Page 15 of Enzo (The Amato Family #2)

D oc’s home office is decorated much like the rest of the house, bright and airy, with comfortable furniture, and overstuffed bookshelves holding mostly romance novels, though there’s one entire bookcase dedicated to medical texts in here.

The desk is a light wood, curved, with drawers on one side and open shelves on the other that hold more books—of course.

Hanging over the desk is a set of three paintings, done in yellows, pinks, and oranges, like an abstract sunset.

Sadly for me, I’m not here to admire the decor, but to use Doc’s computer so I can have my appointment with the therapist I’ve been putting off.

The call comes through and I jerk in the chair, staring at the computer screen for a long moment while I contemplate not answering, before finally sighing and clicking accept .

I brace myself as the call connects, but when the therapist Doc found appears on the screen, I have a hard time keeping my composure.

“Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Brayan Madison, and yes, Doc knew I was an amputee when he asked me to put you on my client list. And no, that’s not the only reason why he and I believe this match is a good one.”

I grimace. “I’m sorry. I… don’t mean to be rude.”

He chuckles. “You’re not. Your reaction’s actually nothing compared to others’. You’d be surprised how upset some people get, thinking I’m going to baby them or invalidate their feelings because I ‘live a great life and think they should too simply because we have one thing in common.’”

I wince and turn my face away from the camera, because those thoughts were in my head the moment I saw him on screen.

“So, Doc told me pretty much nothing about you, so that’s what we’ll do today,” Dr. Madison says smoothly.

Facing the camera once more, I adjust myself in the seat, carefully keeping my leg on the footrest under the desk. “I’m not sure what to say. My name’s Enzo, I’m forty-two, I’m a bodyguard. That’s about it.”

“I’d like to believe people are more complex than their age, name, and profession,” he says gently.

“For example, I’m close to your age, and you know my name and profession, but what you don’t know is that in my spare time I like hiking, camping, and being out in nature.

My husband and I traveled to Hawaii a few months ago and went cliff diving and bungee jumping.

Or rather, he watched me cliff dive and bungee jump.

There is one daredevil in our relationship, and it’s not him. ”

My chest tightens as feelings I can’t name wash over me at his casual mention of his recent adventures.

“I’m not going to be cliff diving or bungee jumping anytime soon,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady.

“And I’m not saying that because I believe my new reality would prevent me, but…

I’ve never been very adventurous, despite my profession.

Hell, I haven’t had time in the last twenty-plus years to do anything. ”

“So what do you do for fun? You have time off, I assume? Even as a bodyguard? And would you mind expanding on what being a bodyguard means to you? I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure what it entails.”

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try to keep myself composed. “I should rephrase that. I’m no longer a bodyguard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?”

I shoot him an incredulous look. “I think the answer is pretty obvious.”

Dr. Madison tilts his head. “Is it?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, it is. Tell me, do you really think I could keep up with a twenty-one-year-old mafia heir? One who has a knack of getting himself into trouble because he’s brilliant, stubborn, and unwilling to let us put our lives on the line for his, even though that’s our literal job.

I’m not an idiot. I didn’t get into this profession expecting to make it to old age, my days were numbered as it was.

I was only going to get older, and then what?

What good would I have been when my reaction times were a fraction too slow?

We all know the drill, eventually we either get too old or we die in the line of duty. ”

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arm across his chest. “Were you hoping to die, then?”

“What?”

He shrugs. “Early retirement by normal society standards or death, that’s what you said. So, were you hoping to die, rather than having to endure being forced out of a job I can see you’re passionate about simply by the inflection in your voice and the frustration on your face?”

My entire body flushes at how easily he’s called me out, though he doesn’t gloat, or even make an indication that he knows he’s got me.

“What about significant others? Family? It appears your career is a tough subject, so if it makes you uncomfortable, we can circle back to it, but I want to reassure myself you have support—other than just Doc.”

I laugh, a real one this time. “How well do you know Doc?”

“We went to school together. And yes, he was just as much of an asshole then as he is now. Our paths diverged when he went on to medical school and I chose to focus on psychology, but I’ve worked with a few people who also work with the Amato Family, and with the help of another old school friend was able to set Doc up with his own therapist back in school. ”

I nod. “I was Doc’s bodyguard for a year. He was my first big job, actually. I remember escorting him to his appointments.”

“Anyway, when he reached out and said he had a rather…special case he wanted me to work on personally, I had a hard time refusing. My books are filled, but for Doc, I was willing to listen. He knew me before and after I lost my arm.” Dr. Madison grimaces.

“I was a stupid rich kid, thought I was invincible, that the rules of nature couldn’t touch me.

” He meets my eyes. “You can ask, I don’t mind.

I’ve had years to come to terms with the depths of my idiocy. ”

“I don’t want to intrude. I’m… not sure how I’d feel if some stranger asked me what happened to me on our first meeting.”

“I can admire that. But remember, everyone is different, and yes, some people are going to have lingering trauma, but so long as you’re respectful and accept that no means no, no one will give you any grief.

Ignoring it, especially if it’s obvious you’re staring, can sometimes cause more awkwardness.

I can tell you from personal experience, I’d rather be asked or be allowed to talk about my story so we can move on and get over it. ”

I swallow and shift uncomfortably. “I’m not there yet.”

“Understandable. You may never be. It’s perfectly valid to say ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ especially to people who are too nosy for their own good.” When I don’t respond, he asks, “Do you feel as if you need to be open about your accident and injury?”

“If you’re asking whether I’m being pressured…

yes and no. My partner knows what happened.

He also works for the Family—in a different capacity, though—and he’s been by my side the entire time.

Obviously the Boss knows, Doc knows…hell, it’s safe to say the entire Family does.

But talking about how I’m doing, admitting to the lack of what I used to be capable of…

it twists me up. I don’t know how to get past the idea that everything has changed. ”

“But it has,” he replies. “There’s no going back, no changing it.

The only thing you can do is control how you respond to the various feelings that run through you.

I’m not telling you to move on—that’s hard to do when you have to live with the evidence of what happened your entire life—but you can move forward.

I promise. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I will be here to help you crawl out of whatever lies the despair is telling you.

You have a partner, yes? What about other family? ”

I swallow against the uncomfortable truth of his words as I answer him. “No family aside from Kail’s. My birth family…they disowned me when I was fifteen. They didn’t approve of me being bisexual. Kail’s family has been great, though. They didn’t hesitate to adopt me as one of their own.”

“And what about now? Have they shown anything less than unconditional love?”

Shame fills me as I reply. “I haven’t let them visit. I…couldn’t face them. Not their compassion, or pity, or assurance that this changes nothing when everything has changed.”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Everything has changed, and with it, not only the way you assume people are going to perceive you, but the way you perceive yourself. I want you to think about that for next time. From speaking with you today, I can sense your identity has been tied with your career for a very long time, and now you say you no longer have that, so it’s compounding how you feel about your accident.

So I want you to think about how you see yourself, how your perspective has changed, and how you fear people are going to see you.

You can write it down if you need to…order your thoughts however you want.

If you need anything before our next appointment, you can call, email, text me. Until then, you have your homework.”

“Thank you.”

We sign off and I take the first full breath as soon as the screen goes dark.

That was…a lot. Not at all how I thought it was going to go, but I feel wiped out, as if I just ran for ten miles while dodging bullets or something, rather than sitting on my ass for an hour talking about things I’d rather not think about.

And now I have fucking homework . Shit. What has Doc gotten me into?