Through no fault of my own, of course. At least that’s what Dr. Lake has tried to convince me during the last year of therapy. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time—having lunch at Millie’s Diner while home from vet school on spring break. Something as simple as that, in a small town in Montana, and my life changed forever.

I’ve only eaten at Millie’s about a thousand times in my life, but why did I have to go that day?

That particular damned day…

No. Not going there. Not right now. I need to be whole today to begin this new venture.

Ernie, our golden retriever, swishes around my legs, yellow fur sticking to my jeans. I love this hound, but man, he can shed.

“Hey, Ernie.” I ruffle his soft ears.

He’s older now with a white muzzle. The years aged him, too. He smiles at me. Yeah, dogs can smile. I know they don’t possess the requisite musculature, but I’m not convinced.

Ernie smiles. He doesn’t care that I’ve got a job with the Bridgers.

And his panting smile always makes me grin—inside and out—even after the worst nightmares.

I’ve learned to live with them, and they’re much less frequent than they used to be. I’m down to therapy only once a month now, and Dr. Lake says I’m ready to take the next step—a job—in returning to real life.

No, I have been living real life. Too real. But I have to look forward, not back.

Mom and Dad, on the other hand, aren’t on board.

Especially Mom.

I get it. I do. She loves me, and she’s fearful of losing me again. For those three years I was gone, they had to let me go. They had to believe I was gone forever and that I was never coming back.

They had a funeral, for God’s sake…and then, three years later, Derek Wolfe was murdered and the other women and I were all rescued from that horrid island where we were held prisoners and hunted, tortured, violated by anyone who could pay to play.

Garnet, Moonstone, Tiger Eye, Opal, Amethyst, Sapphire… All of them.

And me.

Jade.

That’s what I was called on the island because of my green eyes.

I swallow hard, pushing the memories back like Dr. Lake taught me. A wall built up brick-by-brick to surround the bad stuff. Not her words, but mine. The bad stuff.

“Carly,” Mom says, “I’m not at all comfortable with this.”

“That’s right,” Dad agrees. “Get a job, but I don’t want my daughter working for that asshole.”

Mom gasps again, sets her hand on her chest as if she has pearls to clutch.

I frown. “What’s wrong with Chance Bridger?”

Dad stands, his chair scraping across the floor. “It’s his father I hate. But like father, like son.”

“What did Jonathan Bridger do?” I ask.

I remember seeing the older Bridger in town when I was young. I never spoke to him, but I don’t remember Dad hating him either.