Page 43 of Professional Consult
“We’re heading on over to the elementary school.”
My hand flies to my chest. “Oh, God—is there a problem? Are they okay?”
“It’s the end of the day and sometimes I stop by to read a story.”
Did he suddenly just grow more attractive? Is that even possible?
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Pond Spring is so small, we’re at the elementary school in less than five minutes. The children are excited for their story, bouncing up and down on the carpet they’re seated upon.
Mrs. Anders, the teacher, makes a point to tell me all of her favorite lines from the movies I’ve starred in. It’s flattering, but also makes me incredibly self-conscious.
Luke takes a seat in a chair and holds up:The Day the Crayons Quit by Drew Daywaltand begins reading.
And I hurt. I can’t remember a time I’ve felt so much pain. Sitting to the side, watching Luke read with his voice animated and enthusiastic, I’m reminded of all the things I’ve never had.
It’s a humbling experience, reminding me again of the simple pleasures that are a rite of childhood.
Most childhoods.
Notmychildhood.
When he’s finished, he answers a few questions before gesturing me to the door.
“That story never gets old.” He chuckles like he truly enjoyed it, and then it hits me—he probably does. Luke likes children, which makes me all kinds of confused in my lady parts.
“Yeah,” I say weakly, looking down at the floor as we walk from the building.
“I think I’ve read that book five times, but they never get enough of it.”
Still fighting tears, I force a weak smile and a nod.
“I’m sorry, did that not meet the standards of your training?” Luke says sardonically. “I suppose you think building the library is enough to earn you the full attention of the department. Should I call the squad in?”
His words were not said as a joke. They were hurtful, slung at me with spiteful intent.
I want to ignore them because it’s what I deserve, but I’m a mess of hormones and pain, and unable to control myself.
I bury my face in my hands and squeak because I don’t want to open my mouth. I can’t stop the tears from coming. I can’t stop my shoulders from heaving.
“Hey, are you okay?” Luke says softly.
I nod my head vigorously, hoping that the gesture will somehow mask my sorrow.
His arm wraps around me as we walk to the police cruiser. I try to shrug him off, but it’s like he’s glued to me.
He opens the passenger side door and I slide in, suddenly unable to contain myself.
I sob. Hard.
Luke gets in, saying nothing as I literally lose my shit.
I feel my face turn red. I’m burning with heat. So fucking embarrassed and angry and hurt.
Minutes pass, and I finally get to a point where I can breathe again. Humiliation burns deep inside my soul. There’s no way I can stay here anymore. Not after that.
“You okay?” Luke says, his voice gentle and free of spite. It’s then that I realize his enormous hand is on my shoulder, rubbing lightly.
