Page 52 of Kane's Awakening
Stop this shit, Kane. Don’t push him away.
I couldn’t listen to myself. It was a defense mechanism that was more like a part of me and less like a choice. Automatic. Like when you blinked when there’s a loud noise.
A reflex I had no control over.
His reflex was to look like he’d just been slapped, which I guessed was how he felt. He loved the romantic shit, and for me to use that against him made me the lowest of the low.
“I see,” he answered after several seconds, and the hurt look in his eyes made my stomach knot. “And what about the rose you sent me? Was that just because you wanted to get laid, too?”
No. It’s because I couldn’t get you out of my fucking head.
“Yeah. It was.”
“This is just a game to you, isn’t it?” he asked, staring at me with so much disappointment that my throat tightened. “Play with my emotions just so you can get off? Was Ievermore to you than sex?”
“No,” I lied.
Ryker’s blue eyes welled with tears. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. Take care of yourself, Kane.”
He shook his head and swallowed hard, averting his stare from mine before walking out of the kitchen.
Shit. It was almost exactly like the last time he’d been at my house; happy at first before going downhill and ending with him leaving me alone in the kitchen. After I’d hurt his feelings.
Molly came into the room and sat by my feet, tilting her head up and staring at me. A small whine escaped her.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. Fuck, my chest hurt. She must’ve sensed the tension between me and Ryker. “It can’t work with us.”
With the layout of my house being so damn weird and small, I could see him as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on before sitting on the edge of the couch and slipping on his shoes. My heart screamed for me to stop him. To apologize for being an asshole.
I could even see it in my head—me shouting out to him as he approached the door, him stopping and turning back to me, and then me barging toward him and crushing my lips to his. Begging him not to leave and saying how sorry I was.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, he went to the door and left, and I did nothing except stand in place and stare at the spot he’d once been. I heard a door slam followed by the sound of his car starting, and then the crunching of gravel as he backed out of the driveway.
And just like that, my hands started shaking again, as if his presence had kept those demons at bay, and now they were back full-force, grinning once more as they snuffed out the light.
***
My first appointment with the therapist was the next morning, and I tried to calm my nerves as I drove that way. I also had to force myself to keep driving that direction instead of turning around and driving as far away from it as possible.
Not being a very open person, I hated the idea of talking to a shrink. That guy was going to pry into my life and try to put me in some box so he couldfigure me outlike I was some damn experiment for him to poke and prod.
Step right up, girls and boys, and see the man with no heart!I rolled my eyes at myself and the weird shit that went through my head.
Dr. Robert Chase supposedly specialized in traumatic experiences from what my captain had told me, so like abuse and whatever. I thought it was a waste of time—both mine and his. Sure, I was kind of screwed up over the whole incident, but it was something I needed to work out for myself. I didn’t need professional help.
When I arrived, I parked my truck and sat in the cab for a few moments, composing myself. It had snowed the night before, but it hadn’t been cold enough for a lot of it to stick, so there was only a light dusting on the roads. It was still fucking cold, though, and I inhaled and prepared myself for when I opened the door and went out into it.
Fuck!The air bit into me and felt like it went right through my clothes and skin, chilling me to the bone.
Making it inside the building, I breathed into my hands to warm them as I approached the front desk. I checked in before taking a seat in the waiting room. I was zoning—thinking of Ryker for the millionth time that day—when a man walked out from an office. I recognized him but couldn’t place his name.
He was a prosecuting attorney that I’d had to send files to before for a case. Craig mostly handled all of that crap, but it had been on a day where he’d been gone and I’d had desk duty.
The guy was tall with black hair and green eyes, and every inch of him screamedunapproachable.
“Have a great day, Mr. Kingston,” the receptionist said to him as he passed.
