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I chuckle as she slips her phone into her back pocket.
“Well, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll return these as soon as possible. Clean.”
“Don’t bother,” she waves, holding out a hand and pulling me to stand. “I never wear the shit, anyway. Just don’t go getting into trouble. Those clubs can be rough.”
“I can imagine,” I grimace. “I’ve never been to a real club before, so I don’t know how this will go.”
“Well, I may have lied a bit earlier. I don’t know Mason well, but I know him well enough that he won’t let anything bad happen. Especially not to you.”
I shake my head, chuckling humorously. “There’s really nothing there. We’re just working together.”
She smirks, pulling me toward the door.
“For now.”
Mason
“Ithink it’s important for you all to remember you’re a family, first. Your pasts can’t erase that, but theycantear you apart.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I’ve never been to therapy. Mom tried to force it on me because she thought it would help me after Dad’s death, but I refused.
I mean, what’s the point in paying some stranger to listen to my problems and give me the same regurgitated bullshit they do everyone else?
I only agreed to this because I know Mom’s struggling. Since Parker went to prison, people have been showing up outside her new house; the press has been harassing her. Mila. Logan and Savannah even had a couple paparazzi show up, but Logan shut that shit down with a flash of his fancy FBI badge and a loaded 9mm.
No one’s bothered me . . . yet. I’d like to keep it that way, so I keep my distance. I know it upsets Mom, but I knew Parker was bad news from the beginning.
If I had known what he was really into I would have killed him before he ever had the chance to hurt my sister.
Maybe that was my driving factor in helping Hannah. I could stop her from getting hurt. I could keep her safe and find Melissa Gaines in the process. Put an end to all of this.
At least . . . that’s what I tell myself.
I shouldn’t have kissed her. I shouldn’t have touched her. I should have kept my distance like I’d planned, but once I got a taste of her, I couldn’t stop.
Fuck . . . she’s tastes like perfection. Sweet. Soft. Just like she always has.
I have no doubt in my mind shit would have spiraled out of control if Mila hadn’t shown up. Out of all the stupid shit I’ve ever done, this obsession I seem to have with the governor’s daughter is probably the most dangerous of all.
“Mason,” Kenda, the therapist calls my name, staring me down across the room. “I haven’t seen you for any of your one-on-one appointments.”
“I don’t need therapy.”
“Mason,” Mila grits quietly, but Kenda holds up her hand, silencing her.
“Can you tell me what goes through your mind when you think about coming to therapy?”
I shrug, leaning back in my chair. “A waste of money.”
Kenda nods, scribbling something down on her pad.
I don’t like it. I feel like I’m getting my brain picked over like a science experiment. And what the fuck is she writing, anyway?
“Perhaps you could give it a shot? One session, just to test the waters and if you don’t like it, you can back out.”
“Perhaps not.”
