Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

“Sure I can. And with one hand tied behind my back.”

“While hopping on one foot?” José asked.

“Nah, even I’m not that good.”

“I’ll make a coffee run,” Garrison offered.

I sat up and ran a palm down my face. “I’ll do it in a minute.”

José clicked some keys and was able to access the system without it freezing. “What the… Who installs extensions on a work toolbar? No wonder it’s running like a frozen snail.”

Checking the time, I stood and started for the elevator. “Don’t start a fight with their IT guy while I’m gone.”

“I’d be surprised if that moron knew how to work his door handle,” José said to my back.

He was probably right.

Briar

For spoiled pigeons

“HOW’RE YOU DOING, Briar?”

Not now.

I mean, technically not ever would be best. But I’ll settle for not now.

I just need a break.

A break wasn’t an option, though. Not when there were observant eyes watching my every move, analyzing and dissecting. Just looking for a reason to add sessions.

Or worse.

It was my fear of worse that had me turning to talk to Derrick. “I’m good, how’re you?”

“I’m glad you’re good.” He stepped closer, and even though it wasn’t an inappropriate closeness, I still had to lock my knees to keep from backing away. “Were you visiting Aria?”

I shook my head. “Just my Tuesday one-on-one.”

If group left me drained and annoyed, my weekly solo sessions with my psychologist left me completely deflated and flayed open. Dr. Linda didn’t hesitate to dig and force me to face things I’d rather keep buried. And that session, she may as well have been geared up like an archeologist because she had dug deep.

“Got it.” I hoped that meant he understood enough to let me flee so I could emotionally regroup, but that wasn’t the case. “How’s the shelter?”

“It’s good. We’ve got a lot of animals, including pigeons, if you’re looking to adopt.”

His eyes widened. “Pigeons? For real?”

“People are crazy,” I said before I could think better of the phrasing. Most docs, therapists, and mediators didn’t allow the c word—crazy not cunt. Insane, loco, and batshit were also off the table.

Mental health slurs was what they called them.

Thankfully, Derrick let it slide. “Maybe they had plans to bring back the homing pigeons.”

“These guys won’t even fly to their food bowl, so if that was the plan, it failed. Big time.”

“Shame. It could’ve been new competition for Twitter. Cooer.”

“Booooo,” I jeered, shaking my head.

I hoped I’d made enough small talk and could leave without it being a thing, but Derrick kept asking questions about the animals and my duties. None of it was invasive or heavy, but after such a rough session, my need for space and solitude was worse than usual.

And it was usually bad.

I thought I was doing an okay job hiding it, but after a million years—or so it seemed—Derrick paused and studied me.

I realized I was fidgeting with my hair, so I dropped my hand, but the damage was done.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I squeaked out past the anxiety elephant weighing on my chest.

“You sure? Is Aria here today?” There was a pause and his voice sounded odd when he added, “Or I could take you back to Dr. Linda?”

“No!” I quickly gained control of my panic before I drew attention. “I’m just hungry. I haven’t had lunch yet.”

Since he had his bag with him like he was leaving, I hoped like hell he wouldn’t offer to walk me out again. I wasn’t sure I could hold it together for another awkward stroll. Thankfully, he just returned my smile and said, “I’ll let you get some food then. See you at group.”

“Can’t wait,” I lied. I needed a week to recuperate, not just two days.

Usually, I took the stairs to avoid getting stuck in a metal box with strangers, but since that was the direction Derrick went, I headed for the elevator. I pressed the down arrow a million and ten times, as if that would magically make it open faster. When it dinged and the doors slid open, I was thankful to find it blissfully empty.

I got in and pressed the button for the lobby before going to town on the close-door one.

It was just as useless as the down button, and by the time the doors finally started to close, someone stuck their hand in, halting my escape.

The doors slid open and someone stepped in, but I didn’t look to see who or offer that weird grimace-smile thingy most people gave. I stared at the buttons in front of me like they were going to rearrange themselves to reveal the secrets of the universe.

According to Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, forty-two was the answer to the question of life.

Knowing how fucked up the world was, I was betting it was actually sixty-nine. Maybe four-twenty. Six-six-six? Any or all.

“Glad I didn’t bump into you this time,” a deep voice rumbled.

I thought he was talking to someone on the phone since it was a confusing—and insulting—thing to say. But when I glanced in his direction, I knew he was talking to me.

The bodyguard.

The one who’d literally bumped into me.

I was surprised to see him back at the center until I remembered what Aria had told me about the tech nerd upgrading the computer system.

Assuming that’s why he was there, I gave him a small smile. “I remembered to zip my purse today, so the outcome wouldn’t have been as bad.”

His smile wasn’t small. It was wide and easy, revealing perfect teeth to match the rest of his perfect face. He even smelled perfect, the fresh scent cutting through the stale elevator air.

Long ago—before everything—I used to love watching cheesy teen romance movies. The ones with all the overly dramatic acting, the thin, unrealistic plot, and the happily ever after. Seeing him again reminded me of them.

First, there was our fortuitous meet-cute, complete with an awkward accident.

Then, the incidental run-in—which included a clever greeting and charming smile.

Next, he would rescue me from some danger I didn’t