Page 38 of His Cruel Exception

I unlock the screen and open my notes, scrolling until I locate the details my doctor gave me. “I found it.”

“Send it to me.”

I copy the details and send them to him before slipping my phone back into my pocket. I sink deeper into the leather seat and watch the buildings pass outside my window, occasionally pressing my fingers against my chest whenever I feel my breathing begin to quicken again.

The drive continues for another twenty minutes, and I'm just beginning to feel a little more like myself when Antonio turns into an unfamiliar parking lot and brings the car to a stop. I look around, taking in the modern building in front of us and the neatly arranged flower beds lining the entrance. Antonio switches off the engine and gets out, rounding the hood with his usual purposeful stride before opening my door.

“Where are we?” I ask as I climb out.

“This is the psychologist’s practice.”

“B-but we’ll need an appointment.”

“The doctor will see us.”

We step into a bright reception area, and Antonio heads straight to the receptionist while I trail a few steps behind him. The space is big with several upholstered chairs arranged along one wall, a low table holding magazines and a small potted plant, while a large reception desk occupies the opposite side of the room.

When the receptionist looks up and sees Antonio, her entire demeanor seems to change. She straightens in her chair, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and offers him a smile that grows wider when he begins speaking. Within seconds, she's twirling her hair around one finger, batting her eyelashes, and laughing loudly.

Antonio isn't even that funny.

After about five minutes, Antonio turns and gestures for me to follow him. I quickly straighten and fall into step beside him as we pass through a large white door and enter a corridor lined with several offices. We stop in front of a door with Dr. Melissa López on it, and Antonio knocks once before pushing it open when a woman's voice invites us inside.

The office is warm, with a large window allowing sunlight to filter through the pale curtains. A desk occupies one side of the room, while two comfortable-looking chairs sit opposite it, and several framed certificates hang on the wall.

“Good afternoon,” Dr. López greets, rising from behind her desk and extending her hand toward me before doing the same to Antonio. “How can I help you today?”

We take our seats on the chairs opposite her desk just as Antonio speaks. “My boyfriend has panic attacks, can you cure him?”

My eyes widen, and I whip my head toward him so quickly that I'm surprised I don't pull something in my neck.

Oh my God.

I know his intentions are good, and I genuinely appreciate the fact that he's brought me here, but his delivery could use some work.

Also, why did I like the way he called me his boyfriend so much?

Dr. López smiles at Antonio. “There are different ways to treat and manage that, but first we have to confirm if they are random attacks or a panic disorder,” she explains. “I will give you an appointment for tomorrow as I need to leave now for a conference. Would that be okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say..

She smiles again and turns to her monitor, moving her mouse as she checks her schedule for an available time. “How about eleven in the morning?”

“That’s perfect,” I confirm.

Dr. López enters the appointment into her system and gives me the information I'll need for tomorrow, which I save on my phone before getting to my feet. We exchange another round of handshakes, and I thank her once more for making time for us before following Antonio out of the office.

The receptionist is still sitting behind her desk when we return to the waiting area, and she waves at Antonio as we pass. I tell myself there’s no reason for me to be jealous, but I slide my hand into Antonio’s without thinking. Antonio glances down briefly before his fingers close around mine, his larger hand engulfing my own.

Something warm and giddy spreads through my chest as I look down at our joined hands, a small smile tugging at my lips. It widens when the receptionist scowls at me. I know it’s immature, but I stick my tongue out at her.

There. He's taken.

I still don't know what Antonio did to my father, but right now, I can't bring myself to care about the man who has spent so much of my life making me miserable. All I can think about is Antonio appearing when I needed him, how he held me while I struggled to breathe. And as we walk toward his car with my hand securely tucked inside his, I find myself believing, for the first time in my life, that Dad will never be able to hurt me again.

Chapter

Nineteen