Catching up.

Like we’re two old friends reconnecting over margaritas.

Nope—just chatting about rape and abuse and miscarriages, wondering how the fuck we’re ever going to move past this and just be us again.

Cora releases a long sigh, dropping her arms to her sides and glancing up at me. “We should get back to dinner. I’m sure Blizzard is eyeing my dissected meatloaf.”

I’m about to ask her, What now? Where do we go from here? When can we talk again?

But she sweeps past me, daffodils and passionfruit and so many unknowns lingering on my skin as she disappears out the door. I watch her go with gritted teeth, hopelessness swimming through my veins.

We are bound, chained, tied—to our trauma and to each other.

We’re in this together.

And yet, I’ve never felt more alone.

Chapter Fourteen

I zone out as I stare into my refrigerator, eyeing the assortment of fresh groceries Mandy just dropped off. I told her she didn’t need to do that—I’m more than capable, and I sure as shit don’t have anything else to do since I’m not back to work yet. But she insisted, carrying inside two brown paper bags filled to the brim, tucked under both arms.

Mandy is now wiping down my countertops as she fixes me a sandwich. “How are you feeling? Did your appointment with Dr. Dryden go well?”

I blink into the yellow light, not fully registering her question even though I heard it. I stare at the head of broccoli, fairly certain I can make out a vague outline of Pat Sajak. If I just tilt my head a little to the left…

Is he still alive? Is Wheel of Fortune still a thing?

“Dean, did you hear me?”

I glance up. Mandy is standing in front of me, holding out a sandwich on a paper plate. Her heavily painted eyes are narrowed, slicing me with concern. I close the refrigerator and force a smile. “Yeah, it went okay.”

She sighs with relief, her worried lips turning up into a toothy grin. “Good. You’re being honest with him?”

Honest? Well, I’m not outright lying. But I’m certainly not revealing everything. Dr. Dryden knows I killed a man, but he doesn’t know it was her face I envisioned, the images of her dignity being dismantled, that drove my fists into those savage, fatal blows. He knows I was forced to watch Cora get raped and abused, but he doesn’t know that I, myself, was forced between her legs with a pistol to my head.

Dr. Dryden knows a lot, but he doesn’t know about the real ghosts that haunt me and keep me up at night.

So, I guess I’m lying by omission.

“Yeah,” I reply, taking the plate from Mandy’s outstretched hands. “I’m being honest.”

Now I’m lying to my fiancé.

Mandy nods her head, her perfectly coifed hair bobbing over her cashmere sweater. More relief. More smiles. “I’m proud of you, Dean. I know it’s not easy to—”