I snorted. “I’m not going to argue with you there.”

Tamsin gave me a reassuring squeeze before she left my side, walking back to her husband and the agent.

I braced myself against the doorjamb, still not walking all the way inside.

Beckett was at my side in an instant. “What did she say?” he angrily whispered so that my sister wouldn’t overhear.

I shook my head. My eyes scanned the familiar room filled with an unfamiliar life.

“She said something. You look horrible, Corin.”

“Thanks,” I said, and chuckled without humor.

Beckett took my hand and held it to his chest. “What happened? Tell me, please,” he pleaded.

“I think I just made peace with my sister,” I told him.

He frowned, looking confused.

I kissed his chin. God, I loved him. Soon I’d tell him. He deserved to hear it.

I deserved to say it.

“Come on. Let’s have a look around. We’ll talk more later.” I took his hand and the small contact of skin on skin strengthened me enough to do what I needed to do.

Slowly I made my way through my old home. Memories assaulted me at every turn. Sometimes I smiled. Sometimes I bit my lip so I wouldn’t sob like a baby.

I wouldn’t go into my parents’ room. I just couldn’t. Tamsin went in but came back out quickly. She looked pale and visibly shaken.

I surprised both of us when I walked over and took her hand. Her eyes met mine and for the first time in our lives, there was a true understanding between us.

A connection.

When we were finished walking through the house, we went back outside and Jared locked the front door.

“How was that?” Beckett asked.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” I admitted.

“It’s a nice place,” he commented, rubbing my arm. I leaned into him, taking strength from his comfort.

“It was.”

I let out a long breath. “It’s not my house anymore.”

Beckett stopped rubbing. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not my house anymore. There were good memories there. Lots of them. But all I could feel as I walked through was death. And misery.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks and I wiped them away. “I hate that I feel that way, but I do. And I don’t want to hold onto that. Not anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind later,” Beckett argued. “Don’t make a decision now that you’ll regret down the road, Corin.”

“I want to sell the house. Tam’s right, it’s a link to a time I can’t move on from. I need to move on. I have to find a way.”

Beckett wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. He kissed the top of my head over and over again.

“You will. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together,” he promised.

And I believed him.

Totally.

Completely.

Because Beckett would never lie to me.

Our futures were with each other.

And my life was beginning now.

—

I had been sitting at my kitchen table for over an hour staring down at the tiny business card in my hand.

The number on the bottom had become ingrained in my mind. I’d remember those numbers ten years from now.

“Just call already,” I muttered aloud. Great, now I was talking to myself. I definitely needed to call the number before I started a two-way conversation.

“If Tamsin can do this, I sure as hell can do this,” I goaded myself.

Okay, this was officially getting ridiculous.

I quickly dialed the number and put the phone to my ear.

“Good afternoon, Chris Riley’s office.”

And I hung up.

I had just prank called a therapist. And I thought that I didn’t have issues?

I had called Chris Riley’s office and hung up every day since I had seen my sister. I was almost there. Almost ready to take that step and do the very thing I had sworn I would never do.

But I was terrified.

I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.

Because deep down I didn’t want to admit that what Dr. Graham and Dr. Harrison had said was true.

That my illnesses, my chronic ailments, were all in my head.

I didn’t want confirmation that I was bat-shit insane.

“Corin?”

Beckett came into my kitchen and found me still at the table with that damn business card fixed to my palm.

“I’ve been knocking on your door for the past five minutes. What in the hell are you doing?” Beckett dropped a hand onto my shoulder and leaned down to give me a kiss.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear you,” I replied distractedly.

Beckett sat down across from me, his eyes skimming over the white card. He didn’t ask me if I had called.

He could tell by the look on my face that I hadn’t.

But I needed to.

I wanted to have a normal life. I wanted that normal life with Beckett. If I couldn’t deal with my issues, what future could we possibly have?

I had decided to sell my parents’ house, but it wasn’t enough.

I had to deal with all of me. All of the shit I had going on inside.

“Will you sit with me while I call?” I asked softly, looking up at the man who had slowly and surely become my everything.

Beckett reached across the table and took my hands in his. He lifted them to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. His eyes were gentle and full of so much love it made my chest tight.

I had to do this. For him. For me.

For us.

“I won’t ever leave, Corin. I’ll always be here.”

His promise was exactly what I needed.

—

Why did Chris Riley’s office have to be so cliché? It was incredibly disappointing.

The giant fish tank and Enya being piped through the speakers was enough to make me want to leave. And fast.

How could I possibly talk to a man that listened to Enya?

I was making excuses. I realized that. But at the moment, they made a hell of a lot of sense.

I was just getting to my feet when the office door opened and a middle-aged man wearing a sweater-vest came in.

Chris Riley, LPC, had messy blond hair and laugh lines around his eyes. He had a kind face and that made me almost forgive him for the sweater-vest and Enya.

“Hello. You must be Corin Thompson. I’m Chris Riley.” He had a firm handshake, which was also reassuring.

“Hi,” I responded, not sure if I was expected to say anything else. Was he shrinking me yet? Judging and analyzing?

I stood awkwardly in the middle of his office wondering if it was too late to make a run for it.

Stop it, Corin. Don’t sabotage something that could really help.

“Why don’t you have a seat? Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

“Do you have any green tea?” I asked.

Chris Riley smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll get you a cup. Do you like it with honey?”

I smiled, thinking about Beckett. “Yes, please.”

Chris made my tea and handed me the hot mug. He had to work on his honey-to-tea ratio but it wasn’t bad.

He sat down, not behind his desk, but in the armchair beside me. He had a clipboard in his lap but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking at me.

I took a nervous sip of my tea, not caring that it burned the roof of my mouth.

“How’s the tea?” he asked after a few minutes of agonizing silence.

“Fine,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Good. I take my tea preparation skills very seriously.” Chris grinned and his statement, so much like Beckett’s when we first met, helped me to relax marginally.

“So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Corin.”

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here first? Wouldn’t that make more sense?” I questioned, frowning.

Chris shrugged. “I figured we’d get there eventually. But I’d like to get to know you first.”

“Okay…” I dragged the word out, not sure what to think about Mr. Sweater-Vest and his noninvasive approach.

“Let’s start with the simple stuff. What do you do for a living?” Chris asked.

I scratched absentmindedly at my arm. “I own the Razzle Dazzle pottery studio in town.”