Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I go cold. “New therapist?”
Maximoff tries to conceal his dread by blinking. A hell of a lot.
Lo sniffs the leftover beef. “How old is this?” He throws the container on the counter and hunts for other food. “Yeah, my therapist retired, and he recommended some guy that he helped mentor. Kaden Simmons—I think he’s around your age, Farrow.”
I comb a hand through my hair. I feel sick.
Maximoff is now trying to comfort me, his strong hand on my taut shoulder. It took everything in me not to confront that fucker at Hale Co.—I let him drift away.
For Maximoff, I’m sure this is just mortifying at worst. His old hookup is his dad’s therapist.
For me, this is a fucking nightmare. Kaden hurt him when he should’ve cared about Maximoff enough to go slow and be safe. It was Maximoff’s first time. And Kaden didn’t give a shit.
I actually fucking hate him—to the point where I want to get in his face.
Fuck, if he tries to speak to Maximoff, I might lose it. Easy solution: I tell Lo that Kaden slept with his son. He’d fire him.
That bastard will never be in our stratosphere.
But I’m biting my tongue.
Lo isn’t in a good place, and I care about his health like Maximoff does. Only bad will come from me exploding a bomb at his feet and ripping away a tool he’s using to get better. Maximoff won’t want that either.
“You like your new therapist then?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He pops open another leftover container. “So far, so good.”
11
FARROW KEENE
Bursts of light strike my groggy, half-lidded eyes. Wrenching me awake. After the intense sex, emotional conversation, and “Kaden is Lo’s therapist” gut-punch realization, I feel like we just blew up the air mattress and fell asleep.
But I adjust fast. Used to kicking my ass awake for my job: medicine and security. I turned my phone on silent so the vibration wouldn’t disturb Maximoff, but the screen lights up from texts.
His cheek rests against the crook of my neck, my arm curled around his shoulders. The air mattress already deflated to where we’re tucked against one another in the sunken middle.
Carefully, slowly, so I don’t wake him, I reach over to the orange rug, about to shut off my phone.
But I catch sight of the texts, and it jolts me.
Fucking hell.
I bow upright with abrupt force, stirring Maximoff.
My worry explodes like a fucking barrel of dynamite as I click into the string of messages that have been blasting off for the past ten minutes. All from Donnelly.
I’m outside your door.
Please open up
I can’t knock
I don’t wanna wake anyone else
FARROW
Fuck. Please open up
This is serious
Like real fucking serious
I need you
Please
I’m already climbing off the mattress, wobbling a little to gain footing on the floor.
“Farrow.” Maximoff stands, and I reach the door, hand on the knob, and as soon as I open it, my stomach drops.
My friend is sitting on the ground in the hallway, phone hanging limply in his hand. Elbows resting on his bent knees where his jeans are worn and ripped. Donnelly’s eyes are bloodshot, but I can’t discern if he’s been crying or if he’s just angry.
Right now, faint irritation lies behind glassy blue eyes. “I’ve been texting you,” Donnelly whispers as he stands.
“I’m here.” I put a hand on his back, pushing him into the room. Gently, I shut the door and twist the lock. Maximoff pulls a T-shirt on over his head. His tough forest-greens dart between us, but he stops on Donnelly.
“Aren’t you on Xander’s night-duty?” Concern tenses his muscles. “Is he alone?”
“Nah.” Donnelly runs a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t do that. I called Thatch first. He’s in your brother’s room.”
Maximoff nods, but he’s still prepared for this to swing in a bad direction. And having him present during any shit storm is helpful. As his family would say, he’s Captain America.
Donnelly spins to me. Eyes still raw. He opens his mouth and shuts it.
I wonder if he’s thinking what I am.
He got ahold of Thatcher Moretti long before I answered. Hurt piles up against me, and whatever’s going on, I just need to be here for him.
I am now.
Before I can say anything else, Donnelly chokes out, “I’m in deep shit, man.” He puts both of his hands, palms-down, on top of his head. Distress rings in every inch of him. “And I don’t know what to do.”
I hold out a hand. “Let’s just take it one step at a time.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Maximoff moving into gear. He zips from his desk to his bed, collecting things and throwing them in a backpack.
Internally, I’m smiling, my love for Maximoff mounting in a time where I really need to feel that good thing.
I focus on Donnelly. “Start from the top.”