The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(28)

“How is that working out for him, being on the board?” I interrupt, done talking about me. She shakes her head and looks out over the tables.

“Ever since Travis went missing years back, things went downhill quickly with Travis’s family. Your father has pretty much taken over everything at the hospital. Travis’s father became a drunk, and was taken off the board soon after Travis’s disappearance. Last I heard, they were bankrupt and living in the worst part of town,” she continues. I close my eyes, hating to hear Travis’s family is suffering. I assumed they would move on from the loss of their son, and continue ruling the medicine industry. But why would I know that? I don’t talk to them and my mother usually knows not to talk about them around me.

I nod, and raise my hand ready to order. Ready to eat and leave.

Over the rest of our meal, we talk about my mother wanting to repaint a room in her house, and celebrity gossip. I give her a big hug and kiss, and nearly sprint to my Jeep, ready to get away from memories that always seem to swim forward when I’m around my mom.

I lean over and turn the stereo on, Usher’s “His Mistakes” is playing. Travis, Vincent, and Bobby all come to my mind at once. Making my body tense. I’m more than aware that Vincent and Bobby have more than a few similarities. Why did I run to Vincent but run from Bobby? I take a deep breath and roll my window down. I run because of Travis, the middleman between it all.





6


Bobby





Parking my bike in front of Jessica’s apartment, I head to her gate. As I go to punch in the numbers, the gate swings open. It’s not locked.

“What the hell?” I push the gate the rest of the way open, and head toward Jessica’s apartment.

I notice stains on the carpet as I walk in, and the hallway has a musky smell to it. I haven’t been here in a few months, but the last time I was here, it was an upscale place, and if I remember right, Jessica said the rent wasn’t cheap.

I knock on Jessica’s door, hoping she wasn’t called in to work.

The door whips open and Jessica is standing in a white tank top, white panties, and an untied blue robe. The cool draft coming from the hall causes her nipples to peek through the thin material of her top. I can’t look away, my mouth watering to have them in my mouth.

“Shit, I thought you were Bree,” Jessica shrieks, trying to cover herself with her hands. “What are you doing here?” she asks harshly, wrapping the robe around her half-naked body. She doesn’t like it when I come to her house, but I do it anyway.

“I made sure to wait until Addie was at school, chill,” I reply, stepping around her, making my way into her place.

She sighs and shuts the door behind me. Her apartment is clean and smells of coffee. The overstuffed tan couch sits in front of an entertainment center, and there’s a desk in the corner with a large computer. Looking to my right, a small kitchen with a wooden top island sits, complete with white bar stools, and stainless steel appliances lining the back wall. She moved a few things around since I was here last, but it’s mostly the same.

“We need to talk,” I inform her, sitting on one of the stools. Her eyes peek above her coffee mug as she takes a sip, looking at me with a concerned glare. My eyes travel down her body, the tops of her breasts swelling above her top, and a sliver of her belly showing between her shirt and panties. I turn my head and adjust my semi-hard dick. Jessica is the most stunning woman I know. If I keep eye f*cking her, I’ll never get out what I came here to say.

“I think I can help you,” I start, biting my bottom lip in nervousness.

Jessica’s body stiffens and she looks away from me. “How?” she whispers, instinctively knowing what I am talking about. I interlock my fingers sitting on top of the island, and swallow.

“I think you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” I inform softly, waiting for her to bite my head off and argue. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it though. I looked up PTSD all day yesterday, and I’m certain that is what Jessica has.

“No, I don’t,” Jessica snaps offended, her blue eyes stabbing me angrily, and her fingers digging into her mug.

“Yes, you do, Jessica. You live in fear of your ex-husband. He’s conditioned your mind, trained you to behave a certain way. You can’t do things you used to do because he is still in your mind, haunting you severely,” I bark, pointing to my head to emphasis my point.

Jessica leans against her counter, scowling, and shaking her head at me.

“I have a friend who is a therapist. I briefly told her what was going on and she said it was PTSD,” I answer, my tone more gentle than before.

Jessica closes her eyes and huffs. I can tell she is not happy I told someone else about what she told me, but I was out of my league and I needed advice.

“Medicine doesn’t work. Therapy doesn’t work, so whether or not I have PTSD is pointless. Nothing helps,” she clips, shrugging.

“I have a different medicine,” I smirk. Her scowl turns into a look of curiosity.

“What?” she questions, her blue eyes looking at me like I’m her last hope.

I also searched exposure therapy all day yesterday. It has a high rate in effectiveness, making me more eager to try it. I worry my lips between my teeth and take a deep breath. I’m a little nervous at how she is going to react.