Page 97 of Rescuing Dr. Marian
Foster’s voice was calm and teasing. “Who wins the bet if I murder you?”
“Considering the bet is for a deep-throated face-fucking, I’m gonna say we both win no matter how it plays out.”
I stepped into the office space on the wordfucking, and felt my face heat immediately.
Both men looked up at me in surprise, but for some reason, my eyes went right past them to the wall behind Foster…
Where a very familiar photo was pinned front and center by a handful of darts and what looked like hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny holes.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at my own face, enlarged and printed in grainy black and white. The photo from St. Ignatius’s website—the one with my professional smile and neatly combed hair that now looked absurdly formal compared to the battle-worn dartboard surrounding it.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, taking a step closer. The paper was curled at the edges, worn soft from months of… what? Anger? Obsession? The dart holes formed a constellation around my face—some clustered near my eyes, others scattered across my cheeks and forehead. It looked like a crime scene.
“Oh,” I said stupidly. “Well, then.”
Foster and his friend turned to see what had caught my attention, and it seemed like all the oxygen was sucked from the room.
“Wait,” Foster said. The only thing that kept me from bolting or throwing something at him was the thread of absolute panic and fear in his voice. He walked toward me slowly with his hands out, as if trying to approach a wild dog. “Tommy, I can explain.”
I couldn’t look away from the dartboard. Six months. He’d been throwing darts at my face for six fucking months. “You can explain why I’m the face of your workplace rage?” My voice came out strangled. “Jesus Christ, Foster. How many times did you—” I gestured helplessly at the punctured remains of my professional headshot.
The other guy, who I’d guessed by now was his cousin Way, from everything I’d heard as well as an obvious family resemblance, breathed, “Ho-lee fuck. It’s… it’s you.” He looked from me to the dartboard and back again. “I thought this was just some picture Foster found on the internet. Like maybe he had a bad experience with doctor porn or something.”
“Doctor porn,” I repeated flatly, finally tearing my gaze away from the dartboard. “That’s… actually not too far off, I guess.” The laugh that escaped me sounded slightly unhinged. “Though I’m pretty sure most people don’t print out photos of their porn to use for target practice. Especially after they kissed them on a Hawaiian beach.”
Way’s eyes went wide. “Oh, dude. You’re the reason?—”
“Waylon,” Foster warned, his voice deadly quiet.
But I was already piecing it together. The way Foster had looked at me that first day at SERA. The careful distance he’d maintained. The walls he’d built between us. “You hated me,” I said, and it wasn’t a question. “Before you even knew me, you hated me.”
Foster didn’t take his eyes off me or crack a smile. “Tommy, what are you doing here? I thought you were headed back to SERA.”
“That’s funny because I thought you were at SERA, too.”
Way’s grin was so wide it bordered on shit-eating. “Soooo, Foster… if you need me to help you figure things out the same wayyouhelpedmewhen Silas first came to town, I could?—”
Foster didn’t take his eyes off me. “Waylon, get the fuck out. And so help me if you pretend to flirt with me, I will beat the shit out of you right here, right now.”
Way’s laughter followed him out until the sound of the door closing ended it.
The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded. I walked closer to the dartboard, studying the damage. Some of the holes were small and precise—clean hits that spoke of careful aim. Others were jagged tears where darts had been yanked out in frustration.
“How often?” I asked quietly.
“Tommy—”
“How often did you throw darts at my face?”
Foster’s shoulders sagged. “Every day. Sometimes… sometimes multiple times a day.”
I traced a finger along one of the larger tears, right through where my left eye would be. “Were you imagining revenge or something?”
“No.” His voice was raw. “I was imagining forgetting you.”
Suddenly, I realized my eyes were filling with stupid-ass tears. I gritted my teeth against them. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”
His eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. “You were in Billings. I sent you a text.”
