“If I did go back to it…” I said, trying to choose my words carefully. “What does that mean to you?”
“You couldn’t leave it alone,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not after the first time.”
“Neither could you,” I said. “Maybe I wanted a better angle.”
The words escaped before I could stop them, and every nerve in my system pulled tight, screaming.
My body obviously had knowledge I hadn’t caught up to yet.
Colt didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. But his eyes weren’t curious. They were violent. Heavy with judgment; I could feel it. Burning with heat Colt hadn’t decided whether to unleash or bury in his subconscious.
As if he were holding back a dark storm, and I’d foolishly stood directly in its path. Not merely a look; a warning.
He advanced.
One step toward me, then another. Each footfall deliberate.
Predatory.
Every muscle inside me locked when Colt’s shadow cut across the floor.
He saw; I knew he saw.
Instinct screamed at me to retreat but I had no angle. Only the counter behind me and Colt in front, filling the space between us. My pen shook even as I willed it to stop, believing if I remained still, I’d be untouchable.
I wanted to move, but I couldn’t because my feet had fused to the floor.
My pulse hammered, my ears rang. Too loud. I silently prayed Colt couldn’t hear it. My hands felt clammy against the counter as my body braced for impact, so tense it hurt.
The faucet drip kept the beat for his movements.
He stopped short of me, so close I could smell the salt of dried sweat. Heat radiated off his skin in waves. If I’d learned anything at all during my years as a therapist, in rooms like this, control wasn’t calm.
It was containment.
I attempted to sound confident. “Why ask, Colt? Are you after a lie or a confession?”
“Neither,” Colt growled. “If you’re obsessed with that clip… if you’re stuck on it, you’re not objective. And I need your signature clean.”
“Then don’t makecleanmy full-time job,” I said, and immediately regretted it.
His eyes stayed on mine as he took another inch. Fury burned inside them. Not loud rage, but pressure. I couldn’t tell if his fury was contained. Or waiting. The bars were there, but they shook.
The cage rattled.
Colt tilted his head. Not with curiosity or confusion. He assessed me, as if to decide if I was a threat… or something softer.
Something breakable.
Something he could ruin if he wanted to.
And the worst part?
Part of me wanted him to.
Exactly seven minutesremained until five o’clock, but I was ready to call it an early day and leave the center. As I headed to my office to grab my belongings, I tried not to think about my interaction with Colt, but it owned my mind from the moment it happened.
The corridor smelled of disinfectant as usual. Lights above me hummed but stayed firmly lit. Oddly comforting in a place like an anger management center.
