Page 136 of Oathbreaker

I pull at my hair and look at the closed door.

This is a lot, but I can’t drop this news on Winter right now. Later.

In total, Winter spends three hours in her therapist’s office. I’m worried. Clearly, something is going on for her to use this much time, but I don’t interfere.

Whatever she’s going through in her brain, she’s with the safest person she can be with to process it.

I breathe through the reality that she needs people besides me.

Still, my leg bounces up and down as I wait.

What if she’s sick again? How can I make sure she’s safe and she gets the help she needs? What if her therapist tells her to run for the hills?

Like any sane person looking in from the outside would tell her to do.

I run my hand through my hair, pulling at the roots, twisting. My father is dead. Winter is struggling with something….

What if she’s having some type of PTSD reaction?

What if?—

The door opening cuts off my thoughts. A tall woman with waist-long salt-and-pepper locs twisted away from her face steps into the waiting room. Her impassive dark eyes narrow slightly when she sees me sitting there, but then it turns into a slight smile. She’s not surprised that I’m in her waiting room.

I stand, ready to shake her hand. “I’m Hunter Brigham. You must be Genevieve,” I say in what I hope is a kind voice. It’s hard for me to assess myself with my heart in my toes.

“I know who you are, Mr.Brigham,” she says with a soft accent and a slight laugh. Now that I’m close to her, I see her ebony skin is smooth except for small laugh lines around her eyes.

The bangles on her wrist clink together as she shakes my hand, but then she closes the door behind her, Winter still somewhere behind the barrier.

“Let’s have a seat,” she says kindly, ushering me back into the chair I just vacated.

I get a head rush.

She’s going to tell me that I need to leave Winter alone. She’s going to say to me that I’m making her sick—I’m killing her.

She’s—

I try to control the shaking in my hands, so I clasp them together.

Genevieve notices, I’m sure.

“First, Winter is fine. I will admit that I was surprised to see her show up at my office today, but I’m so glad she came.”

I nod in response, not trusting myself to talk.

“Winter has given me permission to speak with you,” she says, assessing me.

I squeeze my hands together in my lap even tighter.

“Winter has told me that she’s made you aware of her mental health diagnoses—her obsessive-compulsive disorder and panic disorder.”

I nod again because it feels like she’s waiting for a response.

“Good. When under stress or major life changes, it’s reasonable for her symptoms to get worse. But as one of the closest members of her support system, we all must be on the same page.”

Stress. Major life changes. It could be anything we’ve been dealing with over the last three months. “Yes,” I say resolutely.

Good job.

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