wants to stay. You have a good man there, Evey, and I sense an extraordinary outcome for the two of you, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be hard getting there. You’re similar in ways, but you’re both not sure of what yet. You’re both hotheaded, both have fiery tempers, but most of all, you’re both so angry and hurt inside, and that helps you find solace in each other.”

Taken aback
was an understatement. My mouth gaped before I could string a sentence together. “Wait, are you a therapist or a psychic?”

She chuckled and straightened out her glasses. “I just know what I’m talking about.” I watched her fish into her pocket and pull out a sting of beads. They were a beautiful array of colours, and I was curious as to what she intended to do with them.

“These are tourmaline worry beads.” Nia reached over and handed them to me. “Their main job is to get rid of addiction. I tell my clients to hold them, feel the beads when you’re talking to me, or feeling stressed. I know it’s hard talking to a complete stranger about your feelings, but while you have those in your hand, you’ll focus more on the beads rather than your words.”

I placed the beads into my hands and immediately starting rolling them between my fingers. “Nia? Nice name.” I started talking, but not about me.

Nia agreed. “It’s Welsh. Mam and Dad were born in Wales. We moved to London when I was ten. We go back now and again. Wales is a beautiful place. Ever been?”

“No, it is on my ‘places to see’ list. Along with Paris and Sydney.”

Her features remained impassive. “Any reason?”

“No.”

There was a pause while she studied my demeanour thoughtfully. When she spoke again, she clapped her hands once and sat up but remained cross-legged. “So, Evey. What I do is simple. I talk to you, I don’t judge, and my only goal is to get you better. You won’t see me jotting things down as we speak because I find it too clinical. Today, we’ll just talk, chat, and on the next session, we’ll go into your past and what makes you like you are. I don’t keep appointments, either. I only come when you need me.”

That sounded fair. That way it was more like a chat rather than a procedure. “Like Nanny McPhee?” I humoured. Her bushy brow rose slightly, so I apologised for being childish.

“So—” she rubbed her hands like she was just getting started, “what’s going on with you right now? How are you feeling?”

I looked down at the beads I was rolling between my fingers. “Normally, I say I’m fine.”

She nodded. She already knew. “‘I’m fine’ is something you say out of habit. You say ‘I’m fine’ and the job is done and no more questions are asked.”

“Right.” I nodded, bringing my knees up to my chest to rest my chin on them.

Nia spoke soft and clear, but she knew what she was talking about and how to get her point across. “You know, the healing starts when you talk about it. The suffering begins when you keep it in.”

I stared at her for a moment, and it was only when my eyes dropped from her gaze that I realised what she’d said made an impact on me. I didn’t know Nia from Adam, but she made me feel at a complete ease. She made me want to sit and talk, tell her how I was feeling. And that was refreshing but also scary.

“So we’ll start again. How are you?”

As well as focusing on the beads I kept in my palm, I also decided to focus on her glasses and the TV behind her when I spoke. Speaking was a big thing for me, and to keep eye contact was even harder. “Right now, being in Wade’s apartment, I feel safe, warm, and wanted.” I glanced around it in awe. “I feel like this is my haven and he is my solace. When I’m here, I feel like I don’t want to go out of those doors because out there is—”

“Harsh reality?”

“That’s the thing.” I pointed as I agreed. “My motto was, ‘I’d rather live in harsh reality than with false hope.’ So has that changed for me? Is my hope of mending with Parks false?”

She sighed compassionately. “Hope is never false. Hope is something you desire or crave. And whether it’s ‘false hope’ depends on the outcome, or the expectation of the outcome.”

My eyes were narrowing as she explained. Not maliciously, but out of intrigue.

“For instance—” she waved her hands around, “—some people hope or wish to win the lottery. But that expectation is huge, and the outcome is unlikely, causing false hope.”

I rolled the beads around more vigorously. “My hope was for my parents to love me. I think my father does, but my mother despises my very existence. My hope and prayers for my life to get better, for my parents to act normal, to show me that they cared never happened. My wishes were completely improbable. After that, I gave up on hope. There is none.”

Nia nodded and soaked up every word. Her expression told me she understood, and that was another refreshing feeling. No one ever understood.

“When hope and wishes fail, who do you blame?”

That was easy. “I blame myself for hoping.”

Her curls shook as she disagreed. “You are never to blame for wishing. For hoping. You want that something so desperately, but it never comes, and in your case, the people to blame are your parents. Nobody should ever have to hope or wish for their parents to love them. It should come naturally. Your parents are to blame, not you.” She paused before going into the next question. “Let’s talk about your fears. Tell me them?”

