Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(31)

I’m still torturing myself.

It took a lot to calm the hell down after I dropped her off, and I’m just firing myself back up. Shit, I’m still lying to myself. I’ve been wound tight ever since she first batted her long eyelashes at me.

I decide to stop standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking like a creeped out psycho, and start toward the front double doors. Hands stuffed into pockets, my eyes squinted in the blinding sun. What used to give me a sense of peace, a haven, now stirs a combination of unease and anticipation inside me. My neck and shoulders are tense as I push through the door. I’m not sure if I’m dreading seeing Mel or excited.

I bypass the counselors’ hallway and head straight for Nurse Bridge. To see if there’s any maintenance hours I can pick up for my proactive community service. Nothing can get me to go back to Doctor Carly’s office. Last time was enough. Despite my momentary lapse with Miata Guy, I’ve been doing well with my anger. Or I was, until she started her interrogation into Hunter.

If yesterday wasn’t proof enough that I’m doing fine on my own, then I don’t know how else to prove it. If I was ever going to run off and get stoned, yesterday would have been that day. But I didn’t. Did I think about it? Yeah. I didn’t, though.

Jacquie will just have to accept the community service and forget the therapy meetings. If it’s not good enough, f*ck it. I’ll do my time. I’d rather sit in a six-by-six cell and make friends with the local cons than sit with that doctor picking holes at my brain for one more minute.

“Boone, I didn’t know you’d be back today.” Nurse Bridge, right on time. Saving me from my own defeating thoughts.

“Yeah, hey, Nurse Bridge. Denise said I might be able to help out around here some more. If you need me.” Sink my hands down farther in my pockets. Stare past her head, not into her eyes.

It doesn’t work; she’s a sharp one. Her face pinches, the worry line between her eyebrows deepens. “Is there something going on?”

Other than my ass getting put away? “Not really. Just thought it would be a good touch for the judge.” Her eyes widen. “For my probation hearing. I’m getting off soon.” Which is the truth—but I’m so full of shit on the rest. However, I don’t need one more person digging into my life. Too many people around here already know too much as it is.

She smiles and flutters the file she’s holding toward the end of the hall. “Doc Sid has been complaining about his blown overhead light for a week. I suppose you could start there?”

I match her smile and nod once. “I can do that.”

The tension in my neck has started to ease off. My stride’s more relaxed as I round the corner toward the office. I’m a grown ass man acting like a f*cking teenager with a stifled, raging libido. I smile to myself, shake my head. Almost laugh out loud until the sight at the end of the hallway jolts me to a stop.

Melody, sitting on the tile floor, her back pressed to the wall, knees pulled to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting against the wall as she stares at the ceiling.

And my first reaction? My first selfish thought? Run the other way.

We agreed not to get personal. Neither one of us wants anyone else meddling in our private shit. So this is the time when casual friends walk away. Come back when the smiles and flirtation returns. When it’s safe—and you’re not forced to ask questions.

With where I’m at, it’s the smart thing to do. Especially after what happened yesterday. A man can only be tested so hard. I’m not a saint. I damn well try to be, for Hunter. But Mel is a whole other level of temptation.

But I’ve taken too long to consider my options. She looks up and spots me. Her large brown eyes absorb me, beckoning me closer. They pull me in, and before I know I’m even moving, my feet are closing the gap between us.

Maybe she wasn’t seeing me at all, just staring off. Because when she realizes I’m coming toward her, she attempts to wipe away all traces of fear, tears, and sadness from her face.

She sniffs hard and clears her voice. But doesn’t say anything.

I do. “What’s wrong?”

There. Two simple words. Could be any two people meeting in a hallway, asking the same thing, and it’d mean absolutely nothing. But for us, those words break through every barrier we’ve assembled.

Her choice: answer something noncommittal, like “nothing,” and give me the brush off. Securing our casual friendship remains the same. Or, answer honestly…changing everything.

I’m not sure which I’m rooting for. Just as I wasn’t sure yesterday if I wanted her to accept my rejection—or push past all my barriers and tell me to f*ck off, she was taking control. I lied when I told myself I was relieved; I wanted this girl to scare the shit out of me, to make me react.

Her throaty voice cuts through the suffocating fear creeping over me. “I got a letter. From a friend. He’s just been released from jail.”

I notice the folded paper in her hand. Her fingertips pinching the paper, holding it away from herself. “That’s good news.” It’s not a statement; it’s a question.

She nods. “Yeah.”

Silence thickens between us.

“Walk?” I offer, hoping I can get her out of whatever funk this friend has caused.

Nodding again, she picks herself off the floor and folds the letter to make it smaller. She stuffs it into the back pocket of her jean skirt before saying, “So how did you fair with the blue balls yesterday? You seem to be walking all right.”