Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(21)

Normally, I’m not this judgmental, and a straightedger like Boone wouldn’t have even registered on my mocking radar—but hell, it’s been a shitty month. Even I need an emotional punching bag once in a while.

I reach for the pen on the little table beside my bed. Boone might as well be where I start my own story. Or rather, the detour of my story.

Only as I begin to write, remembering our convo about keeping our secrets from each other, I find myself wishing he could have met Dar. Maybe that’s why I’m so off my game—she’s the other half of me, the part he or anyone else in my future will never meet. There’s nothing I can tell him of myself without her.

Are you listening, my grudge?

Do you hear her silence?

Whispers of thoughts never voiced, failed heart echoed off the void,

Down into the deep,

She haunts.

I stare at the words until they blur and bleed off the page. Then I turn off my bedside lamp and bury my pain so far down, it will take an excavation to unearth it again.

She’s in the pages now.





Boone

Tears stain, corrode, and beckon evil sprites



MELODY DIDN’T COME TO guest speaker night. I don’t know why I even noticed, or why she’s on my mind now, other than while being around her, for however short a moment, I’m not thinking about Hunter.

Even though that comes with its own confusing dose of guilt, I can’t help but crave that brief reprieve. Have one second where the weight of it all isn’t crushing me.

She’s a distraction.

An addicting one.

I trudge down the hall on my way to sign in my volunteer time at Stoney Creek. The heat from outside is seeping in through the walls, the windows, the roof. You can almost smell the blistering sun baking the asphalt outside through the ventilation system. The heat index for today is above 110.

That alone is why Jose wasn’t too happy about letting me off early so I could get my community service time. Half the guys on the crew were complaining about the heat, asking to either come in hours earlier or later in the day. Not wanting to chance a heat stroke. If he lets me off, he has to do the same for them.

But I only have so much room for guilt. If this job tanks, I can find another one. Pool boys are a dime a dozen in Florida. I usually go through at least two companies a year.

At the sign-in counter, Doris smiles. “Boone, you’re just in time for your appointment with Doctor Carly.”

Shit. I forgot about Jacquie setting this up. She works quick. “Thanks, Miss Doris. How’s the fam?”

“Fine, just fine.” Her southern accent is thick, and she drawls the words out. “Bryn is graduating this year, and about to drive us all batty with trying on gowns.” She shakes her head. “Lordy.”

My lips twitch. “Women, huh?”

She nods. “Bless your heart, Boone. When you find yourself one to settle down with, I’m sure she’ll be a keeper.” She jerks her head toward the side door. “You can go on back.”

Her words fade into the background of my thoughts. Doris, though sweet, has no idea about the women in my life, or what they’ve put me through. A dress issue is so foreign compared to what I’ve dealt with.

Rapping my knuckles on the door, I clear my throat. Put my guard in place. Counselors—all counselors—no matter the type or their beliefs, have one thing in common: they probe the shit out of you. Trying to keep them out of your head and your emotions in check is exhausting.

The door opens, and an older woman with thick red frames and graying short hair eyes me closely. “Boone, I presume. Come on in.” She opens the door farther and motions toward the sofa against the wall.

Wow. She’s old school. I haven’t seen a shrink sofa since…never. Only in movies, with the distraught person lying down with a pillow covering their face. This feels pretty cliché already.

I take a seat. Prop my booted heel on my knee. Run my hands over my jeans. Look at the plaques and pictures on the walls. She’s in one, maybe twenty years back or so, on a cruise ship with a guy standing next to her. His arm around her shoulder. Smiling. Sunset. It screams happy couple.

Nice. I love it when a shrink’s office has constant reminders of how mentally healthy they are. A reminder to patients about how well adjusted we are not.

“My husband,” she says, nodding toward the picture. “Down on a cruise in the Keys.”

I nod slowly. Normally, I don’t mind listening to people tell their stories. I actually like it, like getting to know people. I’m not an outright *. Unlike my actions with Miata Guy the day before suggest. But she’s not some nice lady I met at the supermarket. She’s going to try to strip my walls down and tell me about myself. She wants to cause me pain.

I’ve had enough of that for the rest of my life. I just need to get through these meetings, make Jacquie happy again, and not f*ck up. I’ve been mostly sober since about a month after the “incident.” That’s what Jacquie refers to it as. And that shit yesterday on the highway was just…blowing off pent-up steam.

My body showcases a few new bruises from last night, so the rage should stay checked for a while.

“So, Boone, Jacquie says you’re one of her special cases. I don’t usually treat people who aren’t admitted to Stoney Creek, but she’s a good friend, and I respect her opinion. She thinks maybe we can work through a few things before your court date.”