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Silence filled the cabin as she gathered her words.
“When I picked you up yesterday you seemed hurt, almost. That’s not like you. It got me thinking, there has to be some kind of history there.”
Damn Carmen and her twin telepathy.
“She’s my employee. I’m her boss. End of story.”
“Here’s why that’s complete bullshit. You wouldn’t let an employee yell at you, and no, I couldn’t hear anything so it’s not like I have proof, but her whole body shook when she turned toward you and I know I’m not nearly as smart as you but I can read between the fucking lines, brother.”
“She and I …” Dayton kept his eyes on the carless expanse of road. “What we had has run its course.”
“Good.” The response came as a surprise. Usually, she pressed for details when it came to his love life but now that he had something to report she was playing offense. Almost as if she’d read his mind, she amended, “Look, don’t take that the wrong way. If you’re hurting, I’m sorry. All I meant is, she seems … young. A college girl? It could be triggering for you.”
“Don’t skirt around your words. Say what you mean.”
“We don’t want a repeat of UCLA.”
The mere mention of it summoned unpleasant memories. The cool cinch of handcuffs on his wrists. Audrey dropping to the floor, crying, shouting.
He floored the brake at a four-way stop, jerking them both forward with such force, their seatbelts locked.
“How dare you even insinuate something like that. I’m not the same person, not by miles.”
She tried to nod but her body denied her the motion.
Slowly, her attention panned from the glove box and settled upon him. Carmen employed her most haunting look. It was the one she used to get him to see reason. The one that hung around like an angel on his shoulder, staying with him through all of his wretched decisions.
“I really hope that’s true.”
8
GET IN
Meet me around back once Rogers leaves.
Dayton had slipped the note on the reception desk before ushering Gerald Rogers, a Vietnam veteran, into the session space. The patient was in his mid-70s and retained good cognitive functioning despite the PTSD that made his daily life hell on Earth. Dayton expressed concern about when or if things would progress toward dementia. Technically, Kenna shouldn’t have been privy to the details but he frequently asked her to transcribe his analysis notes and, though she had done it perfunctorily at first, it was something she had come to enjoy.
She read the note again.
Meet me around back once Rogers leaves.
Her skin grew clammy as she tried to think of a reason as to why he wanted to see her outside, after hours.
Folding the paper clean in half, she tucked it inside her bag. She shouldn’t have been playing this game but it was dangerous, thrilling; and she possessed no will to stop.
Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to him.
Growing up, her life was sheltered and secure. Dayton was the embodiment of everything she was warned of and forbidden from.
Kenna’s heartbeat thrummed in every inch of her body as she bid Mr. Rogers adieu and slipped him an appointment reminder card for his next visit. Every system was on high alert.
The computer powered down quicker than usual and she was left with no choice but to collect her things and face the man waiting behind the building. She knew there was a rear exit in Dayton’s private office but she would have sooner consumed a vial of cyanide before willingly setting foot in that space. Her hand grew heavy as she pushed on the front door and emerged in the daylight, traipsing along the sidewalk as if she weren’t yards away from an incredible mistake.
Fear slithered through her veins and tainted whatever thinly veiled resolve was draped over her heart and mind.
She could’ve stayed on the sidewalk. Called an Uber. But her feet led her around a corner and then another until she was staring the source of that fear in the eye. No more hiding.
Dayton stood beside his sleek, black car, arms limp at his sides and shoulders squared. Relaxed, in control.
