The Unforgivable Fix Read Online Free Page A

breeze tease her naked body.
    —
    An hour later she untangled herself from cool linen sheets and slipped away from her sleeping lover. She crossed the master bedroom and turned the tap in her oversized soaking tub. She poured lavender oil into the steaming water and breathed in its tranquil aroma. She’d need the bath to calm herself. Patrick would have no choice but to respond to the attack on his territory.
    And that could be extremely dangerous for her.
    She crossed to the mirror, wiped away the steam, and clipped up her shoulder-length hair with the silver clasp Jillian Lancaster had brought her from one of her trips to Australia.
    “Take care, Jillian. Heal quickly,” she whispered. She didn’t want to awaken Patrick. He’d fallen asleep after their lovemaking; stroking her breast and sighing his pet name for her.
Olwen, Olwen.
While Patrick was an American, he was proud of his Celtic roots. Olwen was the Welsh word for “beautiful” and he insisted everyone refer to her as such.
    She turned off the tap and slipped into water so hot it caught her breath. She felt her muscles uncoil in the fragrant tub. She closed her eyes.
Olwen, Olwen
danced through her mind.
    She ached to hear her own name. Given to her by her parents. Once so familiar and now never spoken. She whispered it to the lavender air.
    “Allison Edith Grant.”

Chapter 7
    O LYMPIA
    “And what would we work on?” Lydia asked the twenty-three-year-old woman seated in her office.
    Krystal Piekarski blew her nose for the tenth time in five minutes. “Isn’t it obvious, Dr. Corriger? I’m sick of being me. You gotta change me or I’m gonna die of AIDS or something.”
    Lydia set aside the folder of papers they’d reviewed during the ninety-minute intake session. “It sounds to me like you’re not living the life you want.”
    “I just said that, for fuck’s sake.” Krystal wadded up her tissue and added it to the collection on the coffee table. “You’re not going to be one of those shrinks who just repeats what I say, then sits there looking at me like I’m some kind of a fuckin’ zoo exhibit, are you?”
    The girl’s criticism was deserved. She’d come for help and Lydia had offered her echoes instead. She was rusty. Krystal was her first patient after nearly two years away, and this young woman deserved better. Lydia took a deep breath and tried again.
    “I can’t change you, Krystal. If you’re looking for that you can save a whole lot of your time and a few taxpayer dollars by leaving now.”
    After yesterday’s conversation with Sharon Luther, Lydia had gone directly to her old office. She opened the windows to air it out after months of nonuse, acting fast before the opportunity to second-guess or rethink had a chance to take hold. She called the insurance providers, and three local psychiatrists who had referred patients to her over the years. They were thrilled to learn she was back in practice, wished her well, and assured her they’d be sending patients her way. But that would take time. So Lydia did the same thing she did nearly a decade ago when she first opened shop. She dialed the local community mental-health center and told them she was looking for patients. They were always overloaded with people with big problems and little cash; patients more established therapists would never accept for the miniscule reimbursement the government offered. When Lydia told the center’s director she could take people immediately, the woman let out a whoop of victory and Lydia had five patients scheduled for the next day.
    “That’s it? You tellin’ me to leave? Then what’s the use of all this therapy shit?” Krystal demanded.
    “Because this therapy shit can change your life.”
    Krystal played with an oversized hoop earring, snapped her gum, and looked confused. “I don’t get it. You just said you couldn’t help me.”
    Lydia shook her head. “What I said was I can’t change you. Only you can do that.”
    Krystal