I shrug, wincing. “It’s snowing. I live like five miles from here. Sure as fuck wasn’t gonna walk.”
He walks over to the light switch and turns it off. The dull, muted gray light coming in from the window is our only light source. I could kiss him.
“Light bothers you?”
“Yep.”
“Sound?”
“Fuck yes.”
“What about changes in your vision? Any tunnel-like vision or colorful auras or zig-zags in your line of sight?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’m going to check a few things, but you might be suffering from migraines.”
No shit, Sherlock.
He smirks at my sardonic expression. “And I’m going to give you something for them. I’m going to perform a full physical first, though. I’d prefer to make my own assessments rather than read what the hospital doctor had to say.”
We spend the next half hour or so with him checking everything from my temperature to pressing on the scars on my head. I’m eager to get the prescription to see if it brings me some relief.
“You found a job yet?” he asks when he finishes up.
“Nope.”
“Have you tried?”
I shrug. “I can’t look at the computer for more than ten seconds. What’s the point?”
“Do you feel like that a lot?”
“Like what?”
“Like there’s no point?”
Yes.
“No,” I lie.
“How do you feel about your scars?”
“Fuckin’ ugly as fuck.”
He sighs. “Listen. I’m going to be straight with you. From what I’ve observed since you’ve come out of your coma compared to before the accident, you’re different. It’s understandable considering what you went through. No one’s expecting you to be all smiles. That accident has physically changed you. Disfigured you.”
I flip him off. Blunt like his fucking kid, Penny.
“I’m not insulting you,” he continues. “I’m simply stating that it’s impacting your mental health.”
I glower at him. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist, but having had children who suffer from disorders like anxiety and depression, I’m able to pick up on the signs.”
“Do I look anxious?” I snap.
“Do you feel anxious?” he throws back. “Do you feel overwhelmed?”
“What do you think?”
“Terrence, man, help me help you. Do you ever have dark thoughts? Suicidal ones?”
“Like wanting to blow your fucking head off because your head hurts so goddamn bad and it never goes away?” I snap. “Naw, man, never.”
“Behavioral changes can often be an indicator of mental disorders,” he says, undeterred. “I’m going to prescribe you an antidepressant and a low-dose anxiety medication. I want to see you in a week. The migraine meds plus these others might help you see significant improvement. I also want you to get back to physical therapy.”
“My body is fine,” I grumble.
“I watched your big ass limp in here. When you can walk through here without limping, maybe I’ll believe that.” He studies me for a long beat. “I want to help you, Terrence. I’m on your side. You know this or you wouldn’t have sought me out.”
He’s right.
I know he’s right.
“All right,” I concede. “Sorry for being a whiney bitch.”
“You’re not a whiney bitch,” he assures me. “Maybe a punk-ass bitch, but not a whiney one.”
I laugh. “You’re an asshole like Penny.”
“At least she has her mother’s looks going for her,” he jokes. “Okay, I’ll get these sent to the pharmacy you have listed. Do you need a ride home?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
He purses his lips together. I know he doesn’t believe me, but I am not about to let this dude run me around town because I have a fucking headache.
“Thanks,” I grit out as we walk out of his office together.
He follows me into the lobby area where a man and a little girl are waiting to be seen. I squint, focusing on the guy who’s filling out paperwork.
It’s Jack fucking Henderson.
My gaze drops to the little girl. Curly, white-blond hair, light brown skin. She can’t be more than five. Her bottom lip pouts out, a slight tremble to it. Garrett is speaking to me, but I’ve tuned him out. Something has me walking forward, needing to see her up close. The little girl tilts her head up, familiar brown eyes staring back at me. Brown eyes I look at every goddamn day.
Lacey.
Goddammit, Lacey.
What the fuck did you do?
“Where’s Lacey?” I bark out at Jack.
His head snaps up, shock morphing his features at seeing me. He bursts to his feet, anger flaring in his eyes. “She’s still in Florida.”
This dude is sketchy as fuck.
“Give me her number. Her address,” I demand.
He snatches the little girl’s hand, dragging her away from me. “No.”
“Man, I’m not playin’ with you. Give me her fucking number.”
The little girl starts to cry, which only seems to enrage Jack further. He scoops her up and hauls ass out of Garrett’s clinic. I glare through the glass as he puts the girl in the backseat of his car and then peels out, fishtailing in the snow.
The migraine has been intensified by the fury coursing through my veins. I clutch onto the wall to keep from falling to my ass.
“Terrence,” Garrett says softly, mindful of my migraine. “What was that?”
I turn to face him, unable to shake the mixture of confusion and anger and betrayal infecting my every cell. “That’s my fucking kid, man.”
The end…for now.
Up next is Hood River Zero!
Listen on Spotify here.
“I Really Want You to Hate Me” by Meg Myers
“White Noise” by Badflower
“Pain Told Love” by Tribe Society
“Love on the Brain” by Cold War Kids & Bishop Briggs
“Loud(y)” by Lewis Del Mar
“Spoiled” by flor
“Crossfire” by Stephen
“War of Hearts” by Ruelle
“Heroin” by Badflower
“DWI” by MISSIO
“The Devil You Know” by X Ambassadors
“Hi-Lo (Hollow)” by Bishop Briggs
“Outta My System” by Tribe Society
“Ghost” by Badflower
“Middle Fingers” by Missio
Thank you to my husband. You’re my favorite Hoodlum. Love you, boo.
A huge thank you to my Krazy for K Webster’s Books reader group. You all are insanely supportive, and I can’t thank you enough.
A gigantic thank you to those who always help me out behind the scenes. Elizabeth Clinton, Ella Stewart, Misty Walker, Holly Sparks, Jillian Ruize, Gina Behrends, Wendy Rinebold, Ker Dukey,
