Page 122 of Hard Pass

The words land harder than anything she’s said so far. Because I wasn’t—I’m not . . . I don’t even know.

“Funny,” I mutter.

“So you mentioned your dad. What about your mom?”

Yeah. What about her, Valor?

My sigh should say it all, but of course, this is the doctor and she’s not going to let it be just that.

“She was there. Present but her silence said she was always on his side. When I was a kid, I used to think she did what she could to help me in her own way, but now that I’m an adult, I think she could have done more.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “I get cards on holidays. I get texts out of the blue to see how I’m doing. I have no real expectations from her.”

“Are they still together?”

“Fuck if I know.” I snort. “I mean . . . growing up she was there. When I left for college, they split for a while then got back together, rinse and repeat. I made it a habit not to ask so that I wouldn’t get more upset with her or lose respect for her.”

“But you did anyway,” she says quietly and without any judgment.

Our stares hold as I nod ever so slightly. “Of course, I did. I get the whole you’re supposed to back your spouse thing, but between the two of us, I’m the one who carries her genes, so shouldn’t she have backed me a little more?”

“Very valid point from all sides.”

“I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair. “I needed her when I was little and she wasn’t there enough, so I made a point to not need her as an adult.”

“That had to be hard.”

“Being hard and needing to survive on my own go hand in hand.”

She nods. “Agreed, Cole.” She falls silent for a beat, as she flips the page on her pad. “Like I said before, your parents’ actions don’t define—”

“Bullshit they don’t,” I bark out.

“What I was getting at was that you don’t need to be ashamed of anything your parents did or didn’t do to you.”

I shift in my seat, suddenly restless. I gave too much. Said too much. I need to get out of here.

“I’m not ashamed of anything,” I say.

“And yet your posture is suddenly defensive.”

“Because you’re reading into something that’s not there.”

“Or because I’m getting close to something that is and it’s making you uncomfortable.”

I push to my feet before I can think better of it. “I think we’re done here.”

She doesn’t argue or try to stop me, but she watches as I pace once and then grab my phone off the console by the door where we have to leave them.

“Cole,” she says, and I pause with my hand on the door. “I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. I’m here to help you understand yourself better, because once you do, you’ll be able to unlock what’s happening and why.”

A humorless laugh escapes. “Yeah, well, you’re doing a great job of the first part.”

Her expression softens. “The tremor is your body reacting to an event or behavior your mind, your subconscious, won’t acknowledge.”

And there it is, folks. The parting line. The one that sticks and will fuck with my head until next time.

“I came here to fix my head.” I glance back at her. “But every time I leave, it’s worse.”

“Sometimes that’s what has to happen. You have to dig through it before you can make sense of it.”