Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(81)
Or—and this is where his heart clutched and he envisioned a hundred yellow ribbons around a f*cking oak tree he didn’t even have—did Mel actually mean what she’d written? Which would mean that she was in contact with Ryan and, therefore, Verity. That would mean that not only did they not leave, they were seeing Melody regularly enough for his cousin to know that Ryan missed him.
He didn’t want to feel the sudden exhilaration that made his heart race like hell. Part of him despised the sharp, almost painful, rush of hopefulness that made his breath catch. Was there a chance she’d stayed? Was there a chance she’d not only stuck around, but still loved him enough to keep an eye on his cousin? Could there still be a place in her heart for imperfect, brutal, desperately-in-love him?
Propping up the note on the small desk in his room, he took out a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil, and with one final look of hopefulness at Melody’s improbable news, he started another letter.
CHAPTER 18
Dr. Warren stood outside of Central State Hospital with Colt, waiting for the social worker who would pick him up and drive him back to Atlanta for a supervised visit with Mel before heading home. It grated on him that, after serving his sixty days “with flying colors” (according to the doc), he was required to have a watchdog while he visited his cousin. But Dr. Warren had already send a letter to Judge Stanton, advising that Colt was a fit guardian, so Colt expected for his guardianship status to be reinstated by the end of October at the latest. He hoped, anyway.
God, there was so much he hoped for.
He’d finally written and mailed his letter to Verity six days ago, after working on it for about twenty-four hours straight. He had considered sending it to her care of The Legend of Camelot, which had to have a forwarding address for taxes and such, but he didn’t trust Lynette to go to the trouble of sending it to her, so he sent it to his house, hoping against hope that Verity was still there. It had occurred to him that if she was there, she’d already received it. It had also occurred to him that if she was—by some miracle—still there, he could simply pick up the phone and call her. But at some point he’d decided to take his chances and just show up. He reasoned that if she wasn’t there, it didn’t matter, and if she was, he’d have a better chance convincing her to stay if she could see the regret and love in his eyes.
“Exciting to head home today?” asked Dr. Warren.
Colt shrugged. “Excited? I don’t know. Scared out of my freaking mind is more like it.”
“It’ll be good to see Melody either way, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve missed her.”
And he had.
He’d only entered the treatment because his guardianship of Melody meant so much to him. If he hadn’t care about her, he’d have just told the judge that the state could take care of her indefinitely, and he would have been on his merry way sixty days ago. But being responsible for Mel and honoring his promises to Aunt Jane, was important to him.
And frankly Dr. Warren had been partially right. Verity was the best thing that had ever happened to Colt, but his two-month stint at Central State was a not-too-far second. For the first time in his life, he lived without the incessant roil of thunder inside. Not that he was suddenly happy-go-lucky—he’d never be that—but the tight coils of anger that had kept a fire raging within him were cooler. Did he still get angry? Sure. But using his fists or being destructive wouldn’t be his go-to solution anymore. Through his therapy sessions with Dr. Warren, he’d learned to embrace other methods of solving disputes and expressing his feelings, and the SSRI kept that hard edge filed down.
“You have that appointment card? For Dr. Woodruff?”
Colt nodded. “Yep. I’ll go see her tomorrow.”
“She’s going to expect you every Friday morning at nine o’clock. Indefinitely. Colton, I can’t stress enough—”
“Doc,” said Colt, looking at the man who’d been his doctor and his friend. “I’ll be there at nine on the dot. And I’ll take my meds every day. I don’t want to go back to who I was.”
“Who you were wasn’t so bad,” said Dr. Warren.
“Who I am now is better,” said Colt.
Through the main gates he saw a silver sedan approaching, and Colt turned to Dr. Warren, offering his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“You’re a good man, Colton Lane,” said the doc, giving him a wide smile as he shook Colt’s hand. “Keep in touch, huh? I want to hear that you figured things out with that girl and have a dozen kids together.”
“From your lips, doc . . .,” he said, his chest swelling with hope even as his mind forced him not to get too far ahead of himself.
Dr. Warren leaned into the open passenger window, handing the social worker some paperwork, then clapped Colt on the arm. “Godspeed, my friend.”
And a hundred yellow ribbons, thought Colt, slipping into the passenger seat and waving good-bye.
***
The state had put a hold on Colton’s mail while he was undergoing treatment, but on day sixty, like clockwork, four large U.S. Postal Service bins arrived at the house, a sweaty mail carrier asking for Verity’s signature in order to leave them.
She’d been on pins and needles all morning, glad that it was a Thursday and Ryan would be at Bonnie’s Place from nine to five. If Colton demanded they vacate his house, she could pack them up quickly and take the bus to her brother without him witnessing a scene.