She’d weaseled them out of my pocket after distracting me with a hug.
“What an asshole,” I chuckled, shaking my head. She laughed triumphantly and sat back down on the bed.
“I learned from the master.” She gave a superior shrug, but I immediately stopped paying attention to her when I noticed what looked like a party invitation tossed haphazardly next to her.
I frowned and, in a catlike leap, grabbed it out from under her.
“Neil!” She hopped off the bed and tried to grab the paper from me, but I raised it up high to read it.
“A masquerade party.” My rigid, stern voice was enough to quell her as I brushed aside all her attempts to get the invitation back. Chloe shook the hair out of her face and gave me a nervous look.
“I can explain…” she backpedaled with a gulp.
“What’s to explain? You’re not going!” I crushed the paper in one hand and tossed it to the ground, giving her a hard stare. She wasn’t going to a college party, one where drugs were floating around everywhere and there were veritable rivers of alcohol. It was completely inappropriate for a young girl like her.
“Correct,” she confirmed, making me frown.
What?
“I’m not going to go,” she explained, letting herself flop down on the bed. “Madison was here, and she left the invitation, but I’ve already said I’m not going.” She sighed and fiddled with the hem of the sweatshirt like she was trying to vent some of the tension she felt.
“You sure?” I asked her, hoping she wasn’t lying to me.
“Positive.” She nodded and leaned back, putting her earbuds back in and effectively ending our conversation. I decided that, for once, I would just trust her. I wasn’t even going to ask who’d given that invitation to Madison, even though Chloe surely knew.
I didn’t want to ban my sister from having fun, but my caution was justified. I couldn’t have her just walking around freely with some maniac on my tail. Player could attack anyone at any time, and I had to prevent any more harm from coming to my family.
My mind was stuffed full of worries as I went back to my room and pulled on a different hoodie before retrieving my car keys and heading downstairs, ready to go to Dr. Lively’s office.
I hadn’t actually made the decision to resume therapy, but I did feel the need to talk to my therapist and have him listen to me. Yes, I could expect that most of what I said would make it back to my mother, but he was still the one who had successfully communicated with my demons, the only one who understood my problems and maybe could even suggest a good solution.
But when I got to the clinic twenty minutes later…
“What do you mean he isn’t here today?” I said again to Mrs. Kate, the dumpy woman who sat behind the desk in the waiting room. She peered at me over her round glasses and sighed.
“It means you will need to come back another day. Or possibly make an appointment for once,” she said impatiently. I headed for the exit, letting out a stream of profanities under my breath.
It had taken me so long to get up the nerve to go there, and just as I finally managed it, my own terrible luck got in my way. I probably wasn’t going to go back. The urge to have a conversation with my therapist probably wouldn’t reappear so readily…
“Neil.”
I halted when someone called out to me. I frowned and noticed Dr. Keller in one of his typical suits, staring at me in a curious, focused manner.
“Good to see you, son. How are you doing?” He smiled, and I cocked an eyebrow in my typical sardonic fashion.
What the hell did he want now? I hadn’t talked to him since the time I ran into him at the bar.
“Hi,” I said simply, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets.
“Were you hoping to see Krug? He had an event today so he had to postpone his appointments and—”
I didn’t let him finish. “No, I was just passing through. I thought I’d talk to him really quick, but don’t worry about it. It wasn’t important.” I shrugged, and he took another step toward me.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the garden with me?” He offered abruptly, and I regarded him skeptically. Why was this guy always trying to get in my business? We barely knew each other, and yet every time we met, he tried to have a conversation with me. He wasn’t my therapist, though, and I was reluctant to trust him with anything.
“I’ve got things to do,” I answered bluntly, and he walked around me, heading for the door.
“Great. Let’s get going then,” he said, like I’d accepted his invitation.
