Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (2 page)

Somewhere in there, the assignment sheet arrived on the table in front of Paris. She picked it up and sighed. This one was a sheet on dreams. Your dreams. Dreams you gave up on. Dreams you couldn’t give up on. And the last one got to Paris – list the innermost secret dream you were too afraid to let yourself dream.

She stared at that question and wished she had an answer.

“For those of you working on the homework sheet,” Jenna said. “Please add one question to the bottom of the sheet.”

There were long, heavy sighs from those around her.

Paris looked at Jenna, waiting, wondering where she was going with this.

“Write down the biggest regret in your life and how the event impacted your dreams.”

Shit.

Paris’s hard-won calm disintegrated. That question required no thought.

She already had the answer. She lived with it daily.

She wished she’d never killed her father.

*

What was Paris’s
problem? Cool name. If he’d read the top of worksheet correctly.

But the woman…her expression was that of a deer frozen in the spotlight. He stared at her, seeing the glassy eyes and the stark-white pallor.

Like what the hell?

Trying to sneak a glance at her paper again, he realized she was filling out the question that Jenna had just added. All he could see was something ending with
her father.

Figures. Every messed-up girl seemed to have daddy issues. While he turned back to his paper, he kept an eye on her. When she started to rub out the words written on her paper – words written in pen – he knew she wasn’t all there.

The questions in front of him were beyond his understanding, but he had to ponder the concept. He wasn’t about dreams. He was all about goals. Dreams were nebulous. Airy and light. Weightless. Euphemism for useless. He was a planner. A-one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-and-walk toward a specific end point kind of person. Not for the joy of the walk but because he was going to get somewhere specific. He was all about specifics. That he was here in this damn class said he was doing one of the steps that he needed to do to get on with his life.

Another check box was being marked off. Good. Therapy wasn’t his thing, especially not his own. At least not now. No, he couldn’t really say for sure why he was here except because of Jenna herself. He’d heard about Jenna’s classes and had even attended several of her evening lectures. But he didn’t
need
her class and he’d told her so. That’s when she’d smiled that really witchy smile, her eyes glowing with laughter, and she’d challenged him to attend. To show that he’d taken care of
his
stuff. That there wasn’t anything else she could show him.

“Hell,” he’d said with a snicker, “of course I
could
do it, but I don’t need to. I wouldn’t pay good money for something like this.”

With a laugh, she replied, “If you think you’re immune, then write up a paper on it. If it’s any good, I’ll help you get it published. If you find out you’re not immune, we’ll revisit the subject of the report at the end.”

Now that appealed to his sense of purpose. His portfolio was missing published articles – particularly in peer-reviewed journals. Even if having a shrink’s name on his paper didn’t help in getting a paper published, it was on his bucket list. And damn it, that bucket list was important.

So he’d accepted the challenge. And here he was.

So no, he hadn’t been tricked into attending, but…it almost felt like it. Or maybe it was that he felt played…and had taken the bait. And that now he was where she wanted him to be.

But why?

To observe? To write his insights? There was lots of fodder here. Some of these people needed serious help.

He shook his head and scratched the word dreams out and replaced it with the word goals. When he was done, he realized the odd sound beside him was the sound of paper ripping. He snuck a glance over at Paris to see her trying to rip out the answer she’d tried to rub out first. Apparently, she was seriously determined to not let anyone see that answer. As he studied her, he realized that she’d actually ripped off the strip of paper and had rolled it up into a tiny ball.

Fascinated, he watched her struggle to find a place to hide the tiny item. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. What the hell had she written that she wanted erased so badly?

His gaze swung back to the paper. She’d left the other answers intact. Just a long strip missing out of the bottom half. As if sensing his bewilderment, she lifted her gaze to his face. Her cheeks flared with bright colors as their eyes met, and she slammed her hand over the same hand that held the tiny ball of paper. The ball flew from her fingers, bounced on the table, and rolled toward him.

It was inevitable. The curious behavior he witnessed had him itching to know what she was trying to hide; what was written on the crumpled ball on the floor in front of him. Just as he reached for the paper ball, she snatched it up, their fingers brushing briefly as he watched the trail of her fingers to her mouth.

She popped the tiny globe into her mouth…and damn if she didn’t swallow it.

P
aris shuddered with
embarrassment. Oh God. Oh Lord. Please say she hadn’t just done that.

She’d been so panicked when she’d seen him first glance at her paper. The answer she had written. An answer she’d never intended to share. There’d never been any consideration that someone else would read it. Of course Jenna. But then she already knew.

