Cicero curls around my ankles, screaming again. “No time, you horse trough. I’ll feed you when we get home.”
The boy comes rushing down the stairs while tugging on a hoodie, even though it’s pretty warm out.
“Those boys should leave you alone now, but let me know if they bother you again, and I’ll deal with it.”
His blue eyes explode into the size of saucers, and his jaw drops. “You… took care of it?”
“I told you I would. I keep my promises, kiddo.”
“How?”
Should I tell him? Maybe it’d cheer him up. Perhaps it makes me look like a terrible parent.Nope. No regrets, Cal.
“Let’s just say those boys are going to stink to high heaven for the next few days.”
He suddenly snorts a laugh. “What?”
“They happened to come in close contact with a water gun filled with skunk spray.”
His laugh starts small, then it grows until he’s practically rolling and holding his stomach. Tears are streaming down his face as he pictures it, and I laugh with him.
“I’m sure it’s safe to go to school tomorrow. I doubt any of them will be there.”
“So, you didn’t tell their parents or the school?”
“Nope. This one was hands-on and a little taste of their own medicine without risking their lives.”
He chews on the string of his hoodie and giggles. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”
“It’s better you didn’t. But… itwaspretty glorious.” I turn around and open the front door, careful not to let the cat out. “We’d better get going.”
“Cal?” he asks when we step outside, and I lock up.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks… you know, for what you did.”
I ruffle his hair before we head to my car parked in the driveway. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”
I sit in the waiting area while Braeden talks to Dr. Marc Gibson. My knee is bouncing as I worry. I hope he gets some use out of therapy. I wish I could be in there, but I know how important it is for Braeden to trust his doctor and for them to have a good rapport. In turn, because I’m not being a pushy bastard to be in there and giving him space, I hope it establishes more trust with him.
They come out an hour later. The doctor looks a bit young to be a therapist, but what the hell do I know? His face is kind with dark brown eyes and perfectly trimmed scruff. Meanwhile, Braeden looks exhausted with red-rimmed eyes. No doubt pouring out your soul will do that.
I stand and wave. “Hey, how’d it go?”
“We made good progress today,” the doctor says. “The longer he sees me, the more he’ll open up. He’s been through a lot, as you know. That’s hard on an adult, let alone a young teen.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’s incredibly smart and insightful, too.”
I smile at that. “He really is.”
“You’re doing fine, Mr. Abernathy. I think Braeden’s in good hands.”
“Cal, please. And thank you. I hope so. I’m… trying my best.”
“I can tell from the way he talks about you. He trusts you.”
