Rafe glanced at Farrah. “Sorry our conversation got so intense. We’re normally more fun when guests come.”

Farrah smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine how hard it is. You owe me no apologies. My fiancé lives for his work. If he thought he could no longer be a cop . . .”

“Yeah.” Again he hesitated, then decided to let his family in. Just a little. “I’m not sure what else I could even do. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a cop.” He craned his neck to look around the doorway, to be certain Mercy wasn’t on her way back. “I don’t want Mercy to know. She has enough to worry about right now and I know she feels guilty about me getting shot.”

Farrah mimed zipping her lips. “She won’t hear a thing from me.”

Sasha had become uncharacteristically quiet, and Rafe turned to her with a lifted eyebrow. “What?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “We can talk later.”

“Oh, heavens,” Farrah said, searching her handbag. “I’ve left some medication in my suitcase. Karl, where did you put it, please? I just got over bronchitis and need to finish all my antibiotics. You know how it is.”

“Of course.” Karl rose and went to the doorway. “I’ll show you where I put your things.”

Sasha frowned when they were gone. “What was that about?”

Rafe had already decided that he liked Mercy’s best friend very much. She’d just cemented his good opinion. “She wanted to give us time alone. I saw the bottle of antibiotics in her purse when she gave me ibuprofen earlier. So what has you so upset, kid?”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You’re only five years older than me.” Then she sighed. “We’ve all been a little worried about you, that’s all. I mean, we’re all hoping you regain full use of your leg, but what if you don’t? Have you considered . . . y’know, talking to someone?”

Rafe fought his own sigh. They meant well, his family, but this was why he kept his feelings to himself. His laid-back “nothing bothers me” surfer persona had taken years to perfect. It was a most effective shield. That I obviously have misplaced somewhere. This was what happened when he gave his family an iota of information. They always pushed for more. “You mean like a shrink?”

His mother narrowed her eyes at him. “A mental health therapist, Raphael. Don’t minimize their importance with denigrating sobriquets.”

Rafe bit back a smile. “Wow, Mom. Those are some five-dollar words there.” Her scowl had him sobering. She was serious. Very. “I know they are useful, and yes, Cash did recommend someone.”

Sasha looked relieved. “Who?”

“Some therapist that his athlete friend used when he got hurt and had to leave the game. I have the therapist’s name, I just haven’t called yet. But he only gave it to me today,” he added when his mother opened her mouth to no doubt nag him to call now. “Give me a day or two, okay? Things just got hairy.”