Somehow she finds the courage to read the letter. She sits on the couch, holding it far away from her, as if she’s afraid my father can leap from the page and attack her face. Her hands shake, the paper rattles in her grip, and she takes plenty of cleansing, fortifying breaths.

That I asked her to read this means I’m a complete dick. But I need to know if my overactive imagination is at play or if I’m interpreting his words correctly. I sit in an overstuffed chair, wrenching my hands together, anxious as hell. I’m almost scared to hear what she thinks.

The moment she’s finished, she sets the letter onto the coffee table in front of her, her head averted, like she doesn’t want to look at me. She rubs her arms up and down, warding off an imaginary chill, and a trembling exhale escapes her. “It feels like he’s threatening you,” she starts, then hesitates.

Exactly what I was thinking. “Go on,” I urge.

Katie lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine. “I think he wants to use you to look like the good guy. As if your acceptance of him abolishes every horrible deed and crime he’s committed. I don’t doubt that Lisa put him up to writing this letter, either. It might have been her idea in the first place. She’s all about the ratings. The both of them will want as much attention on his upcoming interview as possible.”

“We’re thinking along the same lines,” I murmur. She can’t begin to understand how much it means to me, that she feels the same way I do. “I don’t like the veiled threats.”

“I wouldn’t, either.” She glances toward where the letter sits, drawing up her legs and curling into herself. Trying to get away from that piece of paper as much as she can. “It’s eerie how he can sit in a maximum security prison and we can still feel him as if he’s in the same room with us.”

“It’s how I feel every time I receive a letter from him,” I admit.

The sorrow in her eyes cuts deep. Reminds me that she’s suffered so much, too. More than I ever have. “Has he ever tried to call you?”

I shake my head in answer.

“Do you want to do the interview?”

I shake my head again, more vehemently this time. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“I don’t want to do it, either. I don’t want to do any of this.” Her face crumples and then she’s crying. Tears slide down her cheeks, her eyes closing just before she covers her face with her hands. “All my interview did was bring us more heartache and pain,” she says, her voice muffled by her hands.

Ah, hell. Her tears kill me. I never want to see her in pain. I will always do my damnedest to make sure she’s safe. Happy. That’s been my job since I was fifteen fucking years old and though we’ve been apart for most of those years in between, I vow I will never allow her to be hurt by my father again. No matter what.

Rising from the chair, I go to her, my steps tentative, my intentions true. I only want to offer comfort. Though I want more from her, too—I can’t lie—but not in this moment. She needs to know I’m here for her. Just like she came running to be here for me.

“Katie,” I whisper, but she shakes her head, turning to press her face into my couch as she cries harder.

And breaks my heart more.

I sit next to her on the couch and pull her into my arms. She tries to resist at first, bracing her hands out like she wants to push me away, but I don’t let her. I need to hold her. She needs to be held. Slowly she melts into me, her head against my chest, her hands curling around my shoulders. She clings to me and cries hard, ugly tears. I smooth my hand over her hair, circle my other arm around her back, but say nothing. She just needs to get it all out.

Molly comes trotting into the living room, cocking her head at me like she’s confused. I say nothing as she approaches us, stopping to rest her chin on top of Katie’s thigh. Katie reaches out and pats Molly’s head, sniffing loudly as she withdraws her hand. Molly will have none of it, licking Katie’s fingers and making her laugh.

It’s a nice sound, watery with tears, but still a laugh.

“She licked me,” Katie murmurs.

“She likes you.”

“I like her, too.” She lifts her head to look up at me. Her eyes are red, as is her nose, and I reach out, brush the tears away from her face with my thumb. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For comforting me. I’ve . . . cried a lot of lonely tears over the years.” She smiles again and shakes her head. “That rhymed. I could probably write a perfect country song, what with everything I’ve gone through.”

“Me too,” I admit with a chuckle. I brush her hair away from her forehead, any excuse to touch her. “What are we going to do, Katie?”

She frowns. “About what?”

Shifting, I lean in close, my mouth hovering above hers. My heart is racing. Surely she can feel it beneath her palm. The way she’s touching me, wrapped all around me without any inhibitions . . . I’m pushing my luck but damn it, I can’t seem to resist when it comes to her. “About this. About us.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth and she licks her lips. I close my eyes briefly, searching for a shred of control to cling on to, but it’s hard. So damn hard. “I’m still mad at you,” she admits.

“Understandable. I’ll respect your boundaries.” I touch her jaw with just my fingertips, drifting them under her chin. “But don’t you see how the moment we get too close, it’s like we’re naturally drawn to each other?”

“Chemistry means nothing,” she says, her voice shaky. “That’s all this is.”

“Chemistry is everything,” I say vehemently. “You of all people should understand that.”

“I’m afraid.” She pauses and I wait patiently. When it comes to Katie, I can be forever patient. “I’m afraid we’re not good for each other,” she whispers. I lean in and press my mouth to her cheek. Her breath hitches at the first touch of my lips on her skin. “In the end, all we’ll do is cause each other pain. I don’t know if I can stand that again. The pain. Always so much pain in my life.”

My heart aches. I’ve suffered way too much pain, too. It’s all I know. Except for these few stolen days and nights with Katie. “But won’t the moments when we give each other pleasure be worth the burn?”

She says nothing. She doesn’t resist, either. I’m taking it too far. I’m pushing too hard, but I can’t help myself. When I’m with Katie like this I can’t resist her. The smell of her skin, her taste. The way she feels in my arms. It’s too much.

Too perfect.

I’m about to kiss her when her eyes crack open, bright blue and shining. “I don’t know what to call you, who to think of you as. Are you Ethan? Or are you Will? My brain . . . it’s all a jumble. I want to call you Will, but I know you won’t like it. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

I stare at her and heave out a breath, my mind drawing a blank. I have no response. None. Instead I shift away from her, her body slipping out of my arms, past my fingers, and just like that, there’s a vast, yawning distance between us.

And I’m scared as hell that I’ll never be close to Katie again.