Page 56 of Torched Spades
Seeing the genuine concern on his face tempers my anger, and my shoulders sag. For a moment, we’re no longer bitter adults fighting opposite sides of a war. We’re the two innocent twelve-year-old best friends who believed in love and justice. Jack’s badge fades away, and once again, he’s a shaggy brown-haired boy who’s all knees and elbows and light. The one who walked across the street every day just to put socks on my bare feet because he knew how stained they were. How they left red footprints everywhere, despite no one else seeing them.
I’ve missed that boy. I miss the man he grew up to be. I miss his friendship. But most of all, I miss having someone to confide in. That’s the catch twenty-two of being a psychiatrist with her own personality disorder.
I don’t have the luxury of denial. Instead, I’m forced to embrace not trusting anyone with a pulse.
I’m given a brief reprieve when our server stops by the table to top off Jack’s coffee and take my drink order. Using the opportunity to regroup, I pull away from his hold and tuck my hands in my lap. But once she’s gone, he turns that expectant gaze back on me, the weight of it harder than ever.
I sigh. “Swear that anything I say stays at this table.”
“Becca…”
“Not a word gets back to my father,” I warn, jabbing my finger at him.
I suppose curiosity wins out over oath because he acquiesces with a resigned nod. “Fine.”
“I’m serious, Jack. He may have sent you here, but I swear to God if you open your mouth about anything I’m about to say to you, that’s it… I’ll cut you out of my life for good.”
He nods again. “Everything stays between us.”
I bite my lip and smile politely as the server returns with my soda. In the ten seconds she’s at the table, I wonder if my gut is leading me across a four-lane highway again. However, for all Jack’s faults, he’s never lied to me. If he tells me that this will stay between us, I believe him.
Once the server is a good three feet away, I take a deep breath and lean in close. “I’m having not-so-professional thoughts about a patient.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Just thoughts?”
I can feel the heat flooding my cheeks.
“That’s what I thought. What the hell, Becca? Getting intimate with patients could cost you your medical license, and that’s the least that could happen. That’s not taking into consideration the legalities of it.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“How intimate?” He drags out the word with such distaste that I wince.
Glancing down at my hands, I chip at the polish on my thumbnail. “Define intimate.” At his narrowed, derisive look, I add, “I didn’t completely cross the line, if that’s what you’re asking… At least not yet.”
“Becca!”
“Don’t ‘Becca’ me! You pole-vaulted over one of those ethical lines yourself when you fucked your mentor’s daughter behind his back, remember?”
Jack’s face falls, and I scrub my hands down mine in exhaustion. Once again, that was a low blow. We had one drunken night together eight years ago, and I’ve used it as a weapon against him ever since.
Better work the case, or I’ll tell Daddy.
If I don’t get an update, Dad gets a phone call.
I’m a horrible person.
I don’t want to hurt him. Deep down, I know Jack’s on my side. But I can’t risk him slipping and saying anything about Johnny to my father. At the very least, the last thing Johnny needs is the chief of police screwing with his probation. But, my gut, that drunk driving son of a bitch, fears there’s something much deeper and darker he’s hiding.
“What is it about this one that’s made you break every rule you’ve made for yourself, Becs?” Jack asks solemnly. Sliding my hand to my mouth, I blink up at him, his question catching me off guard. “He sounds messy, and I know from personal experience, you don’t like messy.”
Slowly, I lower my hand to my lap, stalling for time and searching for words. How am I supposed to answer that when I don’t even know? Eventually, I settle on a safe, clinical response. “He’s different, more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. Most of my patients are intimidated by me or at least locked inside their own heads. But not him. It’s like he wakes up every morning with the sole purpose of seeing how far he can push me.”
“Wait, you’re hot for this guy because he scares you?” Flopping back into the booth, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Becca.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That’s exactly what you meant.”
