Here we go. She lowered her drink and faced him head-on. “No. We don’t. I went to a little girl’s party, end of story.”
“Well, since he was just here, I’d have to argue about the end, but,”—he raised his drink to cut her off—“I won’t. What did he want?”
With her sandwich almost to her lips, she paused. “To apologize.”
Nick went on instant alert. “Apologize for what?”
“For being a guy,” she said pointedly.
Nick grunted. “I don’t like him.”
She eyed the magazine tossed on her desk, an obvious gift from one of her concerned siblings. Stephen McKinney, Norfolk’s Most Eligible Bachelor. “Fine. Neither do I.”
Nick shook his head. “Should have known someone smart enough to head up a billion-dollar company before he was thirty wasn’t so dumb he’d let a girl like you slip away so easily.”
Zach made a noise under his breath. “What a tool.”
“I mean it, Han. You need to stay away from this guy.” Nick leaned forward and tapped a finger on McKinney’s photo gracing the cover.
She already knew. In a weak moment, she’d googled. Had read about his company, seen pictures of his elaborate home, of him, hot and handsome at events with sequined women on his arm. Of course she wouldn’t start out slow, work her way up. No. She’d started “being normal” with a thirty-two-year-old millionaire playboy.
Zach reached for his drink, the legs of the chair knocking to the floor. “Rich, playboy, prick.”
Nick agreed, tossing out his own opinions. She took the opportunity to slide the recent notice from the city under a student’s insurance papers. The one that said her inheriting all this might not have been official. That it might all be taken away. The land, the barn, her home. Everything. But the last thing she wanted was her brothers trying to fix it.
“You should talk,” she said, turning the attention back on them. “You’re all bachelors. And I’d say you’re pretty eligible. Maybe you guys don’t like him because you’re so much alike.”
Zach choked on a mouthful of sandwich. “Have you seen where I live?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yes, unfortunately. I’ve also seen the parade of girls.”
Nick smiled. “She’s got you there, bro. All you need is a float and some clowns.”
“Ha-ha.”
“I’m serious. You might want to pick one someday.” She looked pointedly at both of them. “I’d like to be an aunt while I’m still young enough to be cool.”
“No worries here,” Zach said. “I’ll always be cool.”
Nick balled up his bag and looked at her with all his big-brother authority. “Trust me on this, Hannah. He’s not your type.”
Hannah look down at her sandwich, folded the corners of the wrapper just so. “Well, seeing as I’ve never dated, I don’t guess I have a type, do I?”
—
Though the colors of the waiting room were meant to be soothing, the seating soft and inviting, a psychiatrist’s office was never a comfortable place. The cool air couldn’t combat the sweaty palms or the silence accentuated by the swish of alternating leg crossings and turning magazine pages.
Even in the silence you could hear the loud thoughts.
Why are you here?
Were you forced? By the court? By your family?
Are you crazier than I am?
And the smells, similar to all doctors’ offices, brought flashes from the past. Nick carrying her, or sometimes Zach or Dallas, while she bit her lip against the pain, fought back the tears because the look in her brothers’ eyes when she cried was even worse.
When her name was called, she rose for her monthly standing appointment. After years without, she’d recently decided to get back to therapy. But not with just anyone.
Dr. Mia James met her at her office door looking both professional and feminine. A stunning woman, Mia stood several inches shorter than her own five-eight, with glossy black hair that brushed her shoulders.
“Hannah.”
The door closed and she was enveloped in a warm hug from Mia the friend before Mia the doctor. She’d known Mia a very long time, though until last summer there’d been no contact in almost twelve years. At one time Mia had been like a mother to her, like Nick had been a father. Then everything had fallen apart.
“Sit down. How are you?”
Hannah sat in one of the two chairs in front of a wide desk. Mia took the other, to make her patients feel more comfortable, she figured, though nothing could confuse who was broken and who wasn’t. “I’m good. Fine.” Mia studied her with dark eyes, the ones Hannah always felt missed nothing. “Except…” She might as well tell her about Max. It never did any good to keep things from her.
“I’m sorry,” Mia said when she’d finished. She offered her a tissue, then reached for something on her desk, giving her a minute. “How are your students? Anything new?”
“I have a new student who’s blind. It’s a different challenge, but it’s going great.”