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Handing it to me, she redirected. “Okay, how about this. Can you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Davis?”

“Aaron,” I corrected.

His name was Aaron. My Aaron.

I cursed under my breath. There was no point in hiding what our relationship was. Everyone in our circle of friends knew Aaron and I had casually dated. “He was my friend, and sometimes more than that,” I confessed. “We enlisted at the same time and worked our way up the ranks together.”

“So, when he stopped by to check on you at the pool⁠—”

“He was coming to get me, to call it a day. We were going to grab some dinner.” My voice shook. “It was all normal, until it wasn’t.”

“I see,” she said, carefully. She glanced at the pile of papers, her face weary. “In some of the paperwork I was given, it mentioned you both recently returned home from a tour overseas.”

She didn’t elaborate, waiting for me to take the lead.

“Yes,” I paused, searching through my memories of that last tour.

It had been a hard one.

We’d been gone for six months, tracking down a high-level criminal organization who’d been hiding in the desert after we’d infiltrated their headquarters in a city’s underground, halfway across the world.

I could still feel the sensation of sandpaper being rubbed across my skin, and the cold desert nights.

“What was it like . . . where you were deployed?” the doctor whispered.

Bright flashes of light seared through my mind, the taste of sand and ash hot in my mouth as I ran through streets littered with bodies missing parts from the last bomb that hit. The bomb our side dropped. I heard ringing in my ears as my eyes caught a glimpse of a dirty shoe on the ground, too small to be an enemy’s. It’s a child’s shoe, I thought to myself, right before the next bomb hit and Aaron was throwing his body over mine, his deep-green eyes boring into mine as he shielded me from the blast.

My body buzzed like my limbs had fallen asleep.

“Hell,” I answered her, my voice little more than a sigh.

I dabbed my face with the tissue she had given me as a fresh tear fell down my face.

Dr. Mallory shifted in her chair. “And after you both returned home, how was Aaron’s behavior toward you?”

I sat up, annoyed by the direction her line of questioning was heading. “Aaron never put his hands on me, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

How could I articulate the Aaron I knew was nothing like the Aaron who showed up to the pool that day three weeks ago? The Aaron I knew had risked his life to save mine. He’d spent weeks in the hospital recovering because of me, because he had chosen to protect me.

Dr. Mallory pushed a little more. “Except he did put his hands on you, Bryn⁠—”

I stood abruptly.

I wouldn’t have a conversation about Aaron that painted him in a bad light.

She didn’t know him like I did.

Respecting that the session was clearly over, Dr. Mallory stood and made her way to me. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “You did good today. We’ll meet again in a few days.”

She turned to give me some privacy while I reeled in my emotions, crumpling the tissue inside my fist.

My body felt heavy.

Dr. Mallory smiled sadly. “For what it’s worth, off the record, of course,” she whispered. “I believe what the officers wrote in their report.”

It was the first time I realized I’d never bothered to contact the police, or my superiors, about where the official case stood. I hadn’t wanted an update on everything while I’d been living inside my bubble of despair.

So, I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer to my question. “What did they write?”