Cade’s sister had been great.
Had been.
Without her, the place was pointless. But he was here because of his father, the esteemed Mr. Sano, who kept peering at Cade over his iPad and measuring his mental wellness with just his eyes. According to Mr. Sano, Cade was failing. Cade seemed “unbalanced” and was “hiding something,” and needed professional help of some sort.
His father wanted him tested. He wanted to make sure that both of his children didn’t suffer from the same horrible affliction.
The idea scared Cade.
Sometimes, it was like his father could see through him. Or see into him.
So, now, Cade was back with his shrink, Virgil Ainsworth. He loved Virgil’s name. It was almost as ridiculous as the ones he’d made up with his sister. They were great names, but, Cade reflected as he glanced around the room, they were probably for boring people who were only seeing a psychologist to whine about how they made too much money in their otherwise empty, successful lives.
“Cade Sano?” A guy who barely looked older than Cade had appeared in the doorway that led to Dr. Ainsworth’s office. His name tag said TED. “The doctor is ready for you.”
Cade pushed himself out of the chair and followed Ted. He hated this. He really, really hated this. He’d thought he was done with stupid, probing questions.
Apparently he wasn’t.
Dr. Ainsworth smiled when she saw him. It was her doctor smile—practiced and smooth and completely inoffensive, just like her sensible pants and her too-loose blouse. Her hair was drawn back into an efficient bun, and not a single strand of hair was out of place.
“Cade Sano!” she said, a small note of professional pleasure in her voice. “Come in. Sit down. It’s been too long.”
Cade tried not to frown. Was that something that your shrink was supposed to say? If a patient wasn’t there, maybe it was because he was actually doing well for once.
But then he had to mess up and accidentally kill someone. And his stupid, all-knowing father just had a gut feeling something was off. And now . . .
“Hi,” Cade said. “You got new chairs.”
They were brown and poufy, unlike the old black leather chairs that had graced her office. Cade had picked at the peeling bits of the black ones when he hadn’t wanted to answer questions.
The chairs were the only pieces of her office that had changed. Her Harvard degrees still hung on her wall. Her collection of small glass kittens decorated her bookshelves—although maybe she had few more, now. And the same ceiling fan still spun lazily overhead.
“Do you like them?” Dr. Ainsworth asked.
He sank into one. It was nice, actually. “Sure.”
“So, Cade. Since it’s been so long, why don’t we start by you telling me what you’ve been up to lately. Tell me about your family.”
“No.” Cade’s reaction was immediate . . . and a little too loud. He softened his voice. “I don’t talk about my family anymore.” He wasn’t going to let her run this show. He wasn’t a child. And no matter how many degrees she had on her wall, he was smarter than she was.
He was in charge.
Dr. Ainsworth considered him. She had to know what had happened. Everyone knew. “Maybe just your father, then. I think it would be good for you to talk about him. How is it, now? With just the two of you?”
“You know my dad.” Cade lifted both his hands. “He’s a dick. Not much has changed in the past few years. Maybe he needs therapy.” He smiled, just a little. Let her believe he was engaging.
Dr. Ainsworth laughed, a “ha-ha” that was a little less therapist and a touch more human. Rare, for her.
“From what you’ve said, I could recommend a few sessions for him. But Cade, you’re the one who’s here. Not your father.”
“I know that.”
Cade remembered why he hated therapy so much. What was just talking ever going to change?
Dr. Ainsworth took a leather folio from her desk and opened it. Her eyes searched the page, but her face was smooth and expressionless. It betrayed nothing. She was good. But he was better.
“I understand you’re taking a class this summer?”
“Psychology.” Cade smiled again, ignoring the way his heartbeat quickened. “Ironic, right?”
“Important.” The doctor looked at him for a moment, her eyes big. “How is your class going?”
“Why is that important?” Cade started to cross his arms over his chest, but stopped. Dr. Ainsworth would say it was a defensive gesture, and he couldn’t act defensive right now. He was in control. Not her.
Dr. Ainsworth paused. “It seems like a significant part of your life, Cade.”
“School isn’t as big of a deal as everyone says.” Cade looked away from Dr. Ainsworth, but then focused back on her. He didn’t want to seem shady. And he couldn’t avoid questions about this. He shouldn’t.