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That’s all. He sent it early last night and didn’t follow up with anything else. For instance, the slightest clue how I’m supposed to do the impossible.
A million red flags wave like crazy in my brain as I stare at the text like it’s going to miraculously change. How the hell am I supposed to be her friend, even by pretending? And it would definitely have to be pretend since there’s no fucking way I’d ever be her real friend. Not after what she’s done.
I’m sure her husband would stand in the way. What about that? He’s probably wedged so far up her ass that she doesn’t make a move without him. He won’t let me within ten feet of her. So that’s sort of a wall I’m going to have to get over.
Then there’s the whole part where I have nothing in common with the girl. I couldn’t possibly. Little Miss Golden-haired Angel. It doesn’t matter that bad things happened to her. She didn’t grow up like I did.
I don’t even know how to make friends. I never had any, no real ones. Other people seemed to make friends so easily, like it was nothing. I was always on the outside, looking in. What do I do? Walk up to her and announce we should be besties? Yeah, that would work. She would only make sure to avoid me from then on.
Me: No way.
My thumb hovers over the button to send the message, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want him to be mad at me. I did say I’d do everything I could, too. But this is something I can’t do.
He’s not going to want to hear that. Nash deserves justice, and Preston wants to make sure Aspen suffers for every stab wound.
I have to at least try. For Nash.
I delete the first message and type another one instead. I don’t know how I’ll make it happen, but I see the point. If she trusts me, she’ll let me get closer to her. And that’s when she’ll be vulnerable.
Me: Okay. I’ll keep you posted.
I send the text before turning off the phone and returning it to its hiding place. Did I promise more than I can deliver? I sure as hell hope not.
26
LUCAS
“We need a session. Now.”
Lauren looks up at me from the thick text balanced on her legs. She’s sitting at her desk with her ankles crossed on top, leaning back in her chair. “Excuse me?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.
“I said I need a session immediately.”
“You do realize you could have just barged in here while I was seeing a student, right?”
“And?”
“And there’s still such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality. I owe my patients privacy and peace of mind. I can’t promise either with a clear conscience if there’s a risk of you charging into my office like you’re ready to set the desk on fire.”
“Are you finished?” I drop to the couch before rolling up my sleeves.
“This is unprofessional and, frankly, unacceptable. I’m sorry, but I have to set boundaries.”
“Dick Valentine set up a ten-million-dollar trust fund for Delilah the day Aspen was kidnapped.”
Her silence speaks volumes. I have the grim satisfaction of watching her process this while I make myself comfortable. “You ready now?” I ask once her mouth finally snaps shut.
“That’s a big piece of information. I assume it’s been verified.”
“Nic was offended when I asked.”
“I’m sure.” She purses her lips before blowing out a heavy sigh. “And how do you feel about this?”
I can only sit and stare at first. “You’re joking.”
“One thing it’s crucial to guard against in this line of work is making assumptions. I can only help if I know your feelings, in your words.”
“I want to kill somebody.”
“And?”
“And it’s been hours since I found out, but the feeling hasn’t subsided.”
“I know I said I have to avoid assumptions, but I assume you haven’t fallen back on any of the exercises I’ve described.”
“Fuck the exercises!”
Her head snaps back. “All right, then.”
“What do you want me to say?”
She’s firm and calm in her response. “I want you to think twice before screaming at me. Please.”
“Fine. I’ll think twice.” After taking a few deep breaths, I try again. “I’m beyond enraged.”
“Why?”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“We have to get to the bottom of why you feel the way you do. It might not be the reason you think it is.”
“Give me a break.”
She’s stone-faced when she points at the door. “Why are you here if you’re not going to take my offers to help seriously? If you want somebody to nod and tell you how right you are, you’re in the wrong office.”
“So you think I’m wrong?”
“I think you need to work through your reaction. Remember? We’ve talked about this. You tend to jump at the first, strongest reaction. Anger. Violence.”
