[Immunity] David Kay - Ch19: Therapy

Instructions

The office was really warm. Deacon noticed it right away the moment he walked in—before he even sat down or the therapist introduced herself, even before the door clicked shut behind him. Warm spaces are usually supposed to feel cozy and safe, right? But instead, it just made his collar feel tighter, like the heat was closing in on him from all sides. "David," the therapist said kindly as she settled into her chair. "I'm Dr. Kerr. It's good to meet you." Good to meet you. He didn't reply at first. He sat at the far end of the couch, hands squeezed between his knees, posture rigid, eyes locked on a spot just above her shoulder. The badge clipped to his belt felt heavier than it should. He didn't want to wear it—thought about leaving it in the car—but it felt wrong not to. Like if he didn't have it, he wouldn't be him. But he wasn't feeling much like himself anyway. Dr. Kerr waited. Didn't rush him. Didn't fill the silence with empty words. That kind of bothered him too, but he couldn't figure out why. "It was recommended you come in by your department?" she finally asked. "And your team?" He let out a breath through his nose. "Yeah. They're... concerned." "And you're not?" That made him bristle. "I'm fine." Dr. Kerr's expression didn't change. "You've lost your wife, Mr. Kay. No one is fine after that." Her words hit harder than he expected. He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening. "I'm managing," he corrected. "How?" That caught him off guard. He opened his mouth—realized he had no answer—and closed it again. His pulse raced in his neck. The room felt way too small, too bright, too in-your-face. He could confront armed suspects with more focus than he could handle this stranger asking him how he was dealing with everything. She didn't jot anything down on her clipboard. Just watched him like someone keeps an eye on a scared animal—not with pity, but with understanding. "You don't have to explain everything today," she said. "You don't even have to talk about Annie yet. We can start wherever you want." He shook his head. "I don't need to be here." "Then why did you come?" He glanced over at the window, a simple move but one that carried weight. He didn't want to answer; he didn't want to give her anything real. But instead of her question, he thought about Lila, curled up with him on the bed just two nights ago, whispering that she'd dreamed he didn't come home. He sighed. "My kids." Dr. Kerr nodded, as if that explained everything. "How are they doing?" "They're... trying." He rubbed his face. "They're having nightmares. They're confused. Sad. Some days are okay. Some aren't." "And what about the days that aren't?" Deacon's throat tightened. "I make it work." "How?" Again with the how. Always the how. He blinked hard, staring blankly ahead. "...I don't know." The words slipped out quietly, honestly, and raw. Dr. Kerr leaned in a bit—not enough to crowd him but enough to show she was there. "It's okay not to know," she said. "It's okay not to have control right now." That struck a nerve. Control was all he had left. His job. His routine. His ability to keep his kids safe. The rules he'd lived by his whole life. "I need control," he said sharply.