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"Why is that? You never did tell me."
"She—Well, it's—" I rub my forehead and try to think of a believable lie. Aye, now I'm reduced to deceiving my best mate. What a scunner I've become. "Her type of therapy wasn't working for me."
"Well, go over there and talk to her. Fix whatever the problem is."
"Bugger off, Hugh."
He raises his hands. "Calm down. I won't mention the K-word again."
I want to see Kate, but I cannae tell Hugh that. Donnae give a fuck about therapy. I need to let her know how I feel.
So I get my erse up off the sofa. "I'm going for a ride on my bike."
"Thought Kate told you not to do that. It's bad for your knee."
"I cannae sit here watching rugby with you anymore. I need to do something that will relax me. A good ride will do the job."
"Don't go overboard."
"Are you my mother or my best mate?"
Hugh smirks. "A bit of both lately."
I rush down to the parking garage and rev up the Harley. Aye, a ride will make me feel better. But I'm not just going sightseeing. I mean to find Kate. When I get to the clinic, I ignore the stab of panic that hits me when I think about what I plan to say to her and instead push through the doors, heading straight for the reception desk. That sweet lass, Mary, glances up from rifling through papers and smiles when she sees me.
"Mr. MacTaggart, how are you this afternoon?" she asks. "Donnae see you on the schedule today."
"I'm fine. And I don't have an appointment, but I need to speak to Kate."
"Oh, I'm sorry. She isn't here anymore."
"Is she ill?"
"No, she just doesn't work here anymore."
"Why not?"
Mary gives me a sympathetic smile. "Donnae know what happened, but she came in this morning and handed in her resignation, effective immediately."
No, she wouldn't do that. Kate loves her job. That's been my impression of her, anyway. The stubborn lass wouldn't quit because of me, because we had sex and it scared her. Well, maybe she might. Her fears have her tied up in double knots with a steel chain wrapped around them.
"Could another therapist help you?" Mary asks.
"No. I need Kate."
Without another word, I race out to my Harley and roar toward my destination—Kate Wagner's flat. I drive too fast, but miraculously don't get arrested or have an accident. My heart pounds as I park my bike, rushing to the elevator and tapping my foot on the floor so fast it makes my knee start to ache a wee bit, but I donnae give a shit.
The doors slide open.
I sprint—all right, I mostly hobble—to Kate's door and thump my fist on it three times. I'm breathing hard, so I force myself to take several slow breaths.
The door swings open, and Kate gawps at me. "What are you doing here?"
She doesn't need to sound so bloody shocked. Well, maybe she has good reason for feeling that way since she essentially told me to sod off.
"I need to talk to you," I say. "Please."
"There's no point. I'm moving back to America."
