Page 32 of None Of Your Business

I’m pulling my jacket on when Dr. Webb approaches me, hands folded over her clipboard.

“How are you finding the group, Rowan?”

“Really helpful.”

Complete fraud.

“I know opening up can be hard, but it really is beneficial once you’re ready to share.”

“Oh, I’m more of a listener,” I say, nodding. “I find processing helps me absorb the dynamic.”

Liar, liar. Pants on fire.

Dr. Webb opens her mouth to offer another slice of therapeutic encouragement, but over her shoulder, the door beside the mirror swings open.

A man steps out. Tall, broad, with a dark shirt stretched across shoulders I unfortunately recognize.

What the hell is Hudson doing here?

Dr. Webb’s brow furrows as she turns. “Dr. Vaughn?”

Hudson walks toward us, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. In his right hand, he holds a single sheet of paper.

“There are a few details I need to clarify on an intake form.” His voice carries a level of suppressed fury I’ve never heard from him before.

Dr. Webb blinks. “I can handle that, Hudson. I usually deal with—”

“It’s fine.” He manages to look completely composed while glaring directly into my soul.

Dr. Webb looks between us. “Do you two know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” I say.

“Family connection,” Hudson says at the same time.

Her eyebrows rise.

“A friend is engaged to her sister,” Hudson clarifies.

“Right.” She looks at him, then at me. “In that case, I can handle any clarification needed on Rowan’s paperwork.”

“Normally, yes.” His jaw clenches. “Except the clarification isn’t clinical. It’s eligibility.”

I don’t like that word. I like it considerably less when he looks straight at me.

“I need to establish whether Ms. Callahan qualifies for the research cohort.”

Oh, no.

“You should get going, Dr. Webb,” Hudson says smoothly. “I can review the form. I just want to ensure all the metrics are accurate for our data.”

She hesitates, then smiles, completely oblivious to the silent murder occurring three feet away from her.

“Well, alright then.” She grabs her coat, steps past him, and gives his arm an affectionate squeeze. “I hope to see you next week, Rowan.”

“Right,” I choke out. “Next week.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone in a room of empty chairs with a six-foot-three psychiatrist who looks ready to drag me straight to a tribunal.