“Do you think you’re just making these conclusions to fit a narrative you’ve created? It’s called confirmation bias. When you find evidence to support a theory you’ve concocted.” He waves his hands over the pictures and the myriad of documents lying across his table.
“Don’t get all doctor-y on me right now, Liam. This isn’t all in my head.”
“Have you searched for adoption records or anything like that?”
“I did and nothing came up.” His eyes light up at the same time he grimaces. He has an idea, and from the looks of it, he doesn’t want to tell me what it is. “What is it?”
He shrugs. “It’s nothing. It’s far-fetched. We’ll circle back if we reach a dead end.”
“Where do you think I’m at, Liam? Short of buying a goddamn ancestry kit I don’t know what else to do. I can’t talk to my siblings about it. They’re all busy and perfect with their perfect lives and significant others. They’ll think I’m crazier than I apparently already am.”
“It’s just…it’s something you said. Your mom keeps making comments about your dad…what if your dad isn’t your dad?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…your mom making these comments obviously indicates she knows who your dad is. Maybe she’s your mom, but someone else is your dad.”
I throw my head back on a defeated groan. I was thinking the same thing; I just didn’t want to say it. “I think you might be right,” I admit.
Out of everyone in my family, my dad is the person I’m closest to. I’m daddy’s little girl, even with all the shit I’ve done and been through. He’s never wavered in his love and respect for me. Could this be why? Is he overcompensating for the fact I’m not his biological daughter?
“I have to talk to them.” I haphazardly grab all my papers and shove them back into my purse. Liam grabs my arm, stopping me from leaving.
“Maybe you should slow down a little. You’re angry and not thinking clearly. Jumping to conclusions like this is a bit rash.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I need to ask them. If there’s something they’re not telling me…I have a right to know.” I stand and pace. I’m ready to throw shit, shatter glass, break anything and everything in sight. “When the hell are these meds supposed to kick in? Aren’t they supposed to control my anger or something?”
“The medication takes several weeks to stabilize your neurochemical imbalances.”
I stare at him with one brow raised. “First of all, several weeks? What’s the point of this shit if it’s not going to do anything!” I kick a chair at his dinner table, pushing it into another.
“Okay. Take a deep breath. First, come back and sit down and leave my chairs alone. Second, if you run in there accusing them they won’t want to tell you anything.” I understand what he’s saying, but I’m pissed. I demand better than this. I shouldn’t have to piece together my life because my parents lied to me for the last twenty-one years.
But I don’t think Liam is going to let me leave his house until I placate him.
I sigh as I take a seat across from him and force my eyes downcast. “You’re right. I’m not thinking clearly. I have a twenty minute drive home where I can calm down and think of a plan. Thank you. I feel better.” I may be in therapy, but I’m not going to do a complete one-eighty after a few short weeks. I smile and push up, ready to leave, but he stops me. Again.
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” Yeah, actually, I think I did. “I know when you’re lying, Flynn. I’m not just your therapist, you know. I know very intimate details about you.” The way he’s dragging his gaze down my body is doing things to my head.
He shouldn’t be looking at me like that. He broke up with me, in his half-ass, copy-out way. He doesn’t get to look at me like that anymore.
“Let me go, Liam. You don’t get a say in my life anymore.”
“Did I ever get a say in your life?” I smirk. He’s got a point. “Why are you here, Flynn?”
“What do you mean?”
“You called me for a reason. You came to me. This may be a major revelation, but you could’ve waited to tell me in therapy.”
My cheeks heat. “You’re the only person I wanted to talk to about this. You know me. You know…things.” Despite all the drama between us, I feel connected to him more than anyone. I couldn’t go to my friends about this. They wouldn’t get it.
His hazel eyes are stormy, filling with sadness and regret. He opens his mouth and I’m desperate to hear what he has to say, but his phone rings. It’s sitting on the table between us, screaming at me. I can’t help but glance down at the noise; it’s a reflex. I can’t help reading the name on the screen.
Miranda.
“I guess you need to get that.” A mixture of sadness and anger flood through me.
“It’s the absolute last thing I want to do, actually.” I raise an eyebrow, wanting to know more. I assumed since he told me about the kiss that the two of them were working things out, getting back together.
I may be dying for information, but I have more on my mind to worry about than my therapist and his maybe-not-so-ex-wife.
He silences the device and I steer the subject back to me. “What do I do?” The least he can do is offer me some advice
