Authors: R.L. Mathewson
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