Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(22)

My attention perks up. “She already has a date?”

Her lips spread into a bright smile, but I can tell it’s forced. She’s dealt with all kinds of delinquents. I’m sure she’s used to them only being concerned about one thing: themselves. Probably doesn’t make her job any easier.

“Yes, but I’ll let her discuss that with you.” She smiles again, and I take the hint. We’re moving on to why I’m here.

“I’ve read some of your file.” She pats the manila folder in her lap. “But why don’t you tell me why you think you’re here.”

Straight to the point. It normally takes them a couple sessions to get to this question. However, the state’s not footing this bill. So I appreciate her not padding the tab.

“I lost control. Got angry at a driver, and let my emotions get the better of me.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling the messily sculpted spikes bounce back into place. “Afterward, I felt awful. Like I knew what I was doing wasn’t right at the time, but I just lost my temper for that moment.” I smile wanly, lay on a bit of charm. “At court, I plan to apologize to the guy. I didn’t get the chance to do so before.”

The creases around her mouth deepen as she nods and smiles. The weathered lines on her face suggest she’s had a lifetime full of them, and she’s been smiling this whole time. “Well, it seems you’re very observant of your behavior.” I nod, agreeing. “And also plenty full of shit.”

My head jerks to a halt.

Her eyebrows raise as she opens the file and dives in. “I’m sure you’re quite the charmer, Boone. I’ve heard your speech here a couple of times, and I see how well you handle the nurses and the other counselors. You really know how to give people what they want.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Then, “I do understand what I did, Misses…”

“Just Carly. I don’t need the reminder of my age.” This time, I smile. “And yes, I believe you do understand. That’s why I’m not letting you slip right out of here so easily.” She thumbs through a couple of pages. “Since I’ve been at this for a long time”—she eyes me—“and you’ve had enough therapists to counter my years, let’s skip the beginner stuff and jump right into the fire, shall we?”

Although what she’s suggesting should scare me shitless, and it does, I can’t help but appreciate this feisty lady and her candor. “Shoot,” I tell her.

For the first time, her smile falls. And I know she’s going in for the kill.

“Tell me about Hunter.”



A hole has been punched into my chest. I’m bleeding all over the floor. My lungs are filled with blood. I’m suffocating, and the shredded pieces of the flesh splay from the hole, fall to the floor, splash the walls.

So when I see Melody, and she says, “Stalk much, creeper?” my insides bubble and rage. The hole grows and swallows me. I can’t stop it.

“Full of yourself, much?” I respond, then turn the corner down the hall, heading toward the side door. I need air.

“What the…?” I hear her say before her rapidly paced footsteps are catching up with mine.

I push through the doors leading to the outside courtyard. The heat smacks me in the face and steals the rest of the air from my lungs. “Fuck. I’m so goddamned sick of the heat.” I rear my fist back, aimed at the brick wall, and stop mid-punch. Jam my hand in my hair and grip at the roots.

What the f*ck! I haven’t had a reaction like this in a long, long time. I’ve carefully maneuvered things in my life to be just out of reach…for others. Not to get to me. Just keep everyone smiling and happy and unconcerned. And that Carly bitch just…Christ.

I groan. My hands slide down my face. My heart is pounding in my ears. Either from the heat or my soaring blood pressure. Probably both.

I can feel Melody behind me. Sense her. But she doesn’t say anything.

All of a sudden, I realize how out of control I am. How she must see me. The complete opposite of the calm, controlled guy she saw giving the practiced to perfection speech. The guise is over. Whatever cool and collected persona I was trying to impress her with is gone.

“Want to get out of here?”

The words are out of my mouth before my brain can process them. I turn around to face her, my throat tight, my pulse jumping.

Melody is wearing her pink bandana around her wrist. She looks me in the eyes while fidgeting with the worn, folded material. “We’re not supposed to leave, right?”

It feels like she actually thought that reply through. I expected a snarky response; something mocking my sudden detour from Mr. Do-gooder. If she only knew.

“It’s not lockdown. You’re required to finish your treatment, which most find harder if they leave.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and jerk my head in the direction of the parking lot. “That’s my bobber right there. One ride. I won’t rat you out.”

Her gaze travels over the courtyard to my bike, and her brown eyes widen. “Ride?” She grabs my arm and pulls me behind her as she power walks. “Why the hell didn’t you say that from the start.”





Melody

The demons do envy, do dream



SINCE BEING INCARCERATED AT Stoney Creek, I have become the walking dead.