Page 162 of Unexpected Heroine

As if on cue, my father’s voice grates through the fog of my mind, reminding me why Leo’s words—much like Big Al’s or Sawyer’s words—feel false.

No one will ever love you, boy.

A deep bark startles us both, breaking the moment. Sue comes bounding down the stairs, leading a large black dog on a leash.

Leo turns to face her, his cheek rising with his spreading smile. “Walk time, angel?”

“Yeah. I waited as long as I could to give you two time to talk, but his patience is spent. If he didn’t get out here to you, I was afraid he was gonna tear up the front door or go through the window.”

“Sue’s training a new dog for her brother,” Leo explains.

As Sue and the dog approach, I shuffle backward until I’m pressed against the side of my car. My chest grows tight, and my throat thickens. A splitting pain explodes behind my eyes.

Out of nowhere, I’m smacked with another one of those visions like I had at the nightmare house the night I set it ablaze.

Suddenly, I know what I was looking for. That night in my room. I was looking for my dog.

A black dog.

Long, floppy ears.

Not the same as the one in front of me now, but similar enough that it must be jogging the memory.

Clearing my throat, I blink away the haze and run my hands down the front of my jeans. “Got to go.”

This time, when I attempt to open the car door, no one stops me. Thank fuck.

Once seated, I struggle to put my seat belt on with shaky hands. When it’s finally locked in place, I notice Sue standing beside my window with her hands on her hips. A quick look around reveals she passed the leash off to her husband. Leo squats beside the dog, petting his chin and ruffling his ears.

Another jolt of discomfort shoots from my chest at the sight.

Am I fucking having a coronary episode? Is this the universe’s cruel joke to remind me that I do, in fact, have a heart?

Very fucking funny, universe. Fuck off.

Sue taps her fingernails on the car window, then hooks her index finger downward. Reading her request, I roll down the window.

“Here,” she says with no preamble, sticking out her hand to pass me something.

I eye it speculatively before taking it. A business card. “What’s this?”

“Someone who can help you.”

After I give her a congenial nod, she backs away without another word.

Considering how everyone seems to be on the same Talk About Your Fucking Feelings bandwagon today, I’m going out on a limb here and assuming this isn’t contact info for an arms dealer or someone who can deliver Viktor Lenkov to me on a silver platter.

I glance at the card.

Yep. Called it.

A therapist.

Give me a fucking break.

Chapter 29

Dickmatized

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