Follow the River

Being back in Boulder means things are going back to normal. Well, at least as normal as they can be now that River and I are…hell. I don't know.

I don’t know where things between us stand. I don’t know where I want them to go. I don’t know if what I’m feeling for him is actually love, the real fucking thing, or something my mind has latched onto in some weird Stockholm Syndrome type deal from being thrown together for over a month with no one else around.

I just don’t know.

That’s why my ass is walking into the waiting room to Dr. Fulton’s office not more than an hour after Coach dropped me off at my apartment. This appointment was already set before I left for the cabin, but for the first time, I’m extremely glad to come in and have her help me unpack the shit that plagues my mind.

I walk up to the receptionist, Joan, to check in like normal, and when her eyes snap up to me and widen before she scrambles out of her seat.

“Ciaráin, you’re here. Perfect,” she says quickly, “Doctor Fulton had a cancellation before you, so you’re free to go back right away. I’ll let her know you’re on your way.” Her tone is filled with anxiety and unease as she glances around the waiting room to the other patients waiting to see their own psychiatrist or therapist. No one seems to be paying us any attention, but her agitated state sets me on edge.

What the hell?

“Thanks, Joan,” I remark, slipping through the door to the hallway holding each individual office. Nothing seems out of place save for Joan’s apprehension of…what, I’m not sure.

Stopping outside Doctor Fulton’s door, I knock twice before twisting the handle and letting myself in. She’s sitting in the same chair she always is when I come for my appointments, and when her head snaps up, she gives me the same warm and welcoming smile as always. The one that lets me know I can trust her.

And for some reason, as foolish as it might be, I do.

“Ciaráin, hi. Why don’t you get seated so we can start right away?” she says in greeting. I fold myself onto the couch across from her, resting my arms on my knees and looking at her. She seems to be acting normal, unlike Joan, but it’s the words that come next that set me on edge. “I’m so glad you decided to come in today with everything going on.”

Immediately, I tense, my mind flying to everything that happened up in the cabin with River. How does she know?

“What do you mean?”

“Everything with your stepfather.”

I roll my eyes, partially at the fact that she’s bringing up my stepfather, but mostly at myself and my paranoia. Of course she was talking about him, not me and River. “What has he done now? Last I heard, they can’t find a way to put him away for anything yet.”

She gives me a puzzled look. “Have you not been keeping up with the news while you were on your trip?”

Nope, no news here. Just lots of very dirty sex with my very male quarterback.

I let out a dry laugh. “I was trapped in a cabin in the mountains for five weeks with the only form of television coming from Netflix and Hulu. Safe to say the nightly news wasn’t on my list of activities.”

Doctor Fulton visibly pales and she goes rigid in her seat and instantly I know something is really fucking wrong. The way she’s looking at me right now, the way Joan acted in the waiting area.

What have you done now, you bastard?

“Tell me,” I demand, my fists clenching tight enough I feel my nails digging into my palms. She winces slightly at my tone, then meets my eyes, hers filled with understanding and maybe even fear. “Doctor Fulton—” I start again.

“Please, Ciaráin, call me Erica,” she cuts me off, rising and grabbing the laptop from her desk. “Our relationship is about to become a lot less professional once I show you this.” Returning to her seat, she opens it and starts typing.

What in the ever loving…?

Jesus, did he go and get himself killed? She should know from my file that his death would be the least of my concern and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever be caught mourning his depraved ass in my life.

So what could it be?

Not until she hands the laptop over to me, showing me a video news clip from a few hours ago of a woman anchor, the same I’ve seen covering my stepfather a thousand times, sitting at a news desk. Swallowing hard, I glimpse at the headline before hitting play and see…my name.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“New information has been brought to light in regards to the ongoing investigation into Senator Theodore Anders’ child molestation allegations. It’s been revealed by a credible source in contact with the FBI that the child in question, Ciaráin Patrick Grady, now age twenty-one, is none other than the stepson of the senator himself.

“Ciaráin’s testimony against the horrid and appalling acts Senator Anders forced upon him for five years, starting at the age of nine, while not suitable to share on air, have strengthened the FBI’s case against Anders. The recordings provided enough evidence for an arrest warrant, allowing Anders to be brought into custody for questioning. According to a spokesperson for the Bureau, the senator was formally accused with a third degree statutory rape charge, which can carry a prison sentence of up to seven years and up fifteen thousand dollars in fines, along with other minor charges. Anders' bail was set at one million dollars, which was posted, and he was released less than forty-eight hours later.

“In regards to the stepson, Ciaráin Grady has not been seen or heard from in over a month. He was last seen at his college campus in Boulder, Colorado on the eighth of December. There is cause for speculation amongst the Bureau that the circumstances behind his disappearance could potentially be related to the charges brought against Senator Anders, stating kidnapping, foul play, or aggravated assault are not out of the question.”

There’s still easily another minute of the news clip, but my mind is spi

“Ciaráin—” she starts after a drawn out silence, but I fucking snap.

“Who do you work for?”

She pauses, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me,” I seethe, pushing off my knees into a standing position. My feet drag my body back and forth across the length of her office. “Who the fuck do you work for? I know it’s my mother who pays you, so what? Do you feed all the information I’ve given you back to her and Senator Ted fucking Anders? Help them build a case against me, calling me mentally unstable or whatever else bullshit they’ll try to use to sway a jury in his favor.”

She winces at my words. “No, I can promise you I am not under your stepfather’s employ. He has no idea you’re even seeing another therapist. Your mother made sure of that.” Erica’s blue eyes rise to meet my manic ones, sorrow circling in them. “I work for your mother and only your mother.”

My brows furrow. “What does that even mean?”

Sighing, she brushes back her hair, tucking it neatly behind her ear. As if it were even out of place in the first place. “It means you aren’t completely off-base when you asked if I was relaying our sessions back to your mother. I absolutely am.”

At those words, I see red. I’m in her face, my nose an inch from hers, when I spit the words out at her. “And you expect me to believe she didn’t tell Ted every. Goddamn. Word? Are you fucking stupid?”