Page 52 of The Sidekick

“I’m hungry,” he says as if that explains everything.

“There’s food in the fridge,” I glare at his profile.

“I wasn’t in the mood for hotdogs.”

“Ugh, I just can’t with you,” I grumble, and his lips twitch up in a smile. At least he isn’t depressed about his circumstances.

We travel a little farther in silence before he breaks it. “So, how far along is your pregnancy? Four months, I bet.”

“What!?” The wheel jerks, and we hit a curb. Thankfully, it’s early enough that no one is standing around waiting to get hit by a car.

“That’s why you ran. You’re pregnant and hiding it. You haven’t started showing yet, but I get it.” He sounds so calm and reassuring that I want to scream.

“I’m not pregnant! I haven’t had sex in years,” I defend myself and then cringe at how sad my life sounds.

“Then what doctor appointment do you have?” Shade doesn’t seem fazed by the sudden curb hop or my denials.

“I’m seeing my therapist, thank God. She’s really going to earn her money today.”

He turns to face me as I desperately focus on the road. I don’t dare take my attention away after that little mishap.

“You ran away for months like an FBI’s most wanted criminal to get therapy? Why not get a doctor in town like a normal person?”

“I ran away because I’m crazy and then decided to get therapy. Thank you very much.” Dr. Robinson is going to be mad that I called myself crazy again.

“Why didn’t you just talk to Andi?”

I spare a second of my attention to give him a dirty look. In that brief flash, he has the grace to look sad.

“You could have talked to your boss. He seemed really into you-” he cuts himself off as my face falls.

“He wasn’t into me. He wanted me as a toy for his boyfriend.” Why did I say that out loud? To Shade of all people! Am I having another depressive episode? Dr. Robinson said that they could recur.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” His sudden shout startles me, but thankfully, I keep control of the wheel.

“Stop yelling! I’m sitting right here!” I shout back.

“All that talk about listening to you and knowing you better than we did, treating us all like shit, and he pulls that? He hit you at your lowest point, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to help.”

“Stop it,” my voice comes out wet with unshed tears. I want to believe that isn’t true but seeing it from his limited perspective connects a few dots I didn’t think of.

His voice cuts off again as he studies me while I try to get myself under some semblance of control. I don’t want to walk into Dr. Robinson’s office sobbing again. It’s embarrassing.

The rest of the ride is made in silence. I make it to my appointment with twenty minutes to spare. I use that time to sit next to a silent Shade and twitch uncomfortably.

“Tera,” Dr. Robinson’s voice interrupts my anxiety with comforting warmth. It’s such a relief that I sag back in my chair. “And who is this?”

Before Shade can introduce himself, I frown at her, the comfort taking a backseat for the anger to come forward. “This is Shade. You know, one of the people who couldn’t possibly track me if I used my checking account? Because my paranoia was taking over my life, and that was movie stuff?”

She stares at me with her mouth open in surprise.

“It took less than five seconds after her transaction,” Shade smiles grimly with narrowed eyes. He then goes into great detail on the software he used and how he linked it up through his phone with an app that’s available free of charge. To add insult to injury, he lectures her on how irresponsible she was to advise me to risk my safety for the sake of, and he uses his fingers to emphasize, ‘my progress.’

She looks back and forth between us, unable to utter a word.

“I told you he was a jerk,” I shrug when he snaps that same glare my way. I’m actually relieved he took over that conversation because I’m too busy gloating over being right to get that type of accusation out.

“L-let’s just go inside my office,” Dr. Robinson stutters in confusion.

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