I go into my office and start typing in my notes from my visit with Candace, when Jenna calls on the speaker. Her voice is unusually cheerful. “Your three o’clock is here. Are you ready for me to lead him back? Or should I call security?” Jenna swallows a chuckle.
“Bring him back.” From behind the frosted glass, I see a shadowy figure sit down and thank Jenna. She giggles like a schoolgirl. I take a deep breath and walk into the patient room.
Parker O’Ryan sitting in that chair isn’t just a client.
He’s a memory.
A specific kind of irritation from my past—burnt orange jerseys, campus murals, girls hanging onto him like he’s their oxygen. And his smile… his stupid infuriating smile that makes people forget he was human. Maybe even me.
Back then he treated my time like it was a suggestion. Deciding to flirt with half of the campus instead of being on time. He showed up late. Talked back. Made excuses.
But still, he listened when it mattered. Once we got past the initial moments of studying.
He seemed arrogant and entitled. But I also don’t think he was as shallow as he made it appear, or if I was jealous. I saw him in class for the following two weeks of school and hewas up front, taking notes, asking questions, determined to prove me wrong, and the professor loved every minute of it.
But now we’re here, years later in my office with his career unraveling. I did a little digging to see if any articles had been written about his career. Sure enough, there are reports that suddenly, he can’t catch a ball.
My business cards sit on the table beside him—my name carefully constructed, a sanitized professional identity.
Anna Morrow, CMPC
Anna.
Not Annika.
No longer the girl that tutored him. Not the girl who pretended she felt nothing when he looked at her like she was a puzzle.
I changed my name for a reason.
So people wouldn’t search.
So people wouldn’t connect the dots.
So I could build something separate from my past.
We stare at each other for a beat. “You came back,” I say in a gentler voice than intended.
And for some reason, relief slips through me before I can stop it.
Like part of me wanted him to choose me after all.
His mouth twists, “Didn’t have a choice.”
He’s not wearing practice gear. Jeans. A long-sleeve shirt. His hair holds a slight trace of water like he’s freshly showered and didn’t bother with anything but getting here on time. At least I’d like to think that’s why.
“You always have a choice.”
“Not when your whole family is watching and half the team,” he huffs out a half-laugh.
He wears the weight of the O’Ryan family legacy like armor. A place to start.
“Parker, you made a conscious choice to be here on time. All of life is choices. Water or milkshake. Fried chicken or grilled. Go out and party or stay home to watchAlone.”
He nods his head as if to say,how do we get started?
He looks around the room. His eyes land on my business card but lets the quiet stretch out. His face is tight, his jaw holding firm when he asks, “You always do that?”
“Do what?”
