Page 57 of White Raven
“Are we in Seattle right now?”
Sarah pressed her mouth in a tight line. “Touche, prick.”
“I’m coming home. I’d rather explain everything there. And I say we take the night, maybe try to book another flight tomorrow or something.”
“I don’t really see any point in rushing it. Maybe we were too headstrong to begin with. If Sykes is in the wind, it’s gonna be just as hard to find her next week as it would be today. If John wants to be found, he will be. Just come home.”
“You got it, love. I love you…”
“I’ll never get sick of hearing that. I love you too, punk.”
Call ended.
“See? I can’t—I dunno if I can do that. God, it’s so gross,” Wren gagged, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray on the coffee table.
“Jesus, Wren.”
“Like, I’m so happy for you…really. I’m happy for Athan. I’m happy for Rhaena. But me? It’s just not something I want, Sarah. I don’t know how to do…that.”
“Okay, so don’t. Just go talk to him. He deserves that much. Don’t you think?” Sarah raised up, just enough to lay over Wren’s legs and annoy her.
“God, stop! You’re getting happiness all over me!” She shoved Sarah in the shoulder, rolling her off the couch and onto the floor and Sarah cackled. Wren crossed both her pointer fingers and held them in an X in front of her. “Stay away!” Sarah laid on her back and stared up at her from the floor.
“You better get your ass to Brent’s apartment. Or I’ll start ripping Athan’s clothes off as soon as he walks in the door. You want that instead?”
“That depends. You gonna beat me for staring?”
“Get…out!” Sarah laughed, smacking her leg.
Wren stood, helping her up from the floor and didn’t put up a fight when Sarah led her to the front door. Sarah pulled her in for a hug. “You helped me when I refused to see clearly. You know that’s all I’m trying to do, right?”
“…Yeah…I’ll go talk to the bastard,” Wren smiled, pulling back. “Thank you, bitch. And I mean that with every fiber of my being. The curse word…not the gratitude.”
“You’re such an idiot. Get your ass down the road. Tell me everything.”
“Bye,” she scoffed, smiling as she left and clunked down the stairs.
“This is where you live?” Dr. Ambrose asked, parking in front of Brent’s building. He unbuckled his seat belt and flexed his aching fingers over his lap.
“Yep. For now.”
“For now? You’re not gonna go stay back at that mansion, are you?” She unbuckled her own seatbelt and reached to grab her purse. Brent eyed her cautiously.
“Hell no…what are you doing?”
Dr. Ambrose paused, sitting her bag in her lap and dropping her mouth a little. “I was gonna walk you in. I thought that was obvious. We’ve gotta talk about where to go from here, Brent. They called me for a reason. We need to discuss setting you up with a therapist. Maybe getting you on some medication.”
“You’re not the therapist, though. Can’t you just schedule something over the phone?”
“You’re right, I’m not. But I’m your referring doctor. And I have a strong feeling that if I leave you by yourself and schedule it, that appointment will be missed and forgotten about, and I’d rather not have another call to come to a police station to try and talk sense into you, then.”
Brent sighed, shaking his head as he opened the car door and slid out. “Come on.”
She followed close behind him, and checked her phone the entire elevator ride, only putting it down when they stepped up to his apartment door. When he let her in, she gawked at the kitchen…and then the view of Boston outside the floor-length windows in the living room. “This is amazing. And this is only a temporary residence?”
“No, this is mine. I’m selling it soon. I already have somebody interested.” Dr. Ambrose looked over her shoulder as he headed towards the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. “I don’t have much other than beer or water. Sorry.”
“Beer sounds good,” she chirped, making herself at home and peeling off her jacket and scarf. She lost her glasses, too. Brent immediately felt a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach and replaced the water bottles with a couple of beers.
