Page 45 of Emmy's Ride

Austin was in his usual spot—seated in the waiting room, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the room. He had become a permanent fixture, my self-appointed protector, and no amount of arguing swayed him from shadowing my every move.

I poured a second cup, shaking my head as I stepped out of my office, holding it out to him. “Here. Since you insist on camping out in my waiting room, you might as well be caffeinated.”

Austin arched a brow but took the cup from me. His fingers brushed against mine, sending a flicker of warmth through me that I pretended not to notice. That morning he’d joined me in the shower and almost made us late, but what that man could do with his mouth should’ve been illegal. Although if it were, I’d gladly break the law every damn day.

“Thanks, Doc.” His voice was teasing, but his eyes were warm.

The moment was interrupted as the front door creaked open. I turned and instantly recognized the young man stepping inside. Noah, the same boy Austin had spoken with in the waiting room on his first day. But today something was different.

His hoodie was zipped up tight, his shoulders hunched. A baseball cap was pulled low over his face, but it wasn’t enough to hide the fresh bruising along his cheekbone, the split in his lower lip.

My stomach flipped, and I felt Austin tense beside me. His entire body went rigid, and his grip tightened around the coffee cup, his knuckles turning white.

He saw it too. The bruises. The swollen lip. The haunted look in the boy’s eyes.

For a half-second, I was afraid Austin was going to say something right then and there, but he didn’t. He stayed silent, though his entire body vibrated with anger.

I met his gaze, shaking my head slightly—a silent plea.Not here. Not now.

He gave me the smallest nod. “Hey, Noah. Good to see you again.”

Noah ducked his head lower and mumbled, “Yeah, man.”

I gave Noah a warm smile as if I hadn’t just seen the evidence of what had been done to him. “Come on in,” I said softly.

The boy hesitated, then nodded, following me into the office.

The session went as expected. Noah was guarded, hesitant to share much. He danced around the truth, careful with his words, but I could read between the lines. I could see the exhaustion in his eyes. The weight of carrying more than any kid his age should have to bear.

He lived with his alcoholic father who, when drunk, took it out on Noah for his mother leaving. The only person to rightfully blame was Noah’s father. What I never could understand was why the mother didn’t take Noah with her.

I wanted to press, to push, but I knew better. Trust took time.

So, instead, I let him talk about the things he did want to share, offering him a space that was safe. A place where no one could hurt him.

By the time the session ended, I felt the familiar ache in my chest—the helpless frustration of knowing I couldn’t fix everything, no matter how much I wanted to.

Noah stood to leave, pulling his hood up as if that would somehow make him invisible. Austin was waiting just outside the office.

I barely had time to prepare before his gaze locked on to the boy. The tightness in Austin’s jaw, the fire in his eyes—it was all there.

Noah hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under Austin’s stare.

“See you next time, Noah,” I said gently, giving the boy a reassuring nod.

Noah didn’t respond, just tugged his cap lower and hurried out the door.

As soon as it clicked shut, Austin turned to me.

“That kid, Noah,” he said, voice low and tight. “He’s being abused, isn’t he? His father?”

I couldn’t answer, but I didn’t need to. Austin was sharp. He didn’t miss a damn thing.

I met his eyes, giving him a look—one that saidyou already know the answer.

Austin swore under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. His silence was heavier than words.

I swallowed, turning back toward my office. “I have to get ready for another patient,” I murmured. “We’ll talk later.”

---