Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(56)

“I don’t need it at all,” I said.

The nurse smiled. “You say that now, but in the middle of the night you might be glad to have it. Okay, that’s it.” The nurse started to go, then turned back. “I just wanted to tell you that we’re all so glad you’re doing so well, and to thank you for what you did at that bank. We’d have seen a whole lot more of those hostages in here had it not been for you.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, well…”

“Daddy’s a hero!” Callie said.

“That’s right, sugar,” said the nurse as she left the room. “He absolutely is, and none of us here are going to forget that anytime soon.”

Georgia hauled herself off the wall. “Come on, Callie. Time to go. See you Friday, Cory, and just…be ready. Things might not go your way.”

“Yeah, Friday, Georgia.” I turned to Callie and engulfed her in a big hug. “I love you, baby.”

“Love you too, Daddy,” Callie said. She pulled away and went to take her mother’s hand. “Oh, and I almost forgot. They’re waiting for you.”

“Who is waiting for me?”

“The people with cameras. They’re out front because someone told them you’re leaving today.”

Shit. I forced a smile. “Thanks, baby.”

“Sure, Daddy,” Callie said as her mother pulled her out the door. “Don’t say anything stupid!”

#

There were only a half a dozen reporters waiting out front. I could see them from the front desk. My truck had been driven to the outdoor parking lot; I had only to go down a small flight of stairs to reach it and make my escape, but it was impossible.

I turned to the receptionist at the desk. “This belongs to Alexandra Gardener.” I handed the baseball hat to the woman. “In case she comes looking for…it.”

I turned and strode to the front doors. Immediately, I was bombarded with questions. I held up my hands for quiet and found six handheld mics under my chin and four cameras trained on me.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not going to answer any questions,” I said. “I’d just like to get home and put all this behind me. But I do want to say thanks to the staff of doctors and nurses here who got me back on my feet. So, yeah. Thanks. Thanks, very much.”

I pushed past the reporters, ignoring their questions, and jogged across the parking lot. I locked himself into the safety and comfort of my old truck, but thankfully no one followed me. I heaved a sigh. It seemed like years instead of weeks since I’d been behind the wheel. I started the engine and it revved and growled perfectly despite its age.

I glanced at the hospital. Once I left, Alex wouldn’t know how to get in touch with me…should she want to. Which she wouldn’t. Why would she? It’s over. It’s all over.

“Okay,” I said. “Time to get back to work.”





Chapter Twenty-One


Alex



“So yeah. Thanks. Thanks very much.”

A beaming reporter faced the camera. “And there you have it. Humble words from a humble hero, but a hero, nonetheless. Frank? Back to you.”

I flipped off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. Almost two weeks without seeing Cory and I thought I had a handle on it. Sure, my sleep was erratic and I had found myself on the verge of driving to the hospital several times—I even made it to my driveway once before restraining myself—and now here he was, on a news report, interrupting my innocuous morning shows.

I checked my watch. My first appointment with Dr. Kinley was in forty-five minutes. Finally. It had taken weeks before his schedule had opened up enough to see me on a regular basis. Thank God it did. He’ll tell me it’s just residue from the robbery. I need to hear it from someone besides myself. A professional.

I jumped into my Mini and even with Los Angles traffic being what it was, I was ten minutes early.

#

Dr. Kinley’s office was warm, simple, inviting. I had expected to lie on one of those long, armless couches, my back to the doctor, while he smoked a pipe and asked me about my father.

Instead, the kindly man—late fifties, with a neat salt-and-pepper beard—had me sit on the regular-looking couch in his office while he sat in the chair across from me. A coffee table lay between us, strewn with magazines, and his secretary brought me some water. The entire set-up resembled more closely someone’s living room rather than a therapist’s office. The only thing I’d gotten right was that Dr. Kinley used a notepad.

“So,” he said mildly and with a gentle smile. “Why don’t we begin with you telling me why you’re here?”

I told him about the robbery—a Cliff’s Notes version for now. “And now I feel like I can’t move on,” I finished. “I can’t let it go.”

“All of it?” Kinley asked. “Or is there a specific incident that stands out in your mind as particularly traumatic?”

“As traumatic? Um, no,” I said slowly. “I mean, I can’t sleep and I jump when I hear loud noises, and I don’t like standing in line at the grocery store anymore. I keep looking over my shoulder. But I know all that will fade with time. No, what I keep going back to is…” Sleeping on Cory Bishop’s shoulder. Telling Cory Bishop my most personal issues. Fucking Cory Bishop on some stranger’s desk...I glanced at the doctor. “You’ve heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”