go say hello to her. Maybe try to explain that Colton’s going to be away for a little while, but we’ll be there for her whenever she needs us. What do you think?”
“Rocky road. I think rocky road.”
“That’s her favorite, huh?”
“Yeah. And rainbow sprinkles.”
“Rocky road with rainbow sprinkles,” she said, lifting her chin and taking her brother’s arm as they exited the courtroom. “Sounds like a plan.”
CHAPTER 17
“Day thirty,” said Dr. Warren, stepping around the desk and sitting down across from Colt, who sat in a guest chair. “Halfway through your treatment, which means you get your letter writing privileges instated today. Anyone you’re thinking about writing to?”
“Maybe Mel,” he said, “but I don’t know what to fuc—” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Part of his therapy was to try not to curse as freely as he used to. “I don’t know what to say to her. ‘Remember me? Your long-lost cousin?’”
“She was told that you’d be away for a while.”
“Be away,” he said softly. “What does that even mean to someone with Down syndrome?”
“You’re underestimating her, I think. She’s not a child. Her brain may not work as efficiently as yours, but having Down syndrome doesn’t mean she can’t understand time and absence. From what you’ve told me, Mel is actually quite high-functioning and bright. Besides, you’ll see her in a month and you’ll be able to explain to her in person then. It’ll be okay.”
Man, I hope so.
“So maybe you’ll write to Mel if you can figure out what to say.” The doctor kept his expression neutral. “Anyone else?”
Colt looked down at his lap, Verity’s face appearing in his mind as it did in every quiet moment. Her beautiful blue eyes, full lips, angel-soft hair. I love you. You love me. We’ll get through this. But suddenly her face twisted, becoming haggard and tired, a mash-up of her face in the courtroom and his mother’s face after one of his father’s tantrums. Colt shook his head, looking up at Dr. Warren.
“Nah,” he said softly.
“Not . . . Verity?”
Her name. Just hearing her name was enough to gut him.
“I told her to go. I . . .”
“You . . . what?”
“You already know this,” said Colt, starting to feel irritated.
Irritated, not angry, which was an important distinction, because annoyance and irritation were emotions he’d generally skipped before finding himself in the throes of full-blown anger. However, since arriving at Central State Hospital and beginning his forced therapy with Dr. Warren, Colt was changing. The doc said he was healing.
“I told her I never wanted to see her face again,” said Colt. “I told her to go.”
“Yes, but maybe she didn’t go just because you told her to.”
Colt tried to swallow over the lump in his throat. “It’s best if she did.”
“Why do you think that? You don’t talk about her very much, but when you do, it’s clear she means something to you.”
Something?
Everything.
Verity Gwynn had been his shot at happiness, and he’d ruined it—he’d killed it. He’d beat Artie to a pulp, hurt and abandoned her and her brother. Lynette had almost definitely fired her, though he didn’t know for sure. But the final nail in the coffin, the insult to the injury, was his rejection of her in the courtroom—telling her he blamed her and wanted her out of his house. He knew now that the manner in which he’d lashed out at her was partially due to his anger disorder, but part of him was acting in her best interest, and he had truly wanted her to go—to find some levelheaded, even-keeled guy who deserved someone as sweet and wonderful as Verity.
He was damn sure it wasn’t him.
He looked up. “This thing that’s wrong with me? I don’t know if it can be fixed. It’s like I’m . . . broken, doc.”
Dr. Warren leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “No, Colton. You aren’t broken. You’re sick. Just like your father was sick. What you have, as you know, is a medical condition—an anger disorder called intermittent explosive disorder, which we’ve started treating medically and psychologically.”
“Like I said, broken.”
“Recovering,” said Dr. Warren with a warning edge in his voice. “Since we started you on that SSRI three weeks ago, you’ve started healing. Let me ask you this: is there medical maintenance involved with controlling a disorder like diabetes? Yes. Will there be medical maintenance involved to control your IED? Of course. Diabetics take insulin; you take an SSRI. And you already