He didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He let the brush drop into the straw. Starling shifted, picking up on his handler’s tension.
For a long beat, there was nothing but breathing and nature sound.
He was frozen.
Then Darian straightened slowly and turned to face him fully. “Dr. Emmerson.” His voice came out thin, and his throat felt like paper rasping over stone.
Easton’s mouth twitched. “So, it’s like that, huh.”
Darian crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”
Easton’s left eyebrow almost touched his hairline.
Yeah, I’m being rude.
Deliberately.
“Six-month sabbatical. Ranch offered me a place. I took it.” Easton looked around, releasing Danny momentarily from his gaze as his perceptive eyes tracked the stall door, the curry comb half-buried in straw, and Starling.
“You’re working with the horses?” There was a wealth of familiarity and comfort in his voice.
With a throat too thick to answer, Danny nodded once.
Darian. I’m Darian Merrick.
But his inner resolve was crumbling. And hadn’t that been the whole point? His bottom lip wobbled, and he pressed his mouth into a straight line.
The silence stretched between them, before Easton let out a heavy sigh. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Danny’s fingers dug into his elbows. “Uh-huh.” With the nose of his left boot, he made an indent in the bedding, stubbornly staring at the floor.
Easton cleared his throat, and Danny’s head shot up.
Their eyes locked, and Easton held his gaze.
Something unspoken passed between them. It was brittle and glowing and too damn tender for words.
Danny looked away first.
Chapter Four
Darian paused outside the door marked Dr. Samuel Denten, Psy.D. The metal occupied/vacant slider rested on “vacant,” but it might as well have said “enter if you dare”.
His palms were damp. Not from fear exactly. From expectation. From knowing this hour would be the first time in months someone looked at him and really saw him.
What makes it so hard?
He swiped his hand down the leg of his jeans and knocked once before stepping inside.
The room was warm and inviting. The four walls were wood-paneled, and the room faintly scented of orange oil and old books. A black leather chaise sat diagonally from a simple wooden desk. Across the way, a colorful low bookshelf offered bins of toys, picture books, and a ridiculously detailed dollhouse tucked into the corner. A round table held a scattering of markers and construction paper. The space looked like a mashup of therapist’s office and preschool classroom.
He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying.
“Good morning.” Dr. Sam Denten rose and moved from behind his desk as his gaze finally landed on him. “Glad you came.” He held out his hand.
“Thank you.” Darian closed the distance between them and shook the hand. The strength in the grip surprised him a bit.
