Foolproof (Drexler University, #2)

“Yeah, just hung out with Blake and Payton.” I doubted Dad would mind if I hung out with Jules outside of work but didn’t want to give him any more ammunition.

I stood in the doorway, waiting to see what he would say. We hadn’t discussed a curfew, but I hadn’t had one since my senior year of high school.

“You know you don’t have to go to Texas at the end of the summer.”

This again.

“I know, Dad. I have a few more weeks to decide if I want to stay.” Which I wouldn’t. Nothing was keeping me here. If I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do the first three years of college, I sure as hell wasn’t going to commit to anything in the couple weeks I’d been home. I could really use a Hail Mary from the career book.

“I know Gary’s a good guy, but maybe you’re not cut out for the force.”

“If you think I’m not good enough to be a cop, just come out and say it, Dad.” Never mind the fact that I didn’t think I’d be a great addition to the force, not when I wasn’t passionate about it like Gary.

He shoved his hand through his hair and sighed. Yeah, get pissed off. You do every time I’m around. “That’s not what I was saying. You’ve just never shown an interest.”

“Yeah, well, I sure as hell don’t show an interest in Office Jax, either.”

“Can’t do much without a college degree. This is job security, too. I just want to make sure you’ll have a steady income. I care about you, Ryan.”

I froze in place as the air evaporated from my lungs. Wow. This was the first time since middle school that he’d told me he cared about me. Dad wasn’t the touchy-feely type—I love you, along with I’m proud of you—were lacking from his vocabulary. For Dad to say this…he was really putting himself out there. I had been a jerk to him ever since I’d been back. I’d been a jerk to everyone. He really didn’t deserve this. All of the anger I’d channeled since I stepped foot through the door dissipated.

“Thanks, Dad. I’m still looking at options in the book you gave me.” I fisted my hat, trying to give myself the extra push to put myself out there, too. If he was willing to play ball, I was willing to step up to the plate. “Maybe we could go over it sometime. Together. I’d like your opinion.”

Dad looked up from his paperwork and answered cautiously. “I’d like that.”

I nodded my head, not really sure where to go from here. This was uncharted territory. Civility was a rare occurrence in the DeShane household, but maybe we could change that.

“Night, Dad.”

“Night.”

I took the stairs two at a time and made my way to my room. Damn, this night was full of surprises.





Chapter Thirteen


Jules


I walked to the coffee shop at quarter till six. Counseling sessions weren’t possible without a twenty-ounce caffeine jolt. I sipped my latte as I strolled a block down to my psychologist’s office and prepared myself for the impending mental probing. Dr. Ahrendt loved to get up in my brain, stretching, prodding, and pointing out things I’d rather not face sometimes.

Skipping up the stone steps, I ripped open the door, the cool air conditioning spilling out of the office in a rush. Dr. Ahrendt’s personal office door was open. She sat in her black leather desk chair, swiveling side to side, intently studying a piece of paper in her hands. Her mocha-brown hair was pulled into a tight bun. Her whole look was crisp, from her tucked-in silk blouse to her black peep-toe pumps. This lady embodied style and class—a walking Vogue layout.

She smiled as I strode from the main reception area into her office. “Jules, so nice to see you.”

I smiled back and took a sip of my coffee. Tension always knotted my stomach before each session. Like, what if she found out something that made me certifiably insane? Or opened up some deep repressed memory that I was really adopted and maybe I’d been the daughter of someone from Hells Angels? Considering how my parents treated me sometimes, both were a distinct possibility.

“Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

I plopped down in a plush tufted white chair and crossed my legs. “Thanks.”

She pulled out a clipboard and scrawled on the page with her black Mickey Mouse pen. Dr. Ahrendt loved Mickey Mouse. Mickey figurines littered her desk. Her lemongrass tea, in a Mickey mug, always permeated the room. Her office smelled fresh, comfortable. I glanced at the Mickey calendar next to her diplomas. I’d have to remember to get her something next time I went to Disneyland. It was cute. Somehow made her more real, like a person couldn’t be half bad if they loved an animated mouse.

“How are you feeling today?”

Confused. Frustrated. Like hitting myself over the head with your Mickey snow globe. I painted on a smile. “Great.”

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