Page 8 of Bones

“Why?”

His throat works as he swallows. “Sitting here in this leather chair reminds me of when I was in foster care, sitting in the therapist’s office. They never gave a shit. They just wanted to offload as many kids as they could before a new batch of us arrived.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“How long were you in foster care?” I ask, trying to keep him on track, but he changes the subject.

“How open-minded are you, Doc?” he asks, and his eyes flick to mine, quick, heated, and then away.

“I’m here to listen, Nate.”

“You don’t like talking about yourself? Is this one of those ‘coaches don’t play’ things?”

That makes me laugh. “No, I don’t mind talking about myself, but why would you want to waste your session on that? We’re here for you.”

He’s very intelligent, and it’s almost like we’re playing a game of chess.

He leans back in the chair, folds his hands behind his head, and spreads his legs. “Do you trust your gut instincts?”

I nod. “Yes, I do. I always trust my intuition.”

“And what does your intuition tell you about me?” he asks, now leaning forward and not looking away from my gaze.

“I think you’re hurt, but you’re proud. You’re closed off and don’t like talking about your feelings,” I say gently.

“Do you think I’m a good man?”

We both don’t look away. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He mutters something, but I’m not sure if I hear it right.

It sounded like… ‘I hope you remember that.’

After a long day of work and an hour of walking dogs, I get into my car and relax my head back against the headrest. I haven’t been sleeping well, and I’m exhausted. Although I love my job, it can be extremely draining, and I need to make sure I keep my cup filled so that I can pour it into others.

The session with Nate today was intense. He doesn’t give away much, so I have to read between the lines. I can’t help but replay our conversations over and over again.

Turning on the radio, I sing along to “Ruin My Life” by Zara Larsson. I’m not ashamed to admit I really get into it, hitting all the high notes and throwing the appropriate attitude the song requires.

By the time I make it back home, I’m more than ready for a bath, a glass of wine, and a night of reading in bed on my Kindle. My mafia romance novel ended on a good chapter, and I can’t wait to dive back into it. As soon as I turn off my engine, I’m undoing my seat belt when a cloth is suddenly shoved in front of my face. I try to struggle, but then it all goes black.

Feeling a little dizzy and disoriented when I wake, I have no recollection of who I am or where I am. It takes me a moment for it all to come back to me, and when it does, I quickly sit up and take in my surroundings. I’m lying in the middle of a soft, king-size bed in a large bedroom. There’s a window, and I can see trees outside, blocking the landscape.

Where the hell am I?

I’m still wearing my work clothes, and I can see the sneakers I changed into to walk the dogs neatly in the corner. I look around for a weapon, quietly opening the drawers and checking the cupboards, but it’s all empty. I’ve always wondered how I’d handle being in a dangerous situation like this, and I guess I’m about to find out.

Rushing to the door, I open it as slowly and quietly as I can, but come face to chest with a man.

A tall, muscular one, built with broad shoulders.

Glancing up at him, I recognize him straightaway.

Nate.

“What the fuck?” I snap, pushing at his hard chest. “You kidnapped me? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You tell me, Doc.” He smirks, putting his hands in the air in submission. “I thought we could get to know each other a little better.”