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He shook his head. “That isn’t what I’m saying. I’m grateful for that residual want that led to your confession. Over the last few months, there were times I was sure you were interested but I guess I was waiting for verbal confirmation, and when I got it …” Dr. Merino swallowed and the sound ballooned in the stillness of the room. “I don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. None of it matters.”
“Why would you say that?”
She remembered the candle he had lit in St. James. He’d prayed for himself. That memory alongside his present discouragement cinched Kenna’s insides.
What kind of monster did he believe himself to be?
While she had heard some disquieting stories about him, she was not convinced that any trace of evil lurked within the stern yet soft man who stood before her.
Every story had two sides, and though he admitted to Alex’s version of events being factual, she had not heard his side on things with Erin or Charlee. Not that Kenna could ask him anything relating to either woman without outing herself as a relentless snoop.
And then what?
He’d label her untrustworthy. He wouldn’t let her trace the pink lines that ran across his skin. He wouldn’t look at her like she was the reason the sun rose and set.
In the stringing together of those hypotheticals, Kenna arrived at a solution to a problem she hadn’t been aware she was solving. Dr. Merino must have felt something for her. She couldn’t glean the scope of his feelings nor did she care. To know they existed was enough and it left her heart undulating in delight.
He didn’t answer her question, instead offering a reserved ghost of a smile. “Good night, Kenna.”
27
THE BLOCK
“Thanks again for agreeing to this last minute,” Kenna said as she set up at his desk, littering its surface without mercy.
A latte from Bigleaf, her barely-there lipstick marking a faint stain on the lid. Her cell phone with a voice memo app queued on the screen. The strap of her bag hung over the side of the desk, an array of notebooks peeking out from its opening. And the woman who made the mess, sitting in his chair and looking every bit like she belonged there.
Poised. In control.
Dayton absorbed the sight. It was something he was unlikely to ever see again.
While his signature on the hours track sheet had officially ended their mentorship, his procrastination in determining her 4960 grade left them stumbling in an ethically questionable limbo.
Not kissing her in her apartment had required more concentration than studying for his MCAT. He still honed that concentration, afraid he might swiftly lock the office door and draw the metal blinds. But he was done with that way of life.
This little lamb had seen to that.
Dayton sat across the room, occupying the chair designated for patients. “I have to admit this doesn’t seem like you, the waiting. Finals are next week.”
“We can’t be our best selves all of the time, can we? Then you’d be out of a job. Is it alright if I start recording?”
He tipped his head and she tapped the phone screen.
“Kenna O’Callaghan for Professor Savas. Subject is male, between the ages of 20-39.” Steepling her fingers, she released a quiet breath as if this were the most important project she’d been tasked with in all of her 22 years. In a way, he supposed it was. Another class standing between her and grad school. “Can you walk me through whatever you believe to be the most distressing event in your life?”
Those jade eyes bore into him, bone deep, and he ached to tell her everything. To lay bare every jagged fragment of the past.
Though Dayton had recently deluded himself into thinking otherwise, there was no denying they were on a fast track to nowhere. Revealing any part of his past would not change their trajectory.
But there was no harm in Kenna believing whatever story he fed her.
“Wait.” He lurched forward in the chair, elbows stationed on his knees, and purposefully lowered his voice. “Will other people listen to this?”
She terminated the recording.
Fright flickered over her, shoulders tight one second and relaxed the next, as if he’d imagined the imperceptible shift. “We’re supposed to play a highlight during our presentation. Something short. Why do you ask?”
“If someone were to recognize my voice, they may draw some wild conclusions.”
