“Was it his idea for you to go back to work?”

I hesitated. “He knew I would eventually.”

“Did he? Does he support what you’re doing, Shana? Or is he still telling you you’re unbalanced so you’ll be the dutiful wife he always wanted? That’s why you didn’t tell me,” Tim said. “Carson has you so convinced you’re crazy you couldn’t even tell your closest colleague about the most significant event of your life.”

Closest colleague. Tim wasn’t wrong about that, but even though his words were sparse and sounded bureaucratic I found them strangely touching. I could see the struggle in his deep-set eyes. He took my injured hand in his and moved his callused thumb along the edges of my burn. “I can’t understand what you’ve been through, and because I respect you, I won’t pretend I do. But whatever happened, whatever’s happening now, we’ll figure it out together.”

It was so completely different from how I’d imagined the conversation would go that when it was done, shock glued my feet to the floor. Tim’s hand was warm and dry and covered mine completely in a way that left me feeling protected. Safe.

I won’t deny my devotion to Carson was tied to the fact that he’d freed me. I came out of that basement feeling shame more profound than I’d ever thought possible, and Carson rationalized my depraved behavior. If it hadn’t been for him in those early days after my release, God only knows where I’d be.

Something unexpected happened during my time with him, though. Despite his insistence that I was still broken, I began to heal. I was a long way from being whole, but I wasn’t adrift anymore—at least not all the time, the way I used to be. There were consequences to Carson’s warnings I don’t think he anticipated. He hadn’t known the me who lived before the day I disappeared. To him I was a victim to the core. But I didn’t want to be a victim anymore. It took until that moment with Tim for me to understand why I’d been delaying the wedding and biting Carson’s head off every time he reminded me I was too fragile, too shaky, too weak.

Tim was proof that McIntyre’s faith in me wasn’t a fluke. Here he was, offering the same kind of support that made the sheriff and me grow so close so fast. I was sure I’d squandered my chances of ever having mutual trust with another officer again, but Tim made me feel separation from my trauma was possible. That maybe even the most terrifying of my evocations could be overcome.

I hadn’t forgotten about Jasper and Abella, but for a second I felt a lightness in my chest I hadn’t experienced in a long time. McIntyre was right. I needed to come clean—and clean was what I felt. It was a temporary fix, but it felt so good I allowed myself to enjoy it, if only for a little while.