Page 36 of What's Left of Us

But she knows what I mean.

She looks away, wiping under her eyes with the tip of her finger.

“I came here to say how sorry I am for being such a dickhead all these months,” I tell her, pushing up to stand. “I love you guys like a second family, and I let you down. I let a lot of people down.”

Marissa looks up at me, tears on the brink of falling again as she furiously swats them away and blinks rapidly to dry her eyes. “You’re here now.”

Is that enough though? It doesn’t feel it. “I have to finish mandatory therapy to go back,” I admit. “It got me thinking about you and Cooper and…” I lift my shoulders, feeling the twinge of pain radiating in my bad one. “And everybody that’s important to me.”

Her hand stays on top of her stomach. “You will always have a place here, Hawk. Remember that next time you need someone. Cooper has missed having you around, and so have I. We aren’t going anywhere.”

All I do is dip my chin and slide a hand in the front pocket of my jeans. She smiles at me, cementing the sentiment. It eases the tightrope that’s been holding my heart together for some time.

“Next time you come over, you’ll have to tell me about Georgia,” she says, stretching her legs out.

One of my brows goes up. “What’s there to tell?” I ask, playing dumb.

A knowing smirk lifts half her lips. “I still have friends around who know what you drive and where she lives. Are you going to tell me she keeps having plumbing problems that you go over and help her with? Or are you going to be real with me?”

There’s a sarcastic reply on the tip of my tongue that I swallow. She’d see right past it anyway. “I better go say hi to Cooper before I leave, or he’ll be mad at me.”

She makes a thoughtful noise that sounds awfully like a laugh.

Because she knows damn well that I haven’t quit Georgia.

Not fully.

Not yet.

*

The door cracksopen into the waiting room, where I’m huddled up in an uncomfortable chair, staring at pamphlets on the wall about bipolar and multiple personality disorder, OCD, and a slew of other depressing diagnoses. The doctor I’m slowly getting used to seeing once a week pokes her head in. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Danforth. Come on in.”

She seems frazzled, her face feigning nonchalance, but her eyes glazed with something panicked as I step past her.

“Are you all right?”

She closes and locks the door before gesturing for me to take my usual seat. “That’s my question,” she replies, bemused. “But I’m fine. It’s been a long day, is all. Please, sit down.”

I take my time making myself comfortable as she walks over to her desk and digs through her bag, resting on the office chair. I take in her body, noting that the clothes she wears do little to complement the curves I’m almost positive are hiding underneath. I see it when she wears skirts and dresses—the feminine form that a lot of guys, including myself, can appreciate.

It’s not normal for her to be unorganized, but whatever happened today has obviously jarred her enough to be off her game.

Sitting down at my spot, I watch as she goes through her desk and bag, then studies the space around her until she finds whatever she’s looking for. With her back toward me, I see her straighten and pause, and then I hear her take a deep breath to collect herself.

“If you need to reschedule, I’ll understand.”

She turns to me, a professional smile gracing her face that seems forced. It’s a mask I’m familiar with because I wear one too. “I can’t let you get out of this that easily,” she says, the amusement cutting through some of the other harbored emotions on her face.

When she sits down, she sets the notepad on her lap and settles in.

I study her for a moment. “You forgot a pen.”

She looks down and closes her eyes, sighing at the realization.

“I’d hate for you not to be able to write notes about all the red flags I’m waving,” I joke half-heartedly.

On her way back with a pen in her hand, a small smile appears on her mouth. We’re climbing to the double digits, making me think I’ve still got it. I like making women smile, especially when it’s obvious they don’t want to.

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