“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Sheila smiles at me.

I settle into the couch and scowl at her in return.

She shifts in her chair, leaning forward, her hands clasped in front of her. “I saw the interview.”

I still say nothing. I’m not mad at her. More like I’m frustrated with myself. I just need to figure out exactly what I’m going to say. The entire drive to her office I ran through a multitude of things I could tell her. None of them sounded good.

If I’m not going to believe in my own words, how do I expect her to?

“I was surprised that you did it.” She pauses. Waiting for me to say something? So am I. “Surprised even more that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“A lot has happened since I last saw you,” I mumble.

“Clearly.” She takes a deep breath. She can also clearly sense my hesitation. “So. Why did you choose to do another interview?”

I launch into my explanation, starting with reconnecting with Ethan, picking out Molly the dog, agreeing to the interview, going with him to San Francisco, spending the night with him in my hotel room . . . all of it. Every bit. My internal struggle. The sex. The proclamations of love, yesterday’s argument, and that I haven’t heard from him since.

“It’s a mess,” I conclude miserably.

“One that can be fixed,” Sheila points out.

Her optimism is usually appreciated. Not so much right now. “I don’t know about that. We . . . struggle. A lot.” And that’s an understatement.

“You were each hurt by the same person, and that unites you both.” She makes us sound so romantic. To the outside observer, maybe we are. But our story is more like a romantic tragedy.

“It also divides us,” I murmur.

Sheila tips her head. “True. But the connection you share is so understandably intense. What happened to the two of you was a life-changing event. It’s formed who you both are, and how you behave with others. It’s natural that you’re drawn to each other and you want to be together.” She pauses, and I know to mentally prepare for what she says next. “You say you love him—and I believe you do, but I’m wondering if sometimes you love the idea of him more than the real him.”

Her words hit home. And they scare me. What if that’s true? What if I’m in love with the idea of my hero, Will, versus the man who he really is, Ethan? “I want to know the real him,” I tell her. “The lines were blurred these last few days. He became Will to me—the adult Will, not young Will. Ethan seemed to disappear.”

“And so that’s why you started calling him Will.” Sheila nods as she taps away on her iPad. I would hate to see my file. I’m sure it’s full of all sorts of cryptic observations.

It always surprises me, how astute she is. “That’s exactly why,” I admit. “And at the end of our trip, he didn’t like it. He even corrected me. And that . . . hurt.”

“Did you ever think that it hurt when you called him Will? He’s tried to rid himself of that name. Down to the point where he had it legally changed. That’s a pretty big step for him to take,” Sheila points out.

“He said he didn’t mind that I called him Will. He told me that multiple times.” Should I feel guilty for pushing it? Maybe . . .

Probably.

“But he didn’t like that you called him Will after you told him you thought he was moving too fast,” Sheila points out.

“He was moving too fast. I’m not ready to live with him. I really don’t even know him that well.” Moving in together means getting engaged, means getting married and eventually having children. I just . . . I don’t know if that’s possible for us. “I’m only twenty-one. He’s my first relationship ever. He’s moving so fast that he’s overwhelming me.”

“Have you told him this? Have you explained all of this to him?”

I shake my head. I’m afraid he’ll shut me down and not listen to me. Or worse, think my fears are nothing but excuses. I’m terrified he’ll end up shutting me out and leaving me first.

“You should. Communication is key,” she suggests gently. “If you really want this to work, then the two of you need to sit down and talk. Don’t hold back—tell him how you really feel. And then you need to listen to him as well.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. But that means I have to reach out to him and I don’t know if I’m ready yet. I’m still hurt and mad and . . . scared.

“How do you feel about last night’s interview?”

“Not great.” I sigh. That’s the understatement of the year. “We shouldn’t have done it. I see that now.” Lisa made him look terrible. She made me look terrible, too. Last night was all about Aaron Monroe. If I didn’t know any better, if I hadn’t experienced his monstrous acts firsthand, I’d almost believe all the crap he says. He can talk a good game.

But I already knew that. He convinced me to go with him so easily. Put on an innocent face and chose his words carefully, persuading me with such charm. I was so young, too. I believed there was only good in the world. That evil couldn’t touch me. I lived in a protective little bubble until Aaron Monroe entered my life.

Easygoing coercion—that was his tactic. And it worked. It still works.

The minute he gets you alone, though, the mask comes off. And the monster comes out.

“What about your family?”

I startle out of my thoughts at her words, my stomach twisting into knots. Their seeming abandonment of me during a tough time in my life hurts the most. I called Mom and let her know about the interview, and she expressed her disappointment both with words and with silence. I texted Brenna, and I could feel her frustration with me through her carefully worded reply. I never heard from either of them after the interview. Nothing from them this morning, either.

“They’re mad at me.”

“Because of you seeing Ethan again?” she asks gently.

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It just automatically shoves its way back in there again.

“They’re just worried about you,” she starts, but I interrupt her.

“That’s all they’ve ever done, worry about me. I’m tired of it.” I am. Oh, how I am. “I’m a grown woman who can make her own choices. They can’t seem to realize that.”

“They have always feared for your safety, ever since you were twelve. Your mom and your sister’s roles are to protect you.”

“Brenna acts like she hates me. The last time we talked she said all sorts of terrible things. She’s so full of resentment toward me.” That still stings—and surprises me.

“Understandable. You became the center of your family’s attention.”

“I didn’t want to be!” The words burst out of me, making my lungs ache. “I never asked for this! I told Brenna that, but she wasn’t listening to me.” I leap to my feet and start pacing around her tiny office. “If I could take this all back I would. Lately I’ve made some mistakes, I know that. But I always had good intentions. Always.”

“No one is accusing you of being bad or evil.”

“My mother and sister act like I’m doing the devil’s work by spending time with Ethan.” Will. God, I can’t figure out which one he is anymore and it’s making me crazy.

“In their eyes, he’s the son of the devil. That association is too close for comfort.”

I sag back into the couch, leaning my head back so I can stare up at the ceiling. The words repeat over and over in my brain, sending a chill down my spine.

That association is too close for comfort.

In some way is that true for me, too? I don’t know.