Michael's POV
The memory crashed over me like a tidal wave, and I flinched as the past clawed its way back to the surface.
"Then don't expect me to just forget when you clearly don't get it!" The words tore from my throat, years of buried rage finally breaking free.
Orton let his hand drop, but those knowing eyes never wavered. "I'm not telling you to forget for their sake," he said, pressing his palm against his chest. "I'm telling you to let go for yourself."
I let out a harsh laugh, shoving past him toward the door. "I'm doing just fine, Orton. Can't you see that?" I gestured at my pressed shirt and tailored pants, the perfect image of a man who had his life together. Even though we both knew it was all smoke and mirrors.