I took my knees down from my chest and crossed my legs again as I fed the beads through my fingers. “Feelings. Happiness. Letting my guard down.”

“Tell me why happiness is a fear?”

Pursing my lips, I got ready to reel off my thoughts. “Happiness is a curse for me. Every time I’m at a happy place, something bad happens to bring me down.”

I saw her nodding from the corner of my eye. “Making you afraid of being happy?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m afraid of letting my guard down for the same reason. And I’m afraid to feel because of the fear of getting hurt.”

The way Nia looked at me was comforting yet curious. It was like she was looking past my exterior, deep into my soul and reaching out to me. “Would it be fair to say you run away from things you’re afraid of, then you drink away that fear?”

I blinked up at her, wide-eyed at first, then I stopped playing with the beads. It was liberating to hear her theories, because they were the same as mine. “That’s right.”

She nodded once, contented with that. “Okay. Tell me your strengths.”

I scoffed and glanced into my lap. “I don’t have any.”

“Wrong.” Her pitch was higher that time. “Your strength is fighting your weakness. Fighting your addiction on a daily basis. Is that not strength?”

My head stayed down as I took the beads again. “But I don’t feel strong. I act it, but that doesn’t mean I feel it.”

“Of course you act it,” she agreed, “because you’re afraid of being weak. But you’re strong because you’re choosing the hard way. You’re choosing to fight this, Evey.”

I thought hard about what she said, but I didn’t feel strong in that moment because I knew I was substituting my addiction with another one. Wade.

“Evey, what I feel from you is that you’re always on the defence. Always ready to attack.”

Well, I could agree with that. I always acted impulsive and defensively. “The thing is, the cold and hard Evey is the one that gets me through life. When I’m not tough, I can’t deal with the stuff I need to get through. I’ve had to survive on my own; there was no room for weakness. The hard exterior became my shield, and I relied on it every second of every day. I still do.” I scoffed and insulted myself. “I know not many people like me, Jesus, they hate me, but that’s okay, because I’m used to hate. I’m not used to being liked.”

Nia was trying to remain impassive throughout. Of course she heard stories like mine a lot, but you could see she was still compassionate. “What do you perceive of people’s feelings towards you?”

Ha.
“People think I’m rude. Think I’m a bitch. I say what’s on my mind even if it’s unnecessary. That’s why I don’t have friends.” Nia was waiting for me to explain my behaviour. I’d never explained it before, but I felt at ease to do so. “I don’t accept compliments or hugs because I feel they are for the needy. I also don’t accept affection because I was never shown any as a child, so I don’t know how to react to it. People think I’m a lost cause. They hate me because I act mental.”

Nia frowned. Seemed she wasn’t happy with the word I used. “You’re not mental. Never say that and never believe anybody if they tell you so. Mental illness is completely misunderstood because it isn’t apparent. You can’t see it. It’s in your head, your thoughts. It lives within you. You, on the other hand, have an inner conflict you’re battling with. What do you think is the root cause of why you act the way you do?” She tapped her finger across her chin as she waited for my answer. An answer I knew.

“It’s a defence mechanism. It’s how I cope.”

“Right.” Her smile was wide and proud. I smiled back because for the first time in my life, I felt like I was starting to move off the depression train.

“Recovery takes patience,” she continued. “It takes time, and it takes everything you have, but I know you’re strong enough to beat it.”

I was trying to be strong, but her words cut into me so deep, I felt like I was bleeding them. Whenever someone tried to help me, I’d change the subject, run away, hide, or tell them to stop worrying, because I couldn’t deal with facing it. Nia giving me no choice but to hear what she had to say brought me into that moment, dragging everything I had out of me and left me anything but numb. It left me feeling exposed.

“Why is the need for alcohol so overpowering that when it hits me, I can’t pull myself out of it? Why is my addiction stronger than I am?” I was starting to get teary, so I took another deep breath and focused on the beads.

“Evey, in your case, it’s not the need for alcohol that makes you an addict. It’s the need to escape. Escaping your anger and pain is what we need to focus on to stop you wanting to drown them out.”

I closed my eyes, but tears won and streamed down my face. The need to block out my past, the need to barricade emotions from coming out into the open was so imbedded in me that I needed to get rid of them with alcohol. However, I prayed every day that there was another way.