Page 137 of Burn the Wild

“I mean it, Reese.” I grip her chin and force her to look at me. “I wake and you’re gone—I will lose my mind. Don’t do that to me.”

“You can’t worry about me, Ford.” She scans my face, gives her head a slight shake. “I told you about my past, but you can’t use it against me.”

“I will never use it against you.” I drop a kiss to her lips. “I’ll take your worst day and give you my best. But I will always worry about you.”

As long as she’s in my life, I’ll worry about her.

A soft sheen fills her green eyes. She blinks quickly, then says, “We should get to work.”

I tuck a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “Nope. Not today.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

I’m terrified she’ll hate the idea, but I have to try. She needs help. It’s not enough to talk to me, or be on the ranch.

“You know, I had a black hole, too.”

With a surprised expression, she says, “You did?”

My chin dips. “I did.”

Her inquisitive gaze scans mine. “Will you tell me why?”

“I will.” I hold her beautiful face in my hands. Peer into those grass-green eyes and wonder how I got so damn lucky. “Right now, though, we’re gonna make that head of yours a nice place to be, okay?”

I’m stunned, too stunned to even voice what Ford’s done for me. Hours ago, we left the ranch, and he drove us to Bozeman. Now, I’m in a plush leather chair, in a therapist’s office. I stare out the window at Ford, who’s pacing near the tailgate of his truck. His presence soothes me.

“Reese?” Dr. DiFeo’s voice pulls me back. “Where would you like to begin?”

“Do you have a time machine?”

Dr. DiFeo makes a soft, amused sound. She’s an older woman with a stylish auburn bob and a low voice. Sitting across from me, she holds a notepad in her lap.

“Have you done this before?”

“A few times. My manager found someone to see me. We didn’t vibe.”

“I see.” She makes a note. “Are you on medication?”

“I was.” I pull the bottle out of my purse and hand it to her. “I stopped taking them when I got here. They made me tired.”

As she examines the bottle, an expression I can’t place crosses her face. Then she smiles. “I’ll check on the meds you were taking and prescribe you something if you need it.”

An awkward silence. My eyes dart around the room—sheer curtains, warm beige walls, rustic décor—glad to have something else to focus on.

“Why don’t you tell me about your life the last few months, and why you’re here.”

I flinch. A clammy, tense feeling overtakes me. “Just talk?”

“Just talk.”

I do. It all comes out. Well, as much truth as fifty minutes allows. I talk about everything from my parents to Gavin and his contract, to my suicide attempt and the way I left everything behind to run.

“I feel stupid. Like an idiot.”

“Tell me why.”

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