Black Heart (4 page)

bother to pick up his book.

“Do you want to talk about the fire or the shooting?”

Tristan gave him a bored look. “Doc, I understand that while I’m out on medical leave

that I’m required to meet with you twice a week so I’ll indulge you in this,” he said, not

bothering to mention that Hank promised to keep his ass on medical leave permanently if he

didn’t answer questions about the shooting.

“Okay…,” Dr. Bryne said encouragingly.

“I chased a known child molester into a house. I found two missing boys tied to a

radiator. I shot the prick and earned a bullet in my shoulder when I jumped in front of one

of the boys. I killed the bastard and then his accomplice set the house on fire. We got

trapped upstairs where my brother found us and led us to safety,” Tristan explained in a

bored tone, as he sat back up, trying to get more comfortable, but it was impossible with his

shoulder throbbing. “And before you ask, yes, my brother brings it up every chance he gets

and no, he won’t let me live it down.”

“Well, he did save your life,” Dr. Bryne mumbled.

“I heard that,” Tristan muttered, lips twitching as he gestured impatiently for the doctor

to continue. “Move onto something else.”

“Do you want to talk about your personal life?” At that, Tristan cocked an eyebrow with

a silent warning to move onto a different subject, but the doctor simply ignored it. Dr.

Bryne sighed with obvious annoyance as he asked, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“I see plenty of people,” Tristan bit out, not liking where this conversation was heading.

“I meant, are you seeing anyone romantically?” he further explained with a touch of

aggravation lacing his tone.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about that?”

“No.”

“You don’t see a problem with that?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed on the doctor. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Dr. Bryne answered without any hesitation.

“Why?” Tristan asked in a bored tone.

“I find it very odd that a twenty-nine year old man with your good looks and job has

never in his life had a steady girlfriend, don’t you?”

Tristan sighed heavily. “My mother got to you, didn’t she?”

Dr. Bryne shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course she had. His mother was out to

see him married and a daddy as soon as possible. No matter how many times he told her to

drop it, the woman just would not give up.

“Of course not,” Dr. Bryne answered as he shifted his gaze to the left. The man was a

bad liar, Tristan noted. It wasn’t surprising. The man couldn’t bluff worth a damn at cards

either.

“Look, Doc, I’ve dated plenty of women. I just don’t like to think of any of them as a

girlfriend.”

“Because it’s a sign of permanency? Do you fear commitment?”

“Just clingy women, Doc.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m not afraid of

having a girlfriend. I just haven’t found one that I would enjoy spending any real amount of

time with or consider bringing home to meet my parents.” It was complete bullshit, but Dr.

Bryne seemed to buy it.

“Fine, let’s move onto something else.”

“Let’s.”

Dr. Bryne took a moment to look through his notes, pretending to look for something to

discuss. Tristan sighed inwardly, knowing exactly what the doctor would bring up. The man

was like a dog with a bone. “Well, it’s been almost twenty-four years since the incident at

your biological grandmother’s house. Let’s talk about how you feel about that.”

“I feel fine,” he said with little emotion.

“I don’t think that you do. I think that it really bothers you and instead of coming in here

prepared to talk about it, you leave it to me to set the direction of our sessions, hoping that I

don’t talk about what’s really bothering you. I think that you can’t accept what happened.

You’re hiding,” Dr. Bryne said, picking up the file and taking a pen out of his pocket.

“Are we really back to this again? Look, let me recap it for you, because I don’t want to

sit here for the rest of the hour and go over every little detail with you or go in depth about

‘my feelings’. I was six years old at my grandmother’s house. I had a panic attack over

something I can’t even remember and fell down the stairs. I tripped and hit my head against

the wall, splitting my head open. I apparently freaked out on the way to the ambulance,

probably from my concussion. My biological parents were pricks and decided they no

longer wanted me. They signed me over to foster care where I stayed for only a couple of

days, because my dad came and took me. He fostered me for two months and then he and

my mom adopted me. That’s where I’ve been for the last twenty-four years, happy and

healthy.”

“Are you?” He looked up from his folder to gage Tristan’s reaction.

“Making me come here is a huge waste of time,” Tristan pointed out, ignoring the

doctor’s question since it was just bullshit. He was fine, more than fine no matter what

anyone thought.

“I don’t think it is. You were in a highly traumatic situation, yet you act cool, distant

about it,” Dr. Bryne noted, looking thoughtful as he watched Tristan for a reaction.

Tristan closed his eyes, biting back a few choice words as he reminded himself that he

had to play nice if he wanted to get this bullshit over with and return to work.

"You’re afraid that if you answer me honestly that you’ll realize there are some serious

issues that need to be discussed. Tell me about your previous injuries and the bruises they

found on your body the last time that you saw your parents. Seventeen fractures, ninety-

three stitches, bruised ribs all before the age of six. Does that sound normal to you?”

“I was an active kid. I don’t know how I got the bruises on my body that day, but no one

touched me,” he bit out, hating the fact that the doctor kept bringing this bullshit up. The

stubborn man had been trying to analyze him since he was a kid and it was annoying as hell.

“Don’t you find it odd that for the six years that you spent with your natural parents that

you had all of those injuries and when you were adopted by Tom, he was the Paramedic

that came to help you that day, correct? After he adopted you, the injuries went down

considerably and you don’t find anything strange about that?”

