Chapter 21
Scooter was still uncomfortable enough in his own skin to yield to letting Andy drive without complaint. He didn’t even loop his hand through the chicken-bar over the window; Andy’s tendency to tailgate like a motherfucker didn’t usually lend to Scooter being relaxed as a passenger. Face it, Stahl, he thought, you are a control freak.
The therapist, Dr. Michaelsson, had been calm, rather matter of fact, and unexpectedly practical, which had helped Scooter to relax a bit. They’d gone over, very briefly, what brought Scooter in for therapy, which had sidetracked the conversation. When Michaelsson asked what Scooter expected from therapy, Scooter’d decided to go ahead and be honest. “Don’t expect nothin’,” he had said. “M’ dad always said therapy was a waste of time an’ money. Us
