Her eyes narrowed at me. “So what gives then?”

It wasn’t a question I hadn’t asked myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my chin in my hands. “I honestly don’t know, Roe. I thought I’d feel better after that Silver Hell biker was dead, but I don’t. I feel worse. Or, maybe not worse, just something different, but still bad. Ugh, I can’t even describe how I feel.” Tears pricked at my eyes and I sighed. Pointing at my eyes, I muttered, “And look! I fucking cry for no reason these days. Ridiculous.” I shoved my drink away. “And I don’t want rum. I want Milo.”

The room turned silent while we stared at each other, me through tears, Monroe through surprised eyes. And then she did what Monroe does—she moved into action and tried to fix me.

She picked up the glass of rum and emptied the liquid into the sink. Then, she pulled the fridge open and grabbed out the milk. Next, she reached into the pantry for the tin of Milo I always had on hand and made me the drink I craved.

Placing the mug of Milo in front of me, she said, “Drink that and let’s work this shit out because no fucking way can I have Friday drinks in your house anymore. And I certainly can’t do fucking Milo on a Friday afternoon. Milo!”

My mouth curled into the first smile I’d smiled all week. Placing both hands around the mug, I drank my drink and waited for her to continue.

“Right, let’s count all the ways you’re fucked.” She held up one finger. “Firstly, you were raped and beaten up by an asshole biker. And I know you say it wasn’t rape, but it doesn’t matter if he didn’t fuck you with his dick, it was rape. That’s gotta screw you up and I’m pretty sure you haven’t even attempted to emotionally deal with that.” She held up a second finger. “Next, your brother was murdered nine months ago and as much as you thought that his murderer getting what he deserved would make you feel better, that was never gonna be the case. The only thing that would make it all better is if Chris had never been killed in the first place.” She held up another finger. “Third, you’ve spent the last three weeks watching your back because although Nitro told you that you were safe, who the hell knows what these fucking bikers are capable of? I know you hate admitting defeat, but, babe, you are scared. And I don’t blame you, but you need to talk about this shit and stop bottling it up. That’s what’s bringing you down—you won’t ask for help and at this point, you need all the help you can get.”

I nodded slowly. “You’re right. You always are.” Tears slid down my face. “But I don’t know the first thing about asking for help, Roe.”

Her face softened and she reached for my hand. “Oh, babe. I’m always here for you. I do think, though, that you should consider therapy.”

My whole body tensed at that suggestion. Dredging up my past was the last thing I wanted to do.

When I didn’t agree with her, Monroe leaned forward across the counter and said softly, “Let’s not forget your mother’s death, the end of your marriage and your disbarment. I know those things aren’t as recent, but they’re all things I don’t think you’ve finished working through. You get up every day and put on your boss-ass-bitch pants, and you take care of everybody else’s problems, but you never take care of yourself, Tatum. I want you to love yourself first and I’m fairly fucking sure you’re gonna need a professional to guide you through that process.”

I exhaled, long and hard. And I made a snap decision. Monroe was right. I was sick of feeling like shit. It was time to reclaim my life. And I was going to need a fucking shrink to even begin to wade through the crap in my heart.

I raised my mug of Milo at her. “Cheers, Roe.”

She raised her glass and said, “Cheers to a psych? Or cheers to something else?”

I laughed and drained my mug. “Cheers to a psych and no more fucking Friday afternoon drinks at my house.”

* * *

Billy glanced up at me as I entered his office three days later. He did a double take and put his pen down as he frowned and shoved his chair back to stand. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tatum. What the hell happened to you?”

I collapsed into the chair across from him. Leaning my elbows on my knees, I looked at him through puffy, blurry eyes that had done more crying in two hours than they’d done in years. “I hired a shrink. She made me talk.”

His body sagged in what looked like relief and he sat back down. “Thank fuck.”

I smiled. “You do care.”

He scowled. “Of course I fucking care. I put a guy on you after King sent you home and you had me worried for a minute there that he hasn’t been doing his job.”

I sat up straight and frowned. “Wait. You have someone watching me?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just never thought about it.”

He sighed. “When are you going to figure out how important you are to me? And I’m not just talking about the shit you do for me here. It fucking killed me when you chose Storm over me. I needed to know you were safe and with you locked up in their clubhouse, I had no idea. I won’t allow that to happen again.”

“I don’t care what anyone says, you’re a good guy, Billy Jones.”

“Yeah, well don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to uphold and it’s easier to get what I want if people think I’m a bastard.”

Moments like this were so rare with Billy. Hell, moments like this were rare in my life full stop. My heart expanded to take it all in. For once, I didn’t push the warmth away. I let it all in and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

Tears threatened again, so I swiftly changed the subject. “Posey’s back tonight.”

“Good. Almost four weeks without her and they’re screaming for her. Has her asshole-ex finally decided to leave her alone?”

“Yeah. He’s actually moved to Melbourne.” I gave him a smile. “Thank you to whoever you got to help with that decision.”

“I should have done that sooner. Any news on those drug charges?”

I stood. “Duvall got them dropped completely. They wouldn’t have stuck in court.”

He grew pensive for a moment. “It seems Duvall is a worthwhile ally.”