“Doc, you know that my dad was the paramedic that helped me that day. You guys have

been playing poker every week for the past thirty years. I don’t know what to tell you. I told

you the truth and you don’t want to hear it. Yeah, my parents were shitty parents, but they

never laid a hand on me,” Tristan said in a bored tone, wondering when the man would just

move the fuck on.

“Tristan, how does that make you-” Dr. Bryne started to ask, only to be cut off by the

sound of someone knocking on the office door as it was opened. Tristan’s father poked his

head inside, still looking pretty much the same as he had that day Tristan met him twenty-

four years earlier except for the addition of a few grey hairs and laugh lines. “Sorry,

Leonard, but I promised the wife that we’d be home for dinner by six.”

Knowing that even Hank wouldn’t bitch about his mother’s request cutting into his

therapy session, Tristan got to his feet and headed for the door. He wasn’t surprised when

Dr. Bryne didn’t remind him that they still had over twenty minutes left. The man lived in

fear of Tristan’s mother and for damn good reason.

Along with his brother and father, he would happily beat the shit out of anyone that ever

made the mistake of making her unhappy.

“Tristan, why don’t you wait in the hall while I speak with your father for a minute,” Dr.

Bryne said, probably hoping that bitching to his father would gain Tristan’s cooperation. It

wouldn’t, but Tristan didn’t care enough to complain about it.

When his father grabbed his good arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze as if he really

needed it, Tristan barely resisted the urge to shrug his hold off. “I’ll be right there,” his

father said with that overly understanding smile that seemed to be reserved just for him.

His father was worried about him, but that wasn’t anything new. The man was always

worried about him, but at least his father wasn’t as bad as his mother. God, that woman

turned worrying into an art form. He was just glad that his father had been able to stop her

from tagging along today. She’d only agreed to back off as long his father spoke with the

doctor to make sure that he was really okay. If it meant keeping his mother from fretting

over him, he’d agree to damn near anything.

He walked into the small hallway that led to the waiting room. Not really paying attention

to anyone as he sat down and grabbed a
National Geographic
magazine. A few minutes

later he looked up and noticed a pretty woman sitting across from him, watching him. She

gave him a flirty smile that really didn’t interest him, but he was bored and willing to kill a

few minutes while he waited for his father.

He was about to ask for her name when his father stepped into the room, looking less

than pleased. “Pink bunnies, Tristan?”

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have signed that release form allowing his father to ask

questions about his sessions. He looked back at the woman to find her giggling.

“Old Nam’ flashbacks,” Tristan explained, making her laugh harder and not really caring.

He stood up to leave when she reached out to stop him. “Wait,” she said, pressing

something into his hand. “I’m Jessica and I would love to hear more about the pink

bunnies,” she said coyly, giving him an appreciative look as she ran her eyes over his body.

He gave her a small, barely there nod, quickly forgetting about her as he headed for the

exit, wondering if he was about to get another bullshit lecture about taking these mandatory

sessions seriously. He followed his father to the old man's black pickup truck and climbed

in.

Once they were on the back roads, his father decided that they needed to talk. “So, I hear

that you’re not happy about attending therapy.”

Tristan shrugged his good shoulder. “You could say that.”

“That’s the requirement while you’re out on medical. There’s nothing anyone can do

about it,” Tom reminded him and Tristan knew that it was pointless to argue, but he did it

anyway.

“Hank could always sign off and let me return to light duty,” Tristan pointed out as he

sank back against the seat, raising his knee against the door until the leg of his pants rose up

and over the ankle holster attached to his leg, revealing his favorite handgun. He absently

reached down and adjusted the holster before returning to his lazy position.

Tom sighed heavily. “You know Hank’s hands are tied on this one. He needs you back

on duty, but you won’t be any good to anyone until that shoulder of yours is healed. You

have two more weeks until you can go on light duty. Until then you’re going to have to suck

it up and deal with your mother fussing over you and these therapy sessions.”

At Tristan’s grunt, he continued, “You know it’s your own fault that you’re stuck in

therapy.”

“It’s not my fault the emergency room doctor is a fucking bleeding heart.”

“I know. I think he overreacted as well.”

An understatement.

If Tristan hadn’t decked the man, Tom would have and judging by the expression on

Hank’s face at the time, he hadn't been too far behind. Once that recommendation was sent

to Concord, Tristan’s fate had been sealed.

“Can’t believe he complained because I didn't cry over blowing that fucking maggot’s

head off. It will be a cold day in hell when I cry over some child molester.”

“Well, it probably didn’t help when you broke the doctor's nose after he refused to pull

his recommendation for therapy,” Tom said dryly.

Tristan’s lips twitched. “But it felt damn good.”

Chapter
2

Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a large, two-story white colonial house, his

first real home. Tristan slowly climbed out of the truck, wincing when the movement pulled

at his wound. Before he could make a quiet escape and walk to his own home, two houses

down, the front door of his parents’ house was thrown open and a short, yet very

determined, woman rushed out. He swore softly as his mother quickly made her way over

to him.

“How’s your shoulder today?” she asked, running an assessing eye over him, probably

trying to determine how much babying she needed to dish out.

“Fine, Mom. I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later,” he said, quickly giving her

a one armed hug and a kiss on her forehead. The one thing he didn’t need right now was

his mother fussing over him. He’d had enough of that over the past few weeks to last him a