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BRAELYNN
I’ve never done this before and I’m nervous as hell because it feels like a different kind of test entirely. I keep turning the ring around my finger and I wish I wouldn’t. It’s an obvious sign of my nerves. So instead, I tuck my hands inside of the long sleeves of my blue knit sweater so only the tips of my fingers show.
I’ve never been here either and it occurs to me that the room was designed for just this. The office is small and cozy and just off the kitchen, with a couch, a chair, and a desk. Aria’s art hangs on walls painted a warm eggshell color. I think this room would feel warm even on the coldest day of the year. Built-in shelves on one side hold smaller pieces by Aria and photographs. She and Carter smile out from one. The two of them plus the kids.
It’s a heartbreakingly normal home office. A stranger sitting in here would know that somebody liked art, and that Aria and Carter are happy together. They’d never know what it takes to win happiness for people like Carter and his brothers. All that darkness would be hidden from them.
Or, if not hidden, just…out of sight. It’s not on display here, the way it might be if Aria put it into one of her pieces. Well except for the fact that the person staring back at me is supposed to hear all of that…since she’s a therapist.
I settle back into the couch, unsure of what, exactly, to do with my body. This room is neutral in a way that says it’s trying to be neutral, which is very different from the rest of the house. I know there are cameras here. I know I’m being watched.
Which isn’t what I’d expect from a therapy session, I guess, but it is what I’d expect in the world of the Cross brothers.
“This isn’t a test, right?” My soft question moves across the room, no doubt being picked up by microphones from those cameras. How many people are tracking the words that come out of my mouth? Just Declan, or one of his men, or one of his brothers? Is there a room somewhere in the house where they can sit and watch? Anxiousness creeps up my arms and I find myself crossing them as I breathe out a slow steady breath.
I don’t like the thought of a dark room and computer screens displaying my therapy session, but I bet there’s an explanation for that, too. There’s a reason it has to happen.
The therapist smiles at me from her seat near the desk. She’s an older woman, and she looks at home in this office. An elegant top is paired with slacks that look both comfortable and expensive at the same time. Dark hair is pulled back in a twist. If the cameras make her feel anything, I can’t tell. She meets my eyes with a warm, considering expression. “Are you used to being tested?”
I glance around the room one more time, still unsure of all of this as I readjust. I didn’t expect for the session to be totally private, obviously, but it would be easier if I knew where the cameras were. If this kind of thing is going to be a regular part of my life, then there’s no need to hide it so much. He can be up-front about it.
“Braelynn?” Her question directs my attention back to her, and I remember that she asked me a question in return for mine.
“I can tell you anything? Declan said I could, and can I trust him with that?” I ask her. He can watch all he wants while I spill out everything that comes to mind.
Afterall, he told me to say whatever I wanted. I’m tempted to do just that, but…I want her confirmation first. I know that’s not enough to truly judge a person on, but I have Aria’s word that she’s good, too.
“Of course you can. I mean that. Anything.” She leans forward a little, folding her hands over a notepad in her lap. “I grew up in this life, Braelynn. You can tell me you murdered your first lover and I wouldn’t say a word to anyone.”
Declan told me that, too. This woman has been around for years. I let myself relax a little and remember her first question.
“Yes. I’m used to being tested.”
She sits up, taking a pen in hand. “It sounds like you don’t like that.”
“I hated it. I was furious about it.”
“In the past, or do you still feel that way?”
“I feel like—” I give it a few moments. There’s no need to rush my answers. “It was upsetting, and it made me angry. I didn’t understand it, and that just made me feel…out of control.”
“What changed?”
I shrug, a bit helpless at how to answer. “It was gradual. I had to take the time to figure things out. The hardest thing to get past was the distrust.”
“Have you communicated this with Declan?”
“Yes.”
“What was his response?”
“He was remorseful. He felt awful about it.” An ache in my chest reminds me of how much I love him. Of how it hurts to think of him terrified for me, and worried, and how that must still follow him around to this day. “He does his best to reassure me. Every chance he gets now.”
She absorbs this for a few minutes. It’s clear that she’s had lots of experience as a therapist because there’s no impatience in the quiet. There really is space for me to say anything I need to say.
When I don’t continue, she gives a small nod. “Do you forgive him?”
I do. I could tell her right away, but I force myself to slow down and think through the question from beginning to the end. Sometimes, I don’t want to feel my feelings. I want to push them away and get on with my life. That’s not why I’m here today.
