Page 52 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“Hey, Army?”

“Yeah?”?

“Thank you,” I said, glancing at him. “For listening. For just being here.”

He gave a small nod. “Always,” he replied.

“Not sure it fixes anything though, I mean, in my head.”

“I’m not a miracle worker, Navy.” Then, he snorted a laugh, and somehow, it lessened the hatred for Amos burning within me, only now amidst that anger, there was a flicker of determination.

“I need to go talk to Dr. Simmons.”

“Okay. You want me to go with?—”

“No, it’s cool.”

“Well, if you need more kisses, you know where I am.”

“Ass.”

We had an entire unspoken conversation about what I was doing next, and the last thing I wanted was to fall apart in front of him again, so I left him with a sketched wave and headed inside.

Every step through the building echoed, sounding too loud in my ears. My head was a mess. Thinking about everything with Annie, and then there was Ryder as well. The thought of seeing Annie again, seeing James in her eyes, was freaking me out; the thought of Ryder getting under my skin was doing the same. Every press on my senses was too much, and I felt like I was on the edge of losing it.

“Ryder messaged me,” Dr Simmonds announced from behind me, making me whirl in defense. He held up his hands in innocence. “Said you wanted to talk.”

“This is hard,” I blurted.

He gestured at his door, waiting for me to go in. I took a seat at the bench in the window, the ocean at my back, not wanting to sit in the damn chair facing the one he took.

“No one said it would be easy,” Dr. Simmons said. “What is this about?”

“Annie. And…” I sighed. “Everything else.”

“Okay—”

“I feel like I’m breaking apart.” I curled my fingers into my hair.

Dr. Simmonds’ eyes widened, then he nodded.

“Like, the idea of Annie growing up without really knowing I was in her life at all is a good thing, and then, a bad thing, both actually, at the same time. So, I stay away because it’s the easiest thing to do, because I have to take down Amos, and the blood on me…” I stopped, bracing my hands on my thighs. “Ethan showed me photos, like this fucking family album, of Annie with Amos, and when I see that she formed an attachment to someone as evil as him, I just want to lose my shit, because he’s evil, and I’m not as wicked as him, right? But I was just in her life for pretend, and I look at myself in the mirror, and I’m cursed.”

“Okay, so?—”

“Can you help Annie remember me? And help her forget about Amos and Clara?”

He took me interrupting him well enough, sinking lower into the plush chair of his and glancing at the glass ceiling, focusing there as he spoke. He was giving himself time to prepare an answer, and I tried not to interrupt to hurry him along, but what I really wanted was all the answers.

“Working with Annie, a child who’s been kidnapped and thrust into another life is a delicate process. It requires a combination of patience, understanding, and the use of therapeutic techniques tailored to the child’s age and emotional state.”

“And in layman’s terms?”

He continued. “Okay, in Annie’s case, we’re using a variety of methods. Play therapy is one approach, allowing her to express herself through toys and games, which can help her process her emotions and experiences. Storytelling is another tool we use to help her access her early memories and reconnect with her real father.”

“James,” I said, in a soft voice.

“Yes. Our primary goal is to create a safe and supportive environment where Annie feels comfortable expressing herself. Lizzie is our resident child psychologist, and she is working with Annie to help her understand her past, differentiate it from the false reality she was forced into, and ultimately, heal from the trauma she has endured.”

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