Dr. Allens smiles at me. “Hi, Addison. What sibling is injured this time?”
“Actually.” I hesitate. This sounds crazy. Does sounding crazy mean I have a mental illness?
The doctor’s smile drops from her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you give me a test for schizophrenia?”
Her eyes widen. “Schizophrenia?”
“It’s hereditary, isn’t it?”
“But your mom…” She trails off. “Ah, Nora finally told you about your dad.”
“You knew him?”
She nods.
I want to quiz her. Ask her a gazillion questions. But if she knew my dad as a patient, there’s nothing she can tell me. Hopefully, Mom will open up more about Dad in the future.
Maybe I’ll search for him. I never wanted to find him before. But since I realized he didn’t abandon me – he left to protect me – my feelings for him have changed.
“I’m worried about inheriting his mental illness.”
“Are you having hallucinations, delusions, disorganized speech, or experiencing catatonic behavior?”
“No. Not unless thinking a football player loves you is a delusion,” I mutter.
She laughs. “Gage Edwards is a sexy man.”
I don’t question how she knows who I’m talking about. This is Smuggler’s Hideaway. Rumors spread faster than mermaids can swim. And mermaids can swim really fast.
She pats my arm. “I wouldn’t be worried if I were you. If you develop any of the above symptoms, contact me. Otherwise, live your life. Love your man. Hold him tight.”
Loving him is easy. Holding him tight, on the other hand? Not as easy. Especially when he’s leaving.
I thank Dr. Allens for her time before making my way out of the hospital to my car. Item one on my ‘get my life together’ to-do list – make certain I don’t have schizophrenia – can be checked off.
On to item two. I switch on the engine to begin my drive to the airport.
My hands shake and my stomach flutters as I drive. I can do hard things, I remind myself. And meeting with my lawyer to discuss the contract with Juliet Ash is one of the hardest things I’ll ever do.
What if Juliet changes her mind? Thinks my music sucks after all? What if my lawyer doesn’t think I’m worth representing? What if this is a fluke? What if I never write another good song in my life?
Three hours later, I’m regretting my decision to wear my suit on the plane. I’m all wrinkled. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a suit. Maybe I should have worn a dress. Maybe I should turn around and go back home and forget all about this.
I blow out a breath. I can do hard things, I remind myself.
A driver is waiting for me when I exit the terminal. I nearly walk straight past him. I wasn’t expecting to be picked up. But it’s probably good I’m not driving myself since my hands are shaking. Hell, at this point, my entire body is shaking.
We arrive at the law offices and my mouth gapes open. I’m a small-town girl. I’m not used to skyscrapers with glass facades.
I half expect the receptionist to claim I don’t have an appointment. But she doesn’t. She immediately escorts me to an empty conference room.
I barely have a chance to settle into a seat before the door opens.
“Addison? I’m Clara White.”
I offer her my hand. “Addy, please. Nice to meet you.”