The thought of anyone else knowing…she struggled to control her breathing. Closing her eyes, she took one deep breath, then a second one. It was impossible to have a panic attack here, she didn’t dare. She hadn’t had one in a long time…

A shadow fell across her face. A heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” asked a deep rolling male voice.

Opening her eyes in a flash, she knew before she saw that it was him.

Her gaze widened and she swallowed. Finally, she managed to nod and whisper, “Yes, thank you.”

Hard eyes stared down at her, studying her. As though he was looking into the very heart of her. Quickly, her eyes slammed closed before he could see too much.

See the guilty stain on her soul. Sense the vast emptiness inside.

“Hey, take it easy.”

The fingers on her shoulders squeezed gently. The warmth of his touch pulsed through her and she took another breath.

“Okay,” she said, nodding as she opened her eyes and gave him a lopsided grin. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to.”

“Try harder.” That tone said
do it
. No excuses. And something about it worked. She straightened up, gave him a small nod of thanks, and glanced down at her paper. The paper was destroyed, ripped to shreds. “Wow, I really didn’t like that question.”

Her neighbor barked with laughter.

“Or you liked it so well, you had to taste it,” he teased.

Without any malice or jeering in his tone, she took no offense. “A hang-up from my childhood,” she admitted.

“Good thing the rest of the questions are fine then,” he said, startling a laugh out of her.

“Paris and Weaver.”

They both turned to face Jenna standing beside them.

“Sorry,” Paris rushed to say, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Jenna’s sharp eyes landed on Paris’s face. Her mouth opened as if to say something but she held back. Then she switched her gaze to Weaver and gave him a small nod.

And it was that nod that Paris really wanted to understand.

Because it was a small satisfied nod, as if she was happy with a decision he’d made. And what decision that was, Paris couldn’t begin to fathom. Still, Jenna’s arrival was enough to help Paris rebalance and get back on track.

Then Jenna’s gaze widened as she stared at something on the table. Paris groaned silently. Her damn worksheet. Shoulders slumped, she opened her mouth to explain when Jenna said, “If you two could come to the back with me now, please.”

And she turned and walked away.

Paris was confused for a moment, but she got up, reached for her paper, and realized it was gone.

As she spun around searching for it, she saw Weaver, and what a different name that was, hold out a small square of paper.

Stretching her hand out to accept it, she suddenly realized it was her worksheet now folded so the rips didn’t show – into a perfect little star.

She laughed. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He motioned behind her. “Let’s go. Jenna is waiting.”

*

He waited for
her to stumble to her feet and race to the back of the room. To get away from him? Or to get to Jenna faster? If so, she was the only one. All the other attendees had dragged their feet.

In his mind, he was taking notes on her character. While doing his masters in psychology, he’d learned, seen many interesting people, and heard fascinating cases. All of the bits and pieces of various personalities that made them the whole of who they were. Through these cases, he began to understand how events in life disintegrated the calm exterior of some and shattered the interior of others. Coping skills were as wide and varied as the people and the catastrophic event in their lives were.

Though he’d studied cases, attended cases as an observer, and had read widely, he’d yet to touch the tip of what made people tick. Jenna had a special touch. Partly why he’d attended so many lectures. To try and understand how she’d achieved the results she had from her workshops.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his degree. Something useful he hoped. But he couldn’t do what Jenna did, and neither could he work in the hospitals where so many people needed help. He wasn’t at the point of helping others yet.

Maybe down the road that could be an option but, he knew how quickly his own buttons could get pushed. Even after years of working on his own crap. There was a buffer layer between the buttons and reality, but somehow being at the hospital, working with patients, and dealing with major psychological issues made that cushion thin like nothing else. He always felt exposed when he was there. As if he wore a sign that made it clear he was exactly the same as they were. That they shouldn’t look to him for help.

It crossed his mind that most people finishing their degrees felt ineffective in facing the world, afraid the world might expect them to have answers now that the initial stages of schooling were complete.

That’s one thing he did know – he was short on answers.

“Weaver?”

Startled, he looked over at Jenna, who was waiting for him. When she motioned to the seat beside him, he realized he’d stopped beside the two women and had stood lost in thought while they waited for him to sit.

What an idiot. With an apologetic smile, he sat.

“Now that you are both here…” she waited and gave Weaver a brief smile, “I wanted to go over the project you’ll both take part in.” He started. No, that hadn’t been part of the deal. Already having agreed to write, a paper, he didn’t want to have to take part in the week-long activity. How was he going to find time to do both?

Yeah, he wasn’t. So Paris could do the project while he did his paper. Sounded fair to him, but somehow he didn’t think it would be that easy.