Page 120 of Hunt for You

But now I had a new problem. How the hell was I supposed to live withouther?

38. Gotta Want It

SOUNDTRACK:You Don’t Know What It’s Likeby Sleeping Wolf

~ BRIDGET ~

Gerald was pouting. If I hadn’t been so strung out myself, I would have been taunting him relentlessly.

He sat in a chair across the coffee table from where I usually sat, legs crossed and his jaw rolling.

“I didn’t lie to you, Gerald. I really was at the church. You can call them and ask if you want. I have the Priest’s cellphone number. You can stop being butthurt now.”

He sighed and made a note on his papers. “You refused to speak to me when you canceled the appointment, you didn’t answer your phone for the rest of the day—not even a text, Bridget. You have my number too. And then when you did finally text, you didn’t respond to my questions.”

“I was… preoccupied.”

“Were you? Or did I touch a nerve last time and you’re retreating? Because we’ve been here before. And you told me youwouldn’t play childish games again.” He pinned me with a gaze over the top of his glasses.

I glared back. “I’mnotplaying games. I’m the same loveable hot mess I’ve always been… just a little extra itchy.”

“Which is all the more reason to be here with me.”

God, I wanted to strangle him sometimes—and not in the good way.

“No, Gerald, it’s not. Because you don’t get it and that’s fucking hard work when I’m already spinning out.”

He leaned forward, eyes locked on mine, his expression grave. “No, Bridget. That’s whereyou’rewrong. The whole reason youthinkI don’t get it is because you always run when you disagree with me so you never face the questions in your head.” He started counting things off on his fingers. “You don’t trust my motives, but won’t ask me what they are. You don’t like how easily I read you because it makes you vulnerable, so you run instead of asking me if I canhelp.That means we never take the next step—”

“That’s bullshit.”

“One time, Bridget. Tell meone timeyou have actuallyaskedfor my insight? One time you’vesoughtanything beyond my analysis?”

“Are you seriously playing the victim right now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Youget paidfor your fuckinginsightandanalysis—an extremely noble undertaking, I’m sure.But you and I both know Jeremy only insists on this to save his own ass if I off myself! If he stopped paying you, I’d never see you again. Don’t tell me I don’t know your fucking motives!”

Gerald’s mouth was tight, and he was shaking his head. “Seriously? You think I gave you my personal phone number for thecash?You aren’tthatlucrative, Bridget.”

“Oh please, I might be unhinged, Gerald, but I’m not stupid. I’m a poster child. One whispered word about my dad and suddenly everyone wants to hang on every word you say—”

“I have never told a soul that you’re my client—”

“Not even at your clinical conferences? Really?” I needled him.

He arched one brow.

“Really, Bridget. Because I do actuallyget it.A lot more than you realize. I understand that in your world you’ve always been a commodity—either an asset or a liability. I get that you grew up in a home where you were used as a pawn in your father’s game against your mother. I get theseveretrauma of what he did to you. And I get that you retreat from people because youthinkyou’ve never found anyone who gave a shit just because they cared about you. And I do actuallygetthat you think I’m just one more cog in that wheel. But I’m not. I give a shit, Bridget. I give a great many shits. I didn’t sleep for three days last week. And no one was paying me forthat.”

I broke his gaze and glared at the wall instead, because even though I knew he wasn’t the noble giver here, he also wasn’t an asshole and…

“I thought you’d be proud of me,” I said through my teeth. “I did what you told me to do the week before, and I was excited to come tell you about it because I thought it would make you happy and prove… prove that I don’t just sit here ignoring you all the time. But thenshit happened,and that’s real. It was a shock, and it made me really shaky, and…”

Gerald dropped his pen and clawed both hands over his bald pate and through the whisps of hair that circled his skull. “Don’t you see, Bridget? That’sexactlywhen I can help you most! Why won’t you let me? You really think I don’t care? You think I just want to use you? Have I not proved myself toyoubefore now?”

I turned back at him, a venomous cutting judgment on my tongue—a torrent of hilarious blades that would emasculate or marginalize or make him small to get himthe fuck off my back. But just as I opened my mouth, it hit me…

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