Don't Go by L.J. Breedlove (series like harry potter txt) 📕

that question was from left field, Ryan thought. He tried to organize the story in his own head.

“You know I was in the party scene in Portland,” he began. “I mean deep into it. As soon as I could pass for legal — and that was at 16. Mom and Dad were worried, of course. Angry even. We had a lot of fights. Then came time to apply for college, and I did as they asked, applied and was accepted to Stanford and the University of Washington, even Harvard. But I didn’t want that, I wanted to stay in Portland, in my life, you know? So, I enrolled at Portland Community College. Not even PSU. They were pissed.”

Dr. Clarke snorted. “I bet.” He’d suspected before that she knew his adoptive parents.

“Then the next thing I know, Mom sits me down and tells me she and Dad are retiring and taking a year-long cruise. And they won’t be returning to Portland. They’ve set up a trust-fund for me — but only if I go to a four-year-school. She suggested Reed, which guaranteed I’d choose PSU,” he said laughing at that younger self. “Which I’m glad I did in retrospect. And they left.”

“So where are they now?”

“San Diego. They like the climate.”

“What about you? Do you go there for holidays?”

Ryan felt the tears in his eyes start. “I’m not invited.” He hesitated and shrugged. “I get it. You know they have kids of their own? Who are a lot older than I am. I’d be the odd duck.”

“And those older kids never came to holidays in Portland when you were growing up?”

Ryan frowned. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure I’ve even met them all. That’s weird isn’t it? Do you think they were that ashamed of me?”

“Why would you think they were ashamed of you?”

Ryan laughed. “I looked like someone’s boytoy in those days, Doctor. Mom was horrified.”

“I’m not sure what a boytoy looks like,” Dr. Clarke admitted. “We may have to come back to that. But that’s late teens. What about before that?”

He shook his head. “No, just the three of us. I mean I knew they had other children, but it was just us. Maybe I’m not the only one who compartmentalized.”

“We all do to some extent,” Clarke agreed. “Take your friend Cage Washington. I imagine he is very different at home than he is at the newsroom.”

Ryan laughed. “Probably not, which might be why Cage had some rebellious years of his own.”

“Preachers’ kids have identity struggles,” Clarke agreed. “But you get what I mean.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “We’ve covered a lot of ground and not very thoroughly,” she said. “I’d like to see you frequently until we work through some things. Today’s Thursday. Friday might be too soon.”

She hesitated. “I don’t see patients on weekends normally. But I do have emergency room hours from 8 p.m. on. It’s when kids need me the most. If you want to come up here at 8 p.m. Saturday, we can talk.”

Ryan nodded. He felt scraped raw. He thought about Saturday. “I’ll have Rafael,” he said. “I plan to be in the newsroom from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. No wait. We’re breaking a big story on the news show. I’ll need to go back....” He tried to think through his schedule. “Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll be here at 8 p.m. If I have to go back into work I will.”

Ryan got up to leave, turned and held out his hand. Dr. Clarke shook it, but she looked surprised.

“Stop outside and tell my nurse when you’re coming in,” she said. “And set up a schedule for next week. Every two days if you can.”

As Ryan left, Dr. Clarke turned to her computer and did a search. Then she called the switchboard and asked for a call to be placed to San Diego.

“Janet? It’s Dr. Erica Clarke,” she said to the voice who answered. “I just had a session with Ryan. Why didn’t you ever tell him you were his biological grandparents?”

Ryan had his phone out looking at his calendar when he realized he could hear Dr. Clarke’s voice. He glanced at the door; saw he hadn’t closed it completely. He backtracked to do so, when he heard his mother’s name. He stood there for a moment as a feeling of betrayal knifed him. Then he set that aside, and, instead of closing the door, opened it and stepped inside.

Dr. Clarke saw him. “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly and ended the call.

“I didn’t know you knew my parents,” Ryan said neutrally, still standing in the doorway, hunched as if to take a hit.

“You know I have never lied to you, don’t you?”

Ryan considered that and nodded. “Doesn’t mean you’ve told me everything either,” he observed.

“No, I haven’t. That night Cage hauled you up here to have your stomach pumped wasn’t the first time I’d seen you. But I didn’t realize it until I got all of your medical records I requested. And among them was an old file of mine. By then you were making good progress, and I didn’t bring it up. You acted as if you didn’t remember, so I let it go.”

“And today you realized I really didn’t remember,” Ryan guessed. He still didn’t enter the room.

Clarke nodded. “I was the doctor who did the psychological assessment of you and your adoptive parents. There was much concern among CPS. You’d been through several foster homes. And these were your biological grandparents. They’d tracked you down and found you. They wanted you. But CPS was skeptical that they could handle you. And so, I did the assessments. With some reservations I recommended they be allowed to adopt you, and I think that recommendation has stood the test of time.

“What I did not know was that they never told you who they really were to you. I find that odd. I wanted to check in with them, and then discuss it all with you on Saturday. I’m sorry