22. Willa / Greer
CHAPTER 22
WILLA / GREER
“W hat do you want to eat?” River asks, tapping the tray in front of me.
I eye the food in the metal containers in front of us, then reach for a spoon to scoop out some scrambled eggs. “Eggs and toast are plenty for me. When I was going to school, I usually only had a protein bar in the morning.”
He piles his plate with a little bit of everything. “Breakfast is fuel for your brain and one of my favorite meals. Bacon, sausage, biscuits, eggs, pancakes… you name it. I love it.”
“If I ate all that, I’d be bigger than a house,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “And sleepy.”
“That’s the beauty of using your powers,” he tells me. “It revs up your metabolism. In fact, if you use them to the point of depletion, you’ll need to stuff yourself to recover.”
I look down at my modest plate of food. “I’ll take your word for it.” The only time I used my powers, I passed out afterward, but when I woke, I didn’t feel hungry. Just stressed.
Finding an empty table, I sit down and dig into my eggs. Not bad. “Needs a little salt, but they’re good. How is yours?” I can’t help but look at the pancakes, dripping with butter and syrup, on his plate. Exactly how I like them.
“Everything is good, but the pancakes are unreal,” he teases me. I glare at him, and he laughs. “Here. Take one. You’re drooling.” He places a single pancake on my plate.
“Mmm, thank you.” There’s something universal about pancakes. Both my dad and Lionel used to make them for me. I take a bite and let out a little moan as the thick syrup and butter hits my tongue.
“Good to see you’re eating,” Quaid says, striding up to us, energy crackling around him.
Choking down the bite, I look up at the intense man and see he’s carrying several items. At least he’s not scowling.
“Here’s a printout of your schedule and a map,” he says, handing me two pieces of paper and a tablet. “Your first meeting is in fifteen minutes with Beckett. He’s our resident psychiatrist. Everyone meets with him so he can help ease any concerns you might have and give you someone confidential to talk to.”
River snorts. “Pass.”
Quaid hands him a tablet. “The meeting with Beckett is non-negotiable. Your appointment is right after hers at nine-thirty. Once you’re done, take a look at the list of classes and decide which ones you want to take. I’ll meet you back here at noon to get the list.”
With a frown, I glance down at the papers in my hand. One of them has a complete list of classes with days and times. “Why didn’t I get to choose my classes?”
“Based on Brad’s assessment, we created a list of classes for you. Most of them are focused on learning survival skills and how to use your powers,” Quaid murmurs. “Don’t tell anyone about that class.”
Nervous, I look at River. “Why?”
River shares a look with Quaid. “Never give away all your secrets.”
Quaid dips his chin in agreement and looks at his watch. “Exactly. You’ll need to leave in the next ten minutes to make it to Beckett’s office in time. It’s on the map.” He leaves as silently as he arrived, and I can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes. That man rubs me the wrong way.
I’m finishing this pancake first, though. Hurrying, I quickly shove a couple more bites into my mouth and look over to see River laughing at me. “What? These pancakes are too good to waste.”
He waves a hand. “Take them with you. We can bring the trays back at lunch.”
I pause mid-bite and think about it. “I don’t like the idea of walking around with a tray. My schedule is packed.”
Ten minutes later, I’ve finished all my food, and after setting my tray down where I’m supposed to, I drag River out the door.
According to the map, Beckett’s office is in the building next to this one. Bright sun blinds me the instant I step outside, but I soak it in. It feels good to be out of the white sterile environment.
Numerous tan buildings surround this one. Well, technically, they’re a mustard-y brown color that sort of looks like a mix of tan and creamy yellow that looks like baby poo or something, but I can’t stomach the thought. Tan it is. My nose wrinkles at the sight of them. Does the military not believe in color? With a shrug, I open the door to the one in front of me and walk down the hall until I reach room 103.
Entering, I find a small sitting area with a few chairs and a door with a light on top of it. Having seen enough psychiatrists’ offices at the hospital where I did clinicals, I know the light is used to signal when another patient is in the room. Although it’s not on, the black and white clock on the wall says eight fifty-nine, so I sit down.
River grabs the seat next to me and continues eating his breakfast.
“Oh good; you’re here,” a smooth voice says, and I jerk my gaze back to the door where I find a tall, lean man in jeans and a green button-down shirt.
I’m pretty sure my mouth drops open. Thick, wavy brown hair frames a perfectly symmetrical and utterly stunning face with a square jaw, a strong, straight nose, and smiling lips. Light-colored eyes framed with black glasses should make him look stern, but the intelligence gleaming from the depths of his eyes makes him lean toward sexy serious. Is that even a term? Probably not, but it should be. Sexy nerd. Sexy smart. Sexy…
River leans over. “Are you okay? Nervous?”
