Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

I don’t fit in and I never have. I don’t care about sports or hunting or video games, so I don’t know how to talk to other guys. I get sick just thinking of going to school, and most days I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t think I can get through two more weeks of this, much less two more years, and I don’t think anything will change after high school anyway. Do you have any advice?

—Nobody

Nobody. The screen went blurry and Veronica had to wipe her eyes several times before she could see the words again.

Nobody. She knew exactly how that felt. To be nothing. No one. It had been her life in high school, too. It had been her life in her own family.

Do you have any advice?

Oh, God. She wasn’t qualified for this. She was barely qualified to give advice on wedding etiquette and blow jobs. But this? This kid needed real help from a professional.

She took a deep breath. That was exactly what she’d tell him. As a matter of fact, she could still remember the language used for these kinds of letters at her previous job.

Feeling a tiny bit calmer, she read the letter again, but this time she took note of the email address and her heart fell. It appeared to be a randomly generated series of numbers and letters, and the email provider was one of the largest online sites. A lot of people used a temporary email address to submit questions. It usually wasn’t a problem, because the disclaimer on the paper’s website covered permissions, so she didn’t have to follow up before publishing.

But this was different. She needed to reach out to this boy.

She immediately hit Reply and crossed her mental fingers as she started typing, but she hit a snag immediately. She wasn’t going to call him Nobody. She refused to. So she just started with “Hello” and went from there.

I’m hoping you’re still at this email address so we can talk. Could you let me know? I’d love to get some more information about what you’re going through, because I truly understand. Please get in touch.

She signed her name and hit Send. When her inbox dinged just a few seconds later, she knew what it meant. Her response had been returned as undeliverable.

Veronica wiped her face again, then blew her nose and closed her eyes to try to stop her tears. If she couldn’t reach him directly, she’d have to post a response on her online column, because she couldn’t wait a week to answer this boy. What if things got worse for him? What if he decided to hurt himself? She knew what the suicide statistics were for teenage boys, and this boy was clearly depressed.

She needed to reach out and she needed to do it the right way. She ticked through her mental list of contacts, but she couldn’t settle on one that satisfied her. There was a psychiatrist she’d been in touch with through the paper once, but she didn’t trust him. He’d seemed arrogant and had even cracked a few jokes about his patients. No, she didn’t trust him at all.

Her social circle wasn’t very large, and it didn’t include any doctors or therapists, but she knew whose would. Ironic that she might have to get in touch with him about this. Her lip curled at the thought. But this wasn’t about her, and she could swallow her pride for this child.

She dialed her father and held her breath.

“Yes?” he answered curtly. He was all business with her and anyone else beneath him. If she’d been a US senator or one of the wealthy people in town, his tone would have been decidedly warmer.

“I need to ask a favor,” she said, hating the words as they left her mouth.

“I hope the favor has to do with Dillon Tettering.”

“It does not.”

“So it’s money?” he barked.

“No, it’s not money. Listen, I just need to know if you have any friends in therapy or psychiatry in town. I have a bit of an emergency regarding a letter writer, and I need a little advice.”

“Isn’t that what you’re paid for?” he said with a cold laugh.

“Dad. Just... Do you know anyone? Surely you’ve dealt with a lot of psychology experts from the bench.” It always helped to remind him that you were aware of his very important job.

“Most of those are brought in by the feds.”

“But not all?” she pressed.

“Sure,” he finally said. She could hear him shuffling papers as he spoke to her. His attention was always on something else, but maybe he was actually looking for something for her this time. “I can give you a name.”

She sighed and slumped into her chair. “Thank you.”

“I assume you’ll return the favor by having a drink with Dillon Tettering.”

Unbelievable. It wasn’t enough that she was his daughter; she still had to bring something to the table. Her tension over the letter snapped to anger. “You know I don’t like him. You know I didn’t like any of Jason’s friends. Why would you ask me to do that?”