Page 67 of Our Secret to Keep

“I’m paying cash. Is this necessary?”

I have medical insurance through my dad, but I don’t want him to know. If he sees the statement, he’ll be up my ass about it. He thinks I’m cured and that the worst part of my life is in the rearview mirror.

What my old man doesn’t realize is that trauma never goes away. It lives inside you like a bomb, ready to detonate at any moment. All it takes is one thing—a scent, a sound, or a memory—to activate the kill switch.

She forces a grin. “The law requires your consent for us to treat you. Dr. Swanson also needs a better understanding of your medical history. It’s pretty standard.”

River takes the clipboard from my hand. “I’ll fill it out. Go sit down.”

As I find a seat in the waiting room, he speaks to the receptionist. She smiles up at him, then points a finger, eyes wide. Of course, she recognizes him. Everyone knows River Rousseau and his famous father.

He talks to the woman for another minute, sits beside me, and starts working on the paperwork. River knows everything about me—even my social security number. So, he goes through the motions, head down, scribbling on the page.

“Are you still allergic to Amoxicillin?”

I nod. “As far as I know. Yeah. Why does a shrink need to know that?”

He rolls his broad shoulders. “They always ask these kinds of questions at doctor’s offices.”

“Thanks for doing this,” I say in a hushed tone, tapping my foot on the ground.

“Of course.” His eyes meet mine. “I will come to every appointment if you need me. Okay?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

The tightness in my chest lessens by the second. But I’m still on edge, afraid of what the doctor will ask of me. The last one wanted me to stop having sex and watching porn. I mean, why not cut my dick off then?

Sex is a normal part of life.

Men need sex.

Ineed sex.

After River gives the receptionist my paperwork and credit card, we wait a few more minutes before we’re called into the doctor’s office.

A woman in her early fifties looks at me with a sweet smile. She’s wearing a gray pencil skirt, a fitted pink blouse with the first two buttons open, and heels. Black hair sits right above her shoulders, tucked behind her ears. She’s attractive for her age. Old enough to be my mom, but that’s okay because… so wasshe.

Don’t think about her!

To switch gears, my thoughts drift to what’s beneath Dr. Swanson’s shirt. Are her nipples small or like silver dollars? Pale pink or more of a dark pink?

Stop it, Nate!

I finally notice her outstretched hand. “Are you okay, Nathaniel?”

Huh?

I blink. Once, twice.

Did I go somewhere else?

Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say as I shake her hand.

Is that even why she offered her hand to me? I have no clue.

River clutches my shoulder. “You’re safe,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s going to be okay.”

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