(LIAM'S POV)
The door to Dr. Roland Kyle's office clicked shut behind me with a soft finality that felt heavier than it should have. My legs carried me down the quiet hallway on autopilot, the heavy cast on my left arm swinging like dead weight at my side. The session had left me raw — like someone had taken a scalpel to every ugly part of me I'd spent years burying. I pushed through the main doors and stepped out into the late afternoon light of Yellowstone, the mountain air cool and crisp against my overheated skin.
My truck was right where I'd left it.
And Dylan was sitting in the driver's seat like he belonged there, one arm resting casually on the open window, hazel eyes already locked on me the second I appeared.
I stopped dead on the sidewalk, heart doing a weird little stutter I immediately hated.
He'd waited. Just like he said he would.
