Page 77 of White Raven
“Probably a day or two.”
“That’s plenty of time. We can make a weekend out of it.” She almost felt like Rhaena, squealing over a lead. That reminded her. “Did you take those reports over to Rhaena’s?” His whole demeanor changed. His body stiffened, and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…yeah, I took them.”
“Is she okay?” Another throat bob. He wouldn’t even look at her. “Athan?”
“She’s good. Having some trouble with Jenkins. Nothing she can’t handle, though.”
It was obvious there was more, but maybe it wasn’t his business to tell. All she did gather was that whatever it was bothered him. A lot.
“He didn’t hurt her, did he? I’ll fuck him up.”
“No, no…nothing like that. I think Rhaena just feels like she might have taken things too fast. Maybe they both do, I dunno.” It took all of two seconds for him to throw that mask back on, but Sarah knew he’d figured out that she wasn’t convinced. She decided not to pry, and let him come clean on his own, so she put her own mask on, smiling and reaching for his plate.
“Finished?” she asked, sliding her fingers under it.
“Stuffed,” he grinned. “Thank you.”
She stood, carrying the plates back to the kitchen. Something was wrong. She could feel it. He promised he’d always tell her the truth after what he’d kept from her before she knew what he was—and what he’d done. Must have been big for him to feel like he couldn’t be honest now. Choosing to comfort him instead, she looked back over her shoulder. His head was hung. He was fidgeting with the rim of his wine glass, seemingly deep in thought.
“The death of a beautiful woman, is questionably the most poetic topic in the world,”Sarah offered, catching his stare when he looked over at her. “I’m sorry about your mother, Athan.” The longing in his eyes made her chest hurt.
“Was that Poe?” he asked
She smiled.
“Isn’t it always?”
CHAPTER 15
TANTALIZING TENSION
“And how did that make you feel?”
This was so fucking ridiculous. Do people really buy into this bullshit?
Brent laid across a small leather couch in a stuffy office that was dimly lit and smelled like musty old books, and way too much money. Money that was manipulated from thousands of other poor souls that thought this doctor was anything but a quack. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and he sighed through it, shaking his head.
“I dunno, how the hell would it makeyoufeel? My father was evil, and it didn’t end with me. I’ve been thrown around in his pot of shit ever since I learned how to speak. Was it a surprise that he shot me? No, not really. Do I wish I’d killed him myself?” He paused, thinking hard on that. Would he have even had the balls to do it? If he believed that to be true, why didn’t he—beforehe had taken Wren and brutally abused her.Beforehe’d plotted to use his ex-fiancé for crimes far beyond what a sane individual, and a supposedly-respected elected official would commit. Was he right the entire time? Did Brent have mashed bananas for nuts?
“Brent?” Dr. Lennox pushed, urging him to finish. “Do you wish you’d killed your father?”
He didn’t see the point in saying no, when the bastard was probably already dismembered and being studied at a university somewhere. “I do.” He swallowed and dropped his hand to his belly…over the scar that was left fromConrad’s assault. “You gonna try to tell me that’s normal? Understandable? That I’m not just as fucked up as he was?”
“I’m not here to judge you, Brent. I’m here to listen, and to help you.”
“And how do you propose you’re going to do that, exactly?” He sat up, brushing a hand through his hair, and staring at the slightly wrinkled woman. She might have been attractive once. She had a straight nose, lovely blue eyes—even if they were crowned with crow’s feet—and high cheekbones that vexed the sag of her aging skin. Her hair was dry, and obviously dyed to cover the gray in it, but she didn’t appear washed-up. It was a soft brown that set off her entire face, making her seem less daunting, and easier to speak with…confide in. She was very good at her job.
“I’m curious…if our roles were reversed, how would you helpme?” she asked, resting her pen on the notepad she had on her knee.
“Other than drugging someone to forget?”
“I’m not in the business of putting one’s problems on the back burner. Usually, people tend to forget they’re simmering back there and then that pot boils over. That doesn’t help anyone. But some medications do help to compartmentalize everything. Organize all your thoughts and feelings so that you have an outlet to prioritize them.”
He chuckled through his nose and stared at the ugly brown rug on the floor. “Well, unless you have a magic pill that makes it all disappear, then I’m not interested.”
“Sadly, there is no such thing. Maybe that’s a grace. Otherwise, I’d be out of a job, yeah?” she smiled. “So, back to my question. How would you help me?”
