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But, when I’ve thought about it again, I come to the same conclusion as before.
“Yes. I do.” Emotion makes my chest feel tight all over again. Normally I’d cry, then pull myself together. Or I’d push it away and ignore it. I let myself feel it. “I forgive him. I love him, and I understand why it happened. But it still scares me.”
“Still scares you? Worse than before, or—”
“Not as much.”
“Because?”
“Because they believe me.” Isn’t it crazy how much we rely on others to not feel crazy?
The therapist nods. I didn’t need her to back me up—I’m confident that Declan and his brothers believe me.
“What do they believe you about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The defensive feeling takes me by surprise. So does my tone, which is way more forceful than I mean. So much for taking my time with my answers.
The therapist raises her hands, still calm. “That’s fine. Is that a trigger for you?”
“A trigger?”
“Bringing up whatever it was that happened.” She lowers her hands slowly, like she doesn’t want to startle me.
“Yes.” My face is hot, and emotions bubble under the surface. I want to brush it off so badly, but then…this is why I’m talking to a therapist in the first place. I tried to sweep all of this under the rug, and it’s just not happening. “Kind of.”
“Does Declan know that?” This question is calm and gentle, just like the therapist, and it makes me feel better that we’re not talking about what happened, exactly, but the way I’ve handled it. That’s…safer ground, but it does make me think I should eventually talk through all of it, even if I don’t want to.
And I don’t want to.
“I feel like he does,” I offer because I’m not sure what he knows. I don’t live in his mind. If I did, we probably wouldn’t have had so much trouble with the testing.
“Maybe it’s something you can express to him,” the therapist suggests. “I find creating a strong boundary around what is acceptable to be exposed to and discussed and what isn’t is very helpful in this life.”
The conversation continues easily for another forty minutes. But I keep going back to the boundaries and how it’s so very obvious now that I think about it. Declan is searching for mine so he doesn’t cross them.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
“Yes?” the therapist calls out.
The door opens, and Declan pokes his head in. “Should I join, or no?” He runs a hand over the back of his neck, glancing at me. “Just offering, if you want.” His stubbled jaw is still the same sharpness it’s always been, yet there’s nothing about him that intimidates me anymore. Seeing him, those piercing eyes searching mine, there’s nothing I want more than to be in his arms. I shake my head. “It’s okay. I think we’re done for now.”
I stand, content on ending the session and the therapist follows my lead. She faces me with a smile. “Let me know if you want to talk again, Braelynn. I’m available. All it takes is a phone call.”
She steps past me, and Declan moves out of her way. He doesn’t follow her, though. He stands in the doorway, stopping me from leaving. My stomach drops at the expression on his face. Something’s wrong. It’s only then that I remember the fucking cameras and that all of this was probably nothing more than a test. It’s a crippling realization.
“I have some things to tell you, my sweet girl.” That same remorseful look fills his eyes, and a chill runs down my spine.
I swallow thickly, wanting to get it over with. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
He blinks, his brow furrowing. “What?”
“I assumed you were watching. Cameras, or—I assumed someone was watching, anyway.”
“No, Brae.” He takes a step toward me. “I didn’t watch, and no one will. These sessions are for you. There aren’t any cameras in here.”
“Oh.” My laugh sounds nervous. It sounds exactly how I feel. “It’s…something else, then.”
“Something else,” he agrees. “It’s something I think you’re going to want to know, and it might help you get a little closure.”
