Chapter 334

Olivia

The air inside the car was stifling, like we were both holding our breath, waiting for the other to exhale. I was still clutching the pamphlets Dr. Lewis had given us, my fingers imprinting little crumples into the paper. Nathan’s remark had thrown me off balance.

“So you think this is silly, huh?” My voice sounded oddly calm, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts inside my head. “And you’re gonna give up? Just like that?” I snapped my fingers.

Nathan scowled. He looked an awful lot like a little kid who was being forced into something that he definitely did not want to do, which was a huge change from how ‘open’ he had supposedly been to the idea just a few hours ago.

“Yeah, Liv, just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers back.

“But why?” I asked. “What changed, Nathan? I thought you wanted to do this, not just for us, but for the kids.”

Nathan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just… exercises? Homework? Really, Liv?”

“Why? What’s wrong with that?”

“I just don’t see how drawing boundaries on a piece of paper or acting out some scenario or whatever is going to help us.” Nathan’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel, a rapid rhythm that mirrored his clearly escalating frustration.

I shook my head, disbelieving. “You can’t be serious. You’re just going to dismiss it without even giving it a chance? It was one session, Nathan. Dr. Lewis hasn’t even gotten the full picture of us yet.”

“What’s there to give a chance to? Trust falls? Sharing circles?” Nathan snorted. “I’m not five, Liv.”

I could feel my own temper rising, hot and quick. “Well, you’re acting like like a five-year-old. You know, therapy isn’t just for the person lying on the couch. It’s a process, Nathan. A process that involves both of us doing the work.”

He sighed and his shoulders sagged, as if carrying the weight of our collective issues all by himself. “I know that, Liv. But work involves facing actual issues, not doing trust-building exercises that look like they were designed for children.”

“Don’t you get it?” My voice was tinged with desperation. “Sometimes facing ‘actual issues’ involves dealing with the smaller stuff first. Laying a foundation so that when the big stuff hits, we're strong enough to take it. Isn’t that what building a relationship is about?”

“But I’m an Alpha,” Nathan growled, leaning on the steering wheel with exasperation. “I don’t need to be drawing pictures and playing games. Imagine if one of my Betas found out about this—they’d practically laugh me right out of existence.”

“Or,” I urged, lowering my voice, “they’ll see how much of an inspiration it is for a man in power such as yourself to get help when he knows he needs it. To be open and work hard on whatever he’s struggling with. Come on, Nathan. You’re not a child. Stop acting like it.”

Nathan finally looked up at me, his blue-green eyes clouded with doubt. “What’s the point, Liv? What’s the point if all this...” he gestured to the pamphlets, “doesn’t change the fact that we’ve made decisions that have led us to this place? To sitting in our car, arguing about whether to play trust games.”

“I’ll tell you what the point is,” I retorted, my pulse quickening. “The point is that maybe—just maybe—these ‘silly’ exercises can help us understand each other better, help us handle our conflicts more effectively.”

He groaned. “I understand you just fine, Liv. And you understand me. Our problem isn’t a lack of understanding. It’s a lack of agreement.”

I felt a flush creeping up my neck. “A lack of agreement that may stem from a lack of understanding, have you ever considered that? Nathan, sometimes you have to step outside your comfort zone and try something new. Otherwise, we’ll just keep going in circles, getting nowhere. And the kids will be the ones to really suffer for it.”

He glanced at me, something vulnerable flashing across his gaze before being quickly buried again. “I want to believe that, Liv. I do. But it’s hard.”

I softened a bit, sensing the genuine struggle in his voice. “I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me too. But what’s the alternative? Ignoring our issues, letting them fester? Arguing in front of the kids, making them feel like it’s their fault?”

Nathan was silent for a moment, looking as if he was about to say something but then thought better of it. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. We’ll give these exercises a try.”

My heart soared, and for a second, I felt like I could breathe again. “Really?”

“Really,” he confirmed, his lips forming a thin line. “But let the record show that I’m doing this under protest. And only to make you happy.”

I grinned, feeling a mix of relief and tentative hope. “Duly noted. But who knows? You might actually find it enlightening.”

He rolled his eyes but reached over to squeeze my hand. “Let’s not get carried away.”

…

We sat on the couch that night, therapy homework in hand, ready to dig into the exercises that were supposed to help us work out our differences.

The twins were fast asleep, and I had set the mood: dim lighting, calming music in the background, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. The notepad and pens were ready for our activities.

“Okay,” I said, looking at the list. “First exercise: stare into each other’s eyes for one full minute. Ready?”

Nathan sighed but settled into a serious look. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The first twenty seconds were okay; I got lost in his blue-green eyes and forgot about everything else. But by the time we hit the forty-second mark, Nathan started fidgeting. A smirk began to tug at the corners of his lips, and a muffled chuckle threatened to spill out.

“Seriously, Nathan? Can’t you sit still for just one minute?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, finally letting out the chuckle. “This just feels like forever. And I can’t help but think how ridiculous this is.”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep myself calm. “Be open,” Dr. Lewis had repeated over and over again. And that went for everything—even Nathan’s sense of humor and fidgety nature.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh, flipping the page. “Next exercise, then. We have to talk openly about a small disagreement and find a resolution. How about the way you never replace the toilet roll?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you want to discuss? Fine, I’ll change it from now on. Next exercise.”

“No, no, you can’t just say you’ll start changing it and move on. We have to discuss it, explore our feelings about it.”

Nathan let out a sigh that could have inflated a hot air balloon. “Olivia, it’s toilet paper. I forget, but I’ll try not to. There, consider it explored.”

Frustration bubbled up inside of me. “You’re not even trying, Nathan!”

He looked at me, his eyes narrow. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Let’s just move onto the last one. Let’s draw pictures to represent our feelings about the relationship.”

I sighed, wanting to argue, to tell him that he couldn’t just rush through these exercises like this. But, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, I nodded and agreed. “Okay. Last exercise.”

However, not even ten minutes into the drawing exercise, Nathan tossed his pencil down. “This is absurd. Look at this, my drawing looks like a mess. What even is this?”

I glanced at his paper; abstract lines and scribbles filled the page. Then I looked at mine: a half-finished sun, clouds, and something that vaguely resembled a bridge. “It’s not about the drawing, Nathan! It’s about the process, the willingness to explore!”

“Explore what? My clear lack of artistic talent? Because that’s all I’m getting here.”

“That’s not the point!” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. “If you’re so against these exercises, what do you suggest we do? You got a better idea to fix everything that’s wrong with us?”

For the first time that evening, Nathan’s face broke into a real, genuine grin. “Actually, I do. Follow me.”