Chapter 6: Exhibit A

My car clicked twice in the hospital lot and died.

"Battery," Roan said, with his head under the hood. "It's four degrees out. Get in my truck."

His truck smelled like coffee and old paper.

The heater roared, and the lake went by on our right, flat and grey in the first light.

Neither of us spoke until he turned onto Ebba's street.

He parked at the curb and left the engine running.

"Friday," I said. "He wants me on his show on Friday."

"You're not going."

"I'm going."

He turned in his seat and looked at me.

"Anja."

"He has two million people who think he's a sensitive man who survived his mother's death."

"And?"

"And I would like to be in the room when they find out his mother lives in Phoenix."

He rubbed his jaw.

"That's a bad plan."

"It's the only one I have."

"Then it's a bad plan with a nurse attached, so I'm coming."

"Fine."

The engine ticked.

I reached for the door handle, and my sleeve caught on his seat belt buckle.

He bent to free it.

His fingers closed over my wrist, and I felt his pulse hammering under his thumb.

Neither of us moved.

His face was a few inches from mine, and he smelled like soap and the cold air from the dock.

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

Mine dropped to his.

He did not let go of my wrist.

I thought, very clearly: he is going to kiss me, and I am going to let him.

Keep reading free with an account. Start We Called It Therapy After Dark from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.