Free Tag Team by SJD Peterson Page B

even after I met Gregory and Charles, but it didn’t really help; the psychiatrist always seemed to be more interested in other things,” he said sheepishly.
    Bobby cocked his head in confusion. “What do you mean other things?”
    “Well, when I was young, my mom and the doctors she sent me to were more concerned about the fact that I didn’t seem to like girls and was a little too feminine ”—Mason made quotation marks with his fingers—“for a boy. I spent many, many hours sitting in a chair as the therapist tried to cure me of my gay disease.” Mason rolled his eyes before continuing. “Gregory and Charles talked me into going back to therapy and it did help for a while, but eventually it got to the point where each week we spent more time talking about why I let men hit me and liked being on my knees, instead of the panic attacks.”
    “And you quit going before they helped with the attacks?” Rig asked dubiously.
    Mason made a clucking sound with his tongue and shrugged. “Gregory and Charles helped me more than any shrink. They grounded me, and as long as I didn’t get in stressful situations or go out in a big crowd, I was fine. They learned how to talk me down from one and made sure I was never left alone. Hell, I hadn’t had a full-blown attack in ages. My first one was at the grave—”
    Mason snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes as if he were trying not to think about that day. When he opened them again, there was so much misery; Bobby knew Mason hadn’t been able to push away the images, and Bobby’s heart broke all over again for the man. Mason made an effort to give Bobby a smile, but he couldn’t keep the sadness out of it.
    Anger so bright and so intense flared up in Bobby, the heat of it robbed him of voice and breath. He was lucky he was sitting, or the force of it would have knocked him on his ass. He wanted to tell Mason his Doms had done him wrong. They’d done a great injustice to their submissive whom they had sworn to care for and protect. When they accepted Mason’s gift of submission and they placed their collar around his neck, it was a promise that Mason could trust they would see to all his needs, and they fucking failed him.
    Rig was back to clenching the arms of the chair, leaning forward and staring at Mason with wide blazing eyes. He’d heard it too; the flush in his cheeks and the clenched jaw were obvious signs Rig was struggling to keep his comments to himself. Rig, just like Bobby, knew it would not do anyone any good to speak ill of the dead and would only serve to hurt Mason further. But for fuck sakes, what had these men been thinking, hiding Mason away? Instead of just protecting him, they should have been helping him grow and overcome the obstacles holding him back. One therapist may not be able to help, but dammit, you don’t just give up. You find another who will listen, who does understand your life— or lifestyle. The thought popped into his head, and a plan formed.
    “Mason, have you ever talked to a therapist that understood your lifestyle?” Bobby asked suddenly and placed a hand on Mason’s shoulder.
    Mason frowned slightly and shook his head. “I don’t think so. That’s not something you ask them when checking credentials.”
    “You know we can’t just walk away and leave you alone unless we are 100 percent sure you’re going to be okay.”
    “But—”
    “I have a dear friend who is a psychiatrist and just happens to be a Dom. Your choice, you talk to him or we call the police and have you committed for seventy-two hours.”
    Mason narrowed his eyes at Bobby. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.
    Rig pulled the note he’d stashed in his pocket out and waved it at Mason. “Oh yes we would.”
    “That’s blackmail,” Mason complained.
    “I’m okay with that,” Bobby said unapologetically.
    Mason’s eyes flicked back and forth between Bobby and Rig several times. He obviously realized how serious they were, and he really