Page 208 of Broken Saint

“Yep, with the shrink.”

My heart drops.

“Fuck.”

Cassie has been like a dog with a bone. Part of discharging myself from the hospital came with the promise that I’d work closely with the Saints medical team, and apparently, that promise included spending more time than necessary with our team therapist as she delves into the dark depths of my fucked-up mind.

Luca chuckles, pissing me off even more as he follows me toward the front door.

I swipe my keys and cell from the side before ripping the door open and stepping out into the warm Seattle sun.

But it’s nowhere near strong enough to thaw me. Nowhere fucking close.

“Good morning,” Cassie sings as I reluctantly slip into her room.

The temptation to ignore our appointment time and head straight for the gym was strong, but I knew from previous experience that she’d find me. She always fucking does.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks hopefully.

“Wonderful. Best day of my life,” I deadpan.

There is no point trying to bullshit her. She always knows the truth. That’s something else I’ve tried and failed at.

“Colton,” she chastises, watching me closely as I move across the room and lower myself into her interrogation chair.

“What do you want me to say, Cass?”

“That you’ve thought about everything we talked about in our last session. That you’ve found a way to get your thoughts, fears, and insecurities out. That you’ve considered what you might want to say to El?—”

“Don’t,” I snap, not wanting to hear her name said out loud.

“Colton,” she sighs again as if that’ll help with anything.

“I don’t want to write her a fucking letter,” I spit. “We’re done. It’s over. She left.”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said the exact same, or very similar words to her recently. But no matter how many times I repeat them, the pain in my chest never lessens.

“So you’ve said.” She pauses, letting her words settle in my head. “How has training been?”

“Fine.”

“Are you feeling stronger?”

“I guess.”

“And your drinking?”

I shrug, unwilling to go there.

Guilt knots up my insides as I give her such bullshit, surface-level answers.

She continues, just like she has every session since my hospital stay, and like always, I hold back.

I never used to.

But I fear that I’m now even too broken to open up to her.

And that is fucking terrifying because…where does that leave me?