I drove home and found myself standing in the second bedroom, staring at all the wonderful books I’d brought home.

Mostly I was just in a daze as I turned over in my mind everything Kristen had said. Never would I have expected she would show up and say those things. If only the part she’d said about herself was true, the bare-bones honesty was shocking. But some of what she’d said hadn’t surprised me.

I’d always feared that Brock was here, back in my life and with me, truly with me, because he felt like he needed to. And that hurt, that cut so deep it was nearly a physical pain.

That fear made it feel like a gorilla was sitting on my chest. That fear stole my appetite. That fear swept the successes from the last couple of days right out from underneath me.

And I hated that.

Part of me just wanted to ignore what Kristen had said to me, and that was a huge part, because that’s what the old Jillian would’ve done. The one who didn’t have a flicker of fire in her.

The old Jillian would’ve settled.

That Jillian would’ve pretended that everything was okay, because it was easier and safer than facing the pain, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to forget it. It had wormed its way into my head and it would stay there even if I forced myself to let it go, and it would haunt everything I did and every word Brock spoke.

Reaching out, I dragged my fingers across the smooth spines of the books and then dropped my hand.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

The conversation with Kristen preyed on the doubts I’d buried deep over the last couple of weeks. They were now brought to the surface, leaving my skin and soul feeling raw and brittle.

I couldn’t just pretend the conversation between Kristen and me had never happened. I couldn’t wish it away. I couldn’t be okay with that fear that had existed before Kristen walked through the doors. I would talk to Brock. I just didn’t know what he could say that would truly erase the doubt, because I worried that this was more than him.

That I was letting what Kristen said dig in deep, because of my own issues—my doubts, my confidence, my fears.

And I didn’t know if it was all on me, and if it was, how I was going to fix that.

* * *

A hand slipped over my bare arm, to my hip, pushing the covers down my legs. The rough, calloused palm grazed my thigh, sending a rush of tight, hot shivers over my skin.

“Babe.” A deep voice stirred the hair against my temple.

Feeling a hard warm chest press against my back, I blinked open my eyes. Confusion swirled as I turned my head sideways. “Brock?”