Reining in my thoughts, I nod and take a deep breath. “I’m good. Great. Yep.”
I stand, then make my way toward Beckett, but the whole time, I’m wondering how I’m going to be able to talk about my feelings to someone who has a cleft chin.
“Hi, I’m W… Greer.” Apparently, I’m also a mess.
He nods and stretches a gloved hand toward the interior of his office. “It’s nice to meet you, Greer. I’m Beckett. Please come in.”
I dart a glance at the gloves on his hands. Sometimes in rehab people wore gloves to protect skin that had been damaged badly in a fire, but those aren’t the same. He’s wearing thin black leather gloves. I stop in the middle of the room and wait for him to tell me where to sit.
The office is kind of boring. There’s the obligatory couch. A few upholstered chairs. A large wooden desk with files and papers cluttering the top. The wall of windows makes the room feel light and airy, but there’s little décor to give it much-needed warmth.
A glass of ice water sits on a coaster in the center of the coffee table.
“Sit anywhere you like.” He motions to the options.
Uncomfortable choosing the couch, I contemplate the chair to the right of it, but I don’t like the idea of sitting that close to the stranger who’s trying to delve into my head. So, I sit on the edge of the couch and clasp my hands together.
He smiles and takes the seat across from me. “Once you get to know me, I hope you’ll feel more comfortable in here.” His words make me blush, and I scoot back a tiny bit. “We’ll spend our time today getting acquainted. Sound good?”
Relieved, I nod. “Yes.”
He leans back in his chair and studies me for a minute. “I’m sorry for your loss. Lionel was a good man.”
His words melt a little bit of the stiffness in my spine. “Thank you. I didn’t realize he knew so many people here.” The image of Lionel lying on the ground at the gas station, sweat pouring down his face and his hand shaking while he tries to hold back the fire flashes in my mind, and I can’t help but flinch.
“Want to talk about it?” he offers in a comforting tone.
“It’s too fresh,” I say with a shake of my head. “Can you tell me how you knew him? Was it here?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I met him ten years ago. At West Point. He came to speak to me and my fellow cadets about Army life and to offer guidance on the road ahead of us. Since then, I’ve met him a few times.”
“Did you know he loved to cook?” I ask him with a sad smile. “He was really good at it, too. I’ll miss having dinner with him, testing out his new recipes.” I didn’t even know that was on my mind until just now.
Beckett shakes his head. “I didn’t know that about him.” He taps his finger on his knee. “Did you live close to each other?”
“I lived in his garage,” I tell him, my voice breaking at the mention of it. It’s stupid, but I miss my apartment. My life. “He wanted me close but knew I would need some independence while I completed grad school, so he added an upstairs apartment to his garage.”
“What were you studying in school?”
“Doctorate in physical therapy,” I reply, almost choking on the answer. “Sorry. Losing Lionel, my life, finding out I have powers, it’s all too much right now.”
“What is your power?” he asks in a calm voice.
Surprised, I stare at him. “I thought you all knew. Water, I think.”
“Think?”
I lift a finger. “I’ve only used it once.”
He reaches up to adjust his glasses. “That’s unlikely. We’re born with our abilities, which usually manifest when we’re teenagers. You would have used them long before now.”
“I would have noticed if I had manipulated water,” I insist, irritated by his assumption.
“My guess is you suppressed the memory for some reason,” he continues, as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “Using that as the basis of my theory, I pulled some information from your background. When you were sixteen, you were in an accident with your parents, correct?”
Great. Another raw memory to bring up. “For a casual conversation, you’re bringing up a lot of triggers.” He stares at me, waiting patiently for me to continue. “You’re correct.” The thought of talking about my parents and the accident so soon after losing Lionel is scraping raw nerves.
“The accident report says you woke up in a pond,” he calmly states. “I looked up an old property survey and some other documentation. I also spoke to the family who owns the land. What would you say if I told you the pond wasn’t there before the accident?” he reveals, to my astonishment.
Stunned, I sit there and stare at him. Does he honestly think I created the pond? For what reason? “Seriously? Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you used the water to cushion your fall. It would have been an instinctive move. Something your power would leap to do naturally,” he informs me, unaware of the bomb he’s just dropped on me.
“That’s not possible,” I tell him, pissed that he would even suggest it.
“Why does that upset you so much?” He asks calmly.
Shaking my head back and forth, I stand and look down at him, angry tears falling down my face. His theory is preposterous. “No. It’s impossible. You’re wrong. Do you hear me? Wrong. I didn’t have any powers back then.” Swallowing hard to dislodge the knot in my throat, I continue, “If I had, I would have used them to put out the fire that burned my parents alive.” With a sob, I leave him sitting there and dash out of the room.