Page 101 of Never After Us
He sighs.“Okay, then tell me why that is?Why do you need this space?”
I should tell him I’m terrified, but it sounds ridiculous even in my own mind.Who’s afraid of a woman shorter than me, and her tiny, pink-umbrella-wielding child?Apparently, I am.They scare the hell out of me in ways that feel too real, too close, too ...new.
“They’re temporary,” I tell him, proud of how mature the sentence sounds.“I’m busy.Letting them get used to me would be unfair.”
“So you think you’re being fair?”he asks, brows dipping probably being all judgmental, or perhaps just curious in a way that makes my skin itch.“Isn’t that their decision?You mentioned they’ve moved around a lot.They probably know more about short connections than most, including pen pals.”
“Pen pals?”I repeat, trying not to think of the letters.The ones that hollowed Mara out as she read them.The ones that cracked something open in me when she cried into my shirt like she didn’t believe she was allowed to need anyone.
And it’s absurd—absolutely absurd—how watching her fall apart made me want to stand between her and anything that could ever hurt her again.I don’t think I’m capable of that kind of protection, not really.But the instinct was there.Strong enough to rattle me.Strong enough that I haven’t stopped thinking about whether she read more letters last night while I was gone or ...what if her heart broke again?
Do I tell him that part?
Do I tell him the truth—that something about her has rewired my entire body against my will?Should I confess it’s not just attachment, but that I might be developing feelings?
I inhale slowly, but the words spill out anyway.
“She does something to me,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend.“Physically.Mentally.Emotionally.It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Dr.Bennet gestures for me to continue.
“Physically ...”I drag a hand over the back of my neck.“Whenever she walks into a room, my chest pulls tight and my damn pulse trips over itself like it’s trying to catch up to her.My hands always want to reach for something—her, a chair, the wall—just to ground myself.And don’t get me started on the way she smells.It’s ...stupidly distracting.”
I scrub my palms over my jeans, frustrated at how true it all is.
“She shows up in my thoughts when I’m not paying attention.Little things—her laugh, the way she talks with her hands, how she tilts her head when she’s curious.I’ll be mid-drum sequence and suddenly wonder if she’s eaten today or if her kid convinced her to buy frog stickers again.”I tap my temple.“It’s constant.”
I let out a breath and stare at the ceiling.
“And emotionally ...”
This is the part that feels too big.The words slow down in my mouth.They feel too precious, and too much like a confession I should keep locked behind my ribs.
“She makes things move inside me I didn’t think still worked,” I say, my voice low.“It’s like she rewired places I assumed were permanently shut down.She cries, and it rattles through me, and there’s this unbearable ache to hold her through it.And when she smiles ...fuck, when she smiles, I want to rise into it.To claim it.Just meet her there.Match that brightness with the best of what’s left in me.Maybe even fuse it with my soul.”
I pause, the silence stretching too long.
“It feels like she’s pulling something out of me that I didn’t think existed.And it fucking scares me.”
I don’t stop there, I continue.“Mara is this small burst of color walking through a life that tried to wash her out, and she’s still trying.Still trying to see something good.And that ...gets to me.More than it should.”
Dr.Bennet’s gaze doesn’t move from me.
“And the worst part?”I say.“She doesn’t even know she’s doing it.She doesn’t know what she makes me feel.And I don’t know what the fuck to do with any of this.”
I lean back, sinking into the couch cushion like it might save me.
“She’s light,” I whisper.“And I’ve spent years being afraid of anything that bright.I don’t want to get hurt—or worse, hurt them.”
“Why do you think you’ll hurt them?”He narrows his gaze.
“You know why I’m here.You’ve read the tabloids.”My voice comes out rougher than I intend.“Anyone can look my name up online and see everything they’ve ever said about me.I’m not exactly an easy guy.What if I get mad and do something to them?”
“There it is,” Dr.Bennet murmurs, tapping his pen once.“You’re afraid you’ll become likehim,aren’t you?”
My stomach drops.
Of all the sentences he could have pulled from the air, that one hits the center of everything I try to bury.I rub both hands over my face, regretting—deeply, painfully—the day I told him about that foster home.The one with the man who pretended to be a savior, only to turn into something else entirely behind closed doors.The man who carried rage like it was stitched into his bones.The man who used his size, his authority, his voice like a weapon.
