Page 13 of Done with You

Then, she had the audacity to leave him money for half the hotel.

What the fuck?

But he didn’t even let that irritation overthrow the joy he felt from spending the night with such a wild and wonderful beauty. She was uninhibited, generous, and brazen. But he could also tell she had a deeply rooted praise kink and loved it when he called her a good girl. The way her cheeks streaked with pink and her eyes flared brightly when he praised her just made his pulse race.

So despite the inevitable difficult appointment ahead of him, his spirits were high when he checked out of the hotel and headed home for fresh clothes. Not much could deflate his mood after a night like that, after spending time with a woman like Luna.

Too bad he’d probably never see her again.

He knew that Dr. Young had a file on him. That she read up on most of what he’d already been through, why he was there in the first place, and his prior warnings and recommendations for anger management.

But she’d want to go deeper. She’d want to study his childhood like a bug under a microscope. Dissect it until all the fragile pieces were spread around him in total, unrecognizable disarray, and then after an hour, send him home to try to reassemble them the best he could.

He finally reached her door and stopped. His hand fell to the metal latch, and with a deep breath, he turned it and entered.

He loved his job as a police officer, it was what he was born to do, so if speaking with a shrink and going to anger management was how he got back in the field, then so be it.

He’d chased down bad guys, been punched by wives whose husbands had just given them a black-eye because suddenly the husband wasn’t such a bad guy and Aiden was a dick for arresting him.

He could do this. He could spend an hour with a therapist if it meant he got back to protecting the good people of Montreal from drunk drivers and abusers like the guy who’d hurt Luna.

Maybe when he got back in the field, he could do some digging and see if he could find the guy who hurt her.

Luna probably wasn’t her real name, but he could bring up victim photos and see what matched her. If the scumbag ever got reported, that is.

He stepped into a small waiting area with two chairs, a side table filled with various magazines, and a burbling fountain with a skinny Buddha on it was next to a big fern-like plant in the other corner of the room.

His phone said it was ten-fifty-five.

His appointment was at eleven.

There was another door and he assumed that was the therapist’s office. Should he knock? Or would she come out and get him?

He sat down on one of the seats and rested his hands on his jean-clad knees.

The left knee started to bounce. It often bounced when he was nervous.

Glancing at his phone every twenty seconds did nothing for his nerves, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Then, when the time switched over to ten-fifty-eight, he stood up from the chair and was about to knock on the door when the latch turned and the door opened.

“Aiden?” came a confident, slightly robotic voice.

“Dr. Youn—” His mouth hung open.

Her brown eyes, the ones flecked with different shades of gold, were the size of twin Frisbees.

“C-Caden?” she stammered.

“Luna. Or should I say Oona.”

Her slender throat moved on a swallow as she continued to stare at him. “Are you Officer Aiden L?”

As a second line of privacy, the police department had taken to issuing the officers names to mental health professionals with just their last initial. There’d been a recent breach in confidentiality concerning a therapist and police officer in Ottawa, so now all departments were upping their privacy regarding their officers and submitting paperwork with only their first name and last initial.

He nodded.

“Are you Dr. Oona Young?”

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