“What’s your father got to do with this? I don’t understand.”
Of course he doesn’t. It’s obvious he knows who this belongs to, and it’s not my father.
I take a step back and sit down in the chair, still clutching what’s in my hand tight—as if it will heal me.
Like the man who’d owned it had.
“The first night I saw this,” I hold up the object under discussion, “was because of my father. Remember the way he liked to drink?”
“Yes, I do,” Doc acknowledges and sits back down. “What happened? Tell me, Addy.”
I feel a small smile tug at my mouth. “You haven’t called me Addy for a long time.”
“Addy hasn’t been here for a long time.”
He’s right. I thought she was long gone. Turns out, she was just hiding.
“Right after what happened to Daniel, Dad started drinking. You know that, I told you in our sessions together.”
“Yes, I remember. He was never home. Stayed out late, would drink, and come back the next morning after you and your mother left. Easy way to avoid his issues and the people in his life.”
Pulling the pen to my chest, I hold it against my heart.
“He’s a monster.”
“He’s grieving.”
I can feel the anger inside of me as I spit the words “I don’t care” from my mouth as if they’re vile.
“Yes, you do,” Doc patiently points out. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so angry. It’s okay to admit that.”
“‘Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster’—I guess I missed the point of that lesson.”
Doc places an elbow on the chair and rubs his chin as if thinking over the statement.
“Nietzsche, that’s an interesting choice. You say you missed the point of the lesson. A lesson Grayson was teaching you?”
“How about a life lesson?”
“How about the truth?”
I lower the pen to my lap and twist the top between my fingers before answering.
“I fought with my father that night, and now I’m locked up in a fucking cage—guess I became the monster after all.”
Past…
Running as fast as I could, I made my way across the grass and up on to the road. I sprinted through the parking lot and was just about to make it past the gates when a truck pulled off the road. The headlights lit me up like the star of my own fucked up reality show.
Grayson.
I dashed to the side, out of the spotlight, and searched for a place to hide. I waited for him to pass, but he must have seen me because the engine rumbled to a stop, and the headlights switched off.
The next thing I heard was the truck door opening and then his booted feet hit the ground.
“Addison?”
I slipped into the small alcove in the stone pillars of the entry gates and tried to hold myself together. I was shaking and could feel my lip trembling, so I bit down on the cut, wincing at the pain as I tried to fight back the tears.
“Addison?” he called out into the night, much like the first time we were here.
He couldn’t see me like this, crushed—not again.
I wrapped an arm around my waist and pressed the other to my mouth. I couldn’t keep doing this to him. I couldn’t pull him into this disaster that was my life and expect him to heal me.
Doc couldn’t even do that, so to ask it of Grayson wasn’t fair.
It was time to stop being so selfish.
“We need to talk,” he whispered into the night. “Where did you go?”
I agreed, we did need to talk, but not now. As I stood there, hidden, I hoped for the first time that he would leave.
He must have understood my need because the next thing I heard was a curse and then his feet began moving. I heard the truck door open, and I waited until he backed out of the drive and pulled away before stepping out from where I’d been hiding.
I walked through the gates to make my way home when I saw something on the road.
Huh, it was a fancy-looking pen.
I picked it up and saw Mont Blanc written around the gold trimming of the cap. Down the side, engraved in cursive, were the letters G.M.—it must have fallen from his truck.
I stood up and tucked it into my jeans pocket, feeling a sense of calm wash over me. Even without him there and my lip pounding, the thought that I had a part of him with me soothed the pain.
I’d take comfort in that tonight and free him tomorrow—when I’d return this to him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Past…
Standing in front of the mirror the next morning was a sorry excuse of my usual self. My hair was a mess, and my lip was split, swollen and bruised.
This cover was now worn. Ragged around the edges.
Grabbing the concealer, I opened it and started to apply what I hoped would be a decent cover-up job, but ten minutes later, it looked no better. I arranged my hair in a messy tangle, trying to hide the obvious flaw, but nothing could hide it. My bottom lip was an obvious eyesore.
Mom would not be happy.
Maybe if I was extra quiet I could avoid her and get by without having to lie about what really happened. She wouldn’t believe the truth anyway; denial was a powerful emotion.
I picked up my school jacket as I left my bedroom and spotted Grayson’s pen. I snatched it up and slipped it into my skirt pocket.
I needed to talk to him today, and this was the perfect excuse.
Present…
Standing outside Doc’s office the next morning, I notice I’m early for my scheduled session.
I didn’t sleep at all last night. My mind had been too busy. Too distracted.
You need to trust me.
Why? Why did I need to trust him?
I keep thinking back to those final days with Grayson and my current sessions with Doc.
Did they ever meet? How did Doc get the pen?
Last night I’d done nothing but think about it.
What did it all mean?
Well, I wasn’t going to get any answers standing out in the hall.
I knock—one, two, three—but this time, I make sure not to count out loud. I’m aware of my actions.
“Yes? Come in.”
Doc’s voice filters through the wood, and I feel apprehension take hold.
Do I really want the answers I’m searching for?
I push open the door and look inside.
Unlike in our sessions, Doc isn’t facing me. He’s hunched over his desk, which is up against the back wall, writing in a journal. It doesn’t surprise me that he keeps one. He seems the kind—old-fashioned.
“Addy?”
I close the door and step farther into the room.
“How’d you know it was me?”
He places his pen down then spins his leather chair in my direction. “How could you stay away?”
Frowning, I step closer.
“What do you mean?”
Doc gestures to the pen in my hand. “How long did you think about that last night?”
“I didn’t stop.”
“Exactly.”
Confused, I raise my hands as if to say—so?
Doc stands and moves around his desk to stop in front of me. “Are you ready to talk?”
I look up at the man who’d stepped in and filled my father’s place a few years ago. He is the only other person in my life, I’m discovering, that I really do trust.
I shrug, still not one hundred percent sold on divulging information.
“What do you need from me, Addy?”