“Tristan, how does that make you-” Dr. Bryne started to ask, only to be cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the office door as it was opened. Tristan’s father poked his head inside, still looking pretty much the same as he had that day Tristan met him twenty-four years earlier except for the addition of a few grey hairs and laugh lines. “Sorry, Leonard, but I promised the wife that we’d be home for dinner by six.”

Knowing that even Hank wouldn’t bitch about his mother’s request cutting into his therapy session, Tristan got to his feet and headed for the door. He wasn’t surprised when Dr. Bryne didn’t remind him that they still had over twenty minutes left. The man lived in fear of Tristan’s mother and for damn good reason.

Along with his brother and father, he would happily beat the shit out of anyone that ever made the mistake of making her unhappy.

“Tristan, why don’t you wait in the hall while I speak with your father for a minute,” Dr. Bryne said, probably hoping that bitching to his father would gain Tristan’s cooperation. It wouldn’t, but Tristan didn’t care enough to complain about it.

When his father grabbed his good arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze as if he really needed it, Tristan barely resisted the urge to shrug his hold off. “I’ll be right there,” his father said with that overly understanding smile that seemed to be reserved just for him.

His father was worried about him, but that wasn’t anything new. The man was always worried about him, but at least his father wasn’t as bad as his mother. God, that woman turned worrying into an art form. He was just glad that his father had been able to stop her from tagging along today. She’d only agreed to back off as long his father spoke with the doctor to make sure that he was really okay. If it meant keeping his mother from fretting over him, he’d agree to damn near anything.

He walked into the small hallway that led to the waiting room. Not really paying attention to anyone as he sat down and grabbed a National Geographic magazine. A few minutes later he looked up and noticed a pretty woman sitting across from him, watching him. She gave him a flirty smile that really didn’t interest him, but he was bored and willing to kill a few minutes while he waited for his father.

He was about to ask for her name when his father stepped into the room, looking less than pleased. “Pink bunnies, Tristan?”

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have signed that release form allowing his father to ask questions about his sessions. He looked back at the woman to find her giggling.

“Old Nam’ flashbacks,” Tristan explained, making her laugh harder and not really caring.

He stood up to leave when she reached out to stop him. “Wait,” she said, pressing something into his hand. “I’m Jessica and I would love to hear more about the pink bunnies,” she said coyly, giving him an appreciative look as she ran her eyes over his body.

He gave her a small, barely there nod, quickly forgetting about her as he headed for the exit, wondering if he was about to get another bullshit lecture about taking these mandatory sessions seriously. He followed his father to the old man's black pickup truck and climbed in.

Once they were on the back roads, his father decided that they needed to talk. “So, I hear that you’re not happy about attending therapy.”

Tristan shrugged his good shoulder. “You could say that.”

“That’s the requirement while you’re out on medical. There’s nothing anyone can do about it,” Tom reminded him and Tristan knew that it was pointless to argue, but he did it anyway.

“Hank could always sign off and let me return to light duty,” Tristan pointed out as he sank back against the seat, raising his knee against the door until the leg of his pants rose up and over the ankle holster attached to his leg, revealing his favorite handgun. He absently reached down and adjusted the holster before returning to his lazy position.

Tom sighed heavily. “You know Hank’s hands are tied on this one. He needs you back on duty, but you won’t be any good to anyone until that shoulder of yours is healed. You have two more weeks until you can go on light duty. Until then you’re going to have to suck it up and deal with your mother fussing over you and these therapy sessions.”

At Tristan’s grunt, he continued, “You know it’s your own fault that you’re stuck in therapy.”

“It’s not my fault the emergency room doctor is a f**king bleeding heart.”

“I know. I think he overreacted as well.”

An understatement.

If Tristan hadn’t decked the man, Tom would have and judging by the expression on Hank’s face at the time, he hadn't been too far behind. Once that recommendation was sent to Concord, Tristan’s fate had been sealed.

“Can’t believe he complained because I didn't cry over blowing that f**king maggot’s head off. It will be a cold day in hell when I cry over some child molester.”

“Well, it probably didn’t help when you broke the doctor's nose after he refused to pull his recommendation for therapy,” Tom said dryly.

Tristan’s lips twitched. “But it felt damn good.”

Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later they were pulling up to a large, two-story white colonial house, his first real home. Tristan slowly climbed out of the truck, wincing when the movement pulled at his wound. Before he could make a quiet escape and walk to his own home, two houses down, the front door of his parents’ house was thrown open and a short, yet very determined, woman rushed out. He swore softly as his mother quickly made her way over to him.

“How’s your shoulder today?” she asked, running an assessing eye over him, probably trying to determine how much babying she needed to dish out.

“Fine, Mom. I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later,” he said, quickly giving her a one armed hug and a kiss on her forehead. The one thing he didn’t need right now was his mother fussing over him. He’d had enough of that over the past few weeks to last him a lifetime.

“That’s fine,” his mother said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and giving in a little too easily, instantly putting him on alert.

As Tristan pulled away, his gaze automatically shot across the street, looking for a beat up old yellow Volkswagen that belonged to the woman that he forced himself to pretend didn’t exist. It was there in the driveway. His heart sped up before he could force himself to look away.

“That reminds me, sweetie. Marty accidentally locked herself out. I told her that she could study in your old room until Hank came home. Why don’t you go upstairs and say hello? It’s been a while since you saw each other.”

“I guess I could do that,” he said, telling himself that it was okay, that it wouldn’t kill him to allow himself a moment with her, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed her, craved her and, although he’d never understood it, right now he didn’t want to fight it. Right now he was going to be a selfish bastard and steal a few moments with the woman who deserved better.

His mother smoothed down the collar of his shirt while he struggled against doing the right thing and walking away. “Well, you both moved on since high school and, by the time she’d started college, you were already finished and starting the academy. Sometimes it’s difficult to keep in touch.”