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“Wait. What?” Nick asked.
That’s when Heather released the evil cackle, causing the other therapists in the room to laugh at their interaction.
“A warning would’ve been nice, guys,” he told them.
Heather patted his uninjured shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you on the books for the next month. We’ll start out with twice a week and reassess as we go. You’re in excellent physical shape, so I expect you to be back in fighting form in no time.”
Nick groaned as he slid off the table. “Two times a week?”
“You’ll need to do your at-home exercises on the days you don’t come in.”
“No rest for the wicked, and the righteous don’t need it,” Nick replied as he followed her to the front desk. It was one of his grandmother’s favorite quotes, and his mother had repeated it often. Nick found it curious how the brain could unearth gems like that at the perfect time. Little pearls of wisdom shucked from his mind’s oysters.
“Do Tuesdays and Thursdays work for you?” Heather asked, pulling Nick’s attention back to her.
“I’m very flexible, so put me wherever works for your schedule.” They settled for ten o’clock on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Nick quirked a brow when she handed him a navy canvas bag with the center’s logo on it. “Parting gifts? Wine and bath bombs?”
Heather snorted. “Stretchy bands, illustrated workout sheets depicting how to use them, a long ice pad with a strap to keep it in place, and Biofreeze.”
“Well, that’s almost as good as wine and bath bombs,” Nick lied.
Heather laughed and shook her head. “I like you.”
Nick placed a hand over his heart and feigned a swoon. “I wish I could say the same.”
The room erupted in laughter over their banter, and Nick bowed playfully to his audience before leaving. He’d always been a bit of a joker, but he’d suppressed it beneath rigorous expectations and obligations—both real and imagined. Maybe therapy was doing more for Nick than he realized. If not for wanting a functioning penis again, he wouldn’t have gone to the sessions. Nick might not have ever found the courage to make a move on Cash. He could have settled for a life full of what others wanted for him instead of what he needed for himself. That would’ve been a crime because his existence was so much richer with Cash by his side, and not because of the money.
Charles might not be his biological father, but he’d always treated Nick as a son. He’d never shown favoritism toward Rory and made it clear Nick was an equal heir to the Snyder fortune. Some might’ve taken the easy road knowing that, but it made Nick work harder. He never wanted Charles to regret the investments he’d made in Nick’s future. But Rory had forged his own path, and their relationship was even stronger for it. Nick didn’t owe Charles undying servitude for doing the right thing for his wife’s firstborn. His stepfather deserved honesty and the benefit of the doubt. And even though Charles was in the middle of a hotly contested bid for governor, Nick planned to have the conversation with him sooner than later. He didn’t want Charles to find out about his future plans from anyone besides him.
His phone rang through the Bluetooth connection, and Andi’s name popped up on the screen. She was getting back to him much quicker than he expected. Either her workload had lightened considerably over the past four days, or—
Nick cut off the negative thoughts before they could take off and pushed the button on his steering wheel to accept the call. “Hey, Andi,” he said. “I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.”
“Hey, Nicky. How’s recovery going?” There was a hint of tension in Andi’s voice that churned up his negative thoughts.
“My physical therapist is a sadist. Other than that, I can’t complain.”
“Give me her address, and I’ll send her flowers.” Then Andi heaved a sigh. “Listen, there’s no easy way to say this.”
“Hang on a minute,” Nick said. “I’m driving. Let me pull over.” Nick signaled at the next entrance and pulled into a shopping center. “Okay,” he said once he put the BMW in park. “Hit me with it.”
“Samuel Jeremiah doesn’t exist. I mean, the person in the videos presenting himself as Samuel Jeremiah is using a false identity. I took the information provided on the church’s website and cross-referenced it with the little detail I pulled from our sources. The man didn’t exist before he bought the property near Last Chance Creek.”
Nick’s heart sank, but the news didn’t surprise him. “No bank would’ve made a loan to someone without credit or a work history. He must’ve used cash.”
“And he got the property for a steal,” Andi said. “The previous owner died, and his kids just wanted to unload it for cash as quickly as possible. The images on Google Earth showed a dilapidated house with a tarp on the roof and equally run-down outbuildings. Looked like a small shed and a decent-sized barn.” She sighed again. “Do you have anything with his fingerprints on it? I could run them through the database to see if anything pops up.”
“No,” Nick said. “And I wouldn’t want to risk your career more than I already have. Thank you for getting back to me so soon. You’re a skilled agent and an even better friend.”
“You’re pretty okay yourself,” Andi replied. “Javier told me you have an interview at the academy soon.”
“Did Javier volunteer that information, or did you torture it out of him?”
Andi laughed. “A little of both. He asked my opinion of you, and I wouldn’t give it until he told me why.”
“He hasn’t called to cancel the interview, so you must’ve said something nice about me.” Nick considered it for a minute. “Or he just wants to see what a fuckup looks like in person.”
Andi’s annoyed tsk made him smile. “Fishing for compliments doesn’t suit you, my friend. I’m going to miss working with you.”
