Done [Running to Love 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Allyson Young Page B

incredulity.
    “It was only a part of it, honey. I refused therapy and compounded everything.”
    “Sorry, Greg.” Lacey slipped to her feet and stood looking at him, seeming to tremble with rage and indignation. “To my mind, this is essentially all your fault. You created the woman you wanted, this woman. You demanded my submission, my compliance, and expected it even outside of our bedroom in many aspects. I pretty much trusted you with it all and gave over to you. Do you have any idea how huge that was? Do you? I couldn’t miraculously change back on demand. I will not own any of this, this psychobabble. Apology not accepted.”
    Greg watched her walk away from him and into her bedroom. The door shut quietly, and for a moment, he almost succumbed, almost gave up. There was no point in continuing the discussion until Lacey had some time to process what he had shared with her. It had taken him a great deal of time to do so, and she was playing catch-up. He would try again to explain that he was in no way blaming her or holding her responsible for anything, but had needed to put the theory out there, as she would probably come to it herself in the future. Greg didn’t want his woman to take the blame on herself then, without his support and help to reject it. He knew her well, and the submission he so highly prized could cause her to believe she had failed him. He wouldn’t risk that. Greg tried not to think about the fact that Lacey might never have known about said theory if he hadn’t inserted himself back into her life. He didn’t think it was a selfish act. He believed that they had a future together and that Lacey needed him to be complete, just as he needed her. If that made him arrogant, so be it. He got up and went into the kitchen to figure out what they would have for their dinner. It seemed to take a considerable amount of time to organize and prepare, another thing he had failed to appreciate, but he was in training for the long haul.
     
    * * * *
     
    Lacey was getting sick and tired of being sick and tired. She should have taken the damn cinnamon bun with her when she’d left Greg to his bizarre explanations. She used to take food to her bedroom when she lived at her parents’ home, anything to eat in peace. She wasn’t a doctor, but knew enough that she needed to consume more calories in order to gain her strength back. She wasn’t a shrink either, so she simply wasn’t going to consider that crap Greg had suggested, especially the little niggling, intrusive hint that his therapist just might have been on the money. She lay back on the bed and considered the plaster ceiling. Maybe she had enabled him by being so tolerant, so sweet and understanding. Maybe if she had kicked his ass, he would have snapped out of it and gotten help. Wonderful. Like she needed one more ounce of guilt. Lacey impulsively pressed one hand to her belly and whispered a little prayer, feeling the sadness creep in to the exception of everything else. Enough. This mind probing, this soul-searching was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She needed to recuperate and get back to work. Someone had to pay the bills, and the firm would understand for only so long, Gladys or no Gladys. Her bosses thought in terms of facts and, cold, clear numbers, and if she was smart, she would adopt their approach. Her guilt and sadness would just have to wait for her times away from work. She drifted off on that thought.
    The ring tone of her cell woke her from her light doze, and she fumbled for it, flipping it open. Gladys.
    “How are you, Lacey?” The older woman’s voice warmed Lacey.
    “I’m doing much better, Gladys, thanks. And thank you for everything. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.” The bedroom door cracked open, and Greg poked his head in. Lacey silently stared at him until he withdrew.
    “I was just calling to let you know that you’ve got this coming week arranged as sick time, dear.”
    “Wow, that’s great,