Black Heart (Cursed Hearts #1)(5)

Well, it had been entertaining while it lasted, he thought dryly as he dropped his weight back on the lumpy couch. If the man hadn’t been an old friend of his father’s, he would have already screwed him over and ended this bullshit his way a week ago.

“Tristan, that wasn’t funny.”

“I’m afraid it was, Doc.” Tristan sighed, wondering why he hadn’t just left when he’d had the chance.

“Fine, I see that you're still being stubborn, so I’ll pick the topic for our session,” Dr. Bryne said, sounding put out.

“Pick away, Doc,” Tristan said as he lay back down on the couch. This time he didn’t bother to pick up his book.

“Do you want to talk about the fire or the shooting?”

Tristan gave him a bored look. “Doc, I understand that while I’m out on medical leave that I’m required to meet with you twice a week so I’ll indulge you in this,” he said, not bothering to mention that Hank promised to keep his ass on medical leave permanently if he didn’t answer questions about the shooting.

“Okay…,” Dr. Bryne said encouragingly.

“I chased a known child molester into a house. I found two missing boys tied to a radiator. I shot the prick and earned a bullet in my shoulder when I jumped in front of one of the boys. I killed the bastard and then his accomplice set the house on fire. We got trapped upstairs where my brother found us and led us to safety,” Tristan explained in a bored tone, as he sat back up, trying to get more comfortable, but it was impossible with his shoulder throbbing. “And before you ask, yes, my brother brings it up every chance he gets and no, he won’t let me live it down.”

“Well, he did save your life,” Dr. Bryne mumbled.

“I heard that,” Tristan muttered, lips twitching as he gestured impatiently for the doctor to continue. “Move onto something else.”

“Do you want to talk about your personal life?” At that, Tristan cocked an eyebrow with a silent warning to move onto a different subject, but the doctor simply ignored it. Dr. Bryne sighed with obvious annoyance as he asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“I see plenty of people,” Tristan bit out, not liking where this conversation was heading.

“I meant, are you seeing anyone romantically?” he further explained with a touch of aggravation lacing his tone.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“No.”

“You don’t see a problem with that?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed on the doctor. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Dr. Bryne answered without any hesitation.

“Why?” Tristan asked in a bored tone.

“I find it very odd that a twenty-nine year old man with your good looks and job has never in his life had a steady girlfriend, don’t you?”

Tristan sighed heavily. “My mother got to you, didn’t she?”

Dr. Bryne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course she had. His mother was out to see him married and a daddy as soon as possible. No matter how many times he told her to drop it, the woman just would not give up.

“Of course not,” Dr. Bryne answered as he shifted his gaze to the left. The man was a bad liar, Tristan noted. It wasn’t surprising. The man couldn’t bluff worth a damn at cards either.

“Look, Doc, I’ve dated plenty of women. I just don’t like to think of any of them as a girlfriend.”

“Because it’s a sign of permanency? Do you fear commitment?”

“Just clingy women, Doc.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not afraid of having a girlfriend. I just haven’t found one that I would enjoy spending any real amount of time with or consider bringing home to meet my parents.” It was complete bullshit, but Dr. Bryne seemed to buy it.

“Fine, let’s move onto something else.”

“Let’s.”

Dr. Bryne took a moment to look through his notes, pretending to look for something to discuss. Tristan sighed inwardly, knowing exactly what the doctor would bring up. The man was like a dog with a bone. “Well, it’s been almost twenty-four years since the incident at your biological grandmother’s house. Let’s talk about how you feel about that.”

“I feel fine,” he said with little emotion.

“I don’t think that you do. I think that it really bothers you and instead of coming in here prepared to talk about it, you leave it to me to set the direction of our sessions, hoping that I don’t talk about what’s really bothering you. I think that you can’t accept what happened. You’re hiding,” Dr. Bryne said, picking up the file and taking a pen out of his pocket.

“Are we really back to this again? Look, let me recap it for you, because I don’t want to sit here for the rest of the hour and go over every little detail with you or go in depth about ‘my feelings’. I was six years old at my grandmother’s house. I had a panic attack over something I can’t even remember and fell down the stairs. I tripped and hit my head against the wall, splitting my head open. I apparently freaked out on the way to the ambulance, probably from my concussion. My biological parents were pricks and decided they no longer wanted me. They signed me over to foster care where I stayed for only a couple of days, because my dad came and took me. He fostered me for two months and then he and my mom adopted me. That’s where I’ve been for the last twenty-four years, happy and healthy.”