“That’s the problem! She wants to be that girl again. It’s why she wouldn’t tell you! She wants to be normal so bad that it’s killing her. But she’s not! She never fucking will be again. She’s always going to have—”
“Problems,” I interrupt. “She’s going to have certain boundaries. I get it. But I can and will find a way to be what she needs. She is the same person. If anything, she’s stronger than she ever was and more appreciative of every fucking day that she doesn’t have someone staring at her like she’s broken. Mika never wanted to be weak or look weak. Twelve years I’ve done nothing but waste all my time wondering ‘what if’ and what’d I’d give for a second chance. I don’t give a shit about changing my life, because I haven’t felt alive in years. Go fuck yourself. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
He shakes his head in disgust, and Blake groans.
“All your dreams will end. Love your shop? Too bad. You can’t have a normal job with normal scheduled hours. Want a family? Too bad. Mika had her tubes tied because children have schedules—babies have schedules. Like the freedom to change your mind about what you’re doing, such as having a beer after work instead of coming by her house like you said? Too bad. If you know Mika so well, then tell me she’d let you give up your life to be with her.”
There’s no anger in Aidan’s voice this time. It’s just a hollow sadness… a sound of defeat.
“I’ve only ever had one dream. She’s inside that hospital. I gave up my dream to make sure she didn’t get dragged into my hell. Mika isn’t the only one who has been in survival mode. So yeah, fuck all the rest.”
“Mika can’t even know the amount of money in her bank account. One penny. That’s all it would take to mess her up. She’d expect to know where every cent was. I have to pay her bills. She doesn’t even realize how much money she makes. She can’t hear estimates—like with the bowling alley. She gets the final number of a cost. I have to be vague when I tell her she has enough to cover something she wishes to purchase. It’s everything and anything you can think of… You have to rework your mind to be programmed like hers. You don’t get it.”
“I can though,” I argue.
He turns and walks away, heading back inside the hospital, as though he’s sick of arguing. There’s nothing he can say to change my damn mind. If he had any clue about how fucking obsessed I’ve been with her since I was a kid, he wouldn’t be arguing at all.
I start to return as well, but Hunter is suddenly in front of me and pushing a book against my chest. I never knew he came back.
I look down and take it as he releases it, and he sighs hard before meeting my gaze.
“Read that before you commit to anything,” he says softly.
My eyes drop to the book. The Curious Case of Mika A by Dr. Herald Kravitz.
“Mika A was the name of his case file on her. They all had their own. Mika B, Mika C, Mika D… You get the idea. That’s everything about her and her triggers. It also includes the severity of her tics. It’s not a simple thing to just brush off. It’s severe, dude.”
I start to open it, when Blake asks Hunter a question.
“How’d you get tangled up in all this?”
I look up as Hunter gives a sad smile.
“Met her at Dr. Stein’s office,” he says while pocketing his hands. “My dad is big in politics and a bit of an ass. I was the twenty-one-year-old stereotype who was lashing out for attention. Got into a major fight and fucked a guy up pretty good. Instead of going to jail, I got off with court-mandated anger management—courtesy of Dad pulling strings to keep me from fucking up his reputation.”
Blake cocks an eyebrow and Hunter smirks.
“I met Mika in the waiting room. She didn’t do appointment times. I hit on her, of course. Hell, I’d hit on anyone back then, but she was hella hot and crazy chicks were in style.”
When my grip causes the book in my hand to whine, Hunter flashes me a grin.
“Relax, she shot me down. Told me I didn’t want to fuck her. She was wrong.”
Again, the book whines, and he continues.
“After seeing her a few more times, we got to talking about anything and everything. She told me up front that no times or conflicting statements were allowed. I didn’t get it, but I went along with it. Turns out, she was the first person to ever actually listen to me, and I got used to having her to talk to. It was better than therapy, to be honest. Then one day I was late for an appointment. It wouldn’t have been an issue—since Mika never allowed me to state my appointment times—but the secretary announced to Dr. Stein that her five o’ clock was running late.”