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He’s used to my lies.
I put my car in park and then step out, taking in the massive home. Dark paint is peeling from the wood and it appears that half the porch is leaning slightly to one side. With my luck, it’ll probably collapse the moment I step on it.
Not that I’m anywhere remotely big.
Shrimp. Baby. Little Pussy.
For someone who helps people get past their traumas, I have a heck of a time getting past mine.
Funky meows loudly and I fetch his carrier from the back seat. His golden eyes are wide, assessing our new home with suspicion.
“It’s fine,” I chirp, voice high and not at all reassuring to either of us. “Everything’s fine.”
Meow.
Funky is apprehensive. Understandably so. It’s not the first time I’ve said this phrase seconds before my life blew up.
“This time is different,” I hiss.
Meow.
In kitty-speak, he means to say, “No, it won’t be, Tate.”
I have to believe this is the turning point, though.
Ever so gracefully, I climb the steps, leery of weak boards, and make my way over to the front door. I swallow down my unease and then force myself to take a few steadying breaths.
Breathe, Tate.
You got this, man.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Heavy footsteps thud through the house. Nathan mentioned I’d be helping the whole family but that I’d be staying with his son, who needs me the most. He didn’t elaborate, but he said his son lost his mother tragically and hasn’t taken it well. That was nearly two decades ago. There’s going to be a lot of trauma to unpack.
Thunk.
The sound of a deadbolt unengaging echoes loudly and then the door opens. I’m not sure what I expect, but it certainly isn’t the Boogieman.
Funky hisses in terror.
I freeze, mouth agape.
The man—no, the monster—who towers above me is straight from nightmare territory. He wears a white latex mask, sporting all black.
“I, uh, I’m Tate Prince. Your dad hired me. I’m the therapist who—”
“No.”
I blink at him, shocked at him cutting me off so rudely. The muffled word barely constituted a word and was more of an animalistic grunt.
A shudder runs down my spine and I visibly shiver.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my fair share of patients who’ve gotten nasty with me, but I’ve always handled those situations with professional ease.
This feels different.
They were in my office seeking help.
