“She’s confused by your thoughts? Your compulsions?”

“No, I mean those would probably get to her eventually, but right now it’s my moods. My silences. Whenever I sense myself letting my guard down, I retreat into myself and push her away. But I have to, because I know how this ends.”

Ken’s brow furrowed and he set his notepad aside in favor of crossing his arms just like I was. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re scared of physically harming her? That’s why you push her away? Or you’re scared of getting emotionally attached to her? Those are two very different things. Let’s figure out which we’re dealing with.”

I hesitated. Some part of me didn’t want to admit to Ken that I was scared for my own sake—that I saw myself falling for Skylar, that I was half in love with her already, but that I’d be unable to make it work, and losing her would destroy me.

“What happens when I have a bad day?” I asked. “When I make us miss dinner reservations for the tenth time because I have to check the locks again and we’re halfway there? What happens when she asks me to slice the turkey at Thanksgiving and I can’t pick up the fucking knife because I think I’ll stab someone? What happens when she needs to fly somewhere and it’s an odd day and I get down on my knees in the airport and beg her not to get on that plane?”

“I don’t know, Sebastian. Because that’s just fearcasting. It’s not real. And you’ve got ways to cope with those things.”

“Well, I know what happens.” I stared Ken dead in the eye. “I drive her mad. She leaves.”

“But that’s not what happened with your last relationship, is it?” he pressed. “You broke things off. You realized you didn’t actually want to marry Diana. That means your doubts were not inconsistent with your true feelings. That’s not OCD, Sebastian. That’s stopping yourself from making a mistake.” He held up his hands. “Now. Maybe you went about it all wrong, but that’s another matter entirely.”

I dropped my gaze to my legs again, spoke a little more quietly. “It won’t work in the end. I don’t know how to make it work. She leaves, Ken. I know she does.”

“And then you’re alone again,” Ken said. “Probably forever.”

“Exactly.”

“Because you’re a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

I nodded. This guy knew me way too well by now. It was aggravating as fuck.

“Bullshit, Sebastian.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged. “Bullshit. If you truly believed you’re a horrible person, you wouldn’t be here talking about her. You’d have given up already and holed up somewhere to be alone and miserable for the rest of your life. And you do know how to make it work—you’re just scared.”

I swallowed, unsure if I should tell Ken to fuck off or keep talking.

“The truth is, you’re letting guilt from the past and fear of the future poison the potential of this relationship already, even though you really like this woman and she likes you.” He pushed up his glasses again and leaned forward, knees on his elbows. “But you have to be willing to try, Sebastian. You have to be willing to fail. And that takes guts.”

My arms came uncrossed. Was he calling me a coward? “I have guts,” I said defensively. “I’m just trying to think things though. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made before, Ken. This girl is…special to me. She’s different.” I took a breath. “She’s perfect.”

Ken shook his head. “Nobody’s perfect. Not her, not you, not me…I don’t even think this is all stemming from OCD. Mostly, I think this is just a man scared to let himself be emotionally vulnerable to a woman he cares about.” He smiled wryly. “Oldest story in the book.”

• • •

Later that afternoon I took the boat out on the bay and thought about what Ken had said. Was he right? Was it plain old fear of rejection rather than my OCD getting in the way of my taking a risk? How could he know, anyway? He didn’t hear that voice in my head that made me doubt everything. God, what I wouldn’t give for some fucking conviction about something.

The truth was, I didn’t want to be closed-off and miserable for the rest of my life. Maybe I’d thought I could be alone, but that was before I knew what it was like to be with Skylar, to feel that kind of connection to someone. And it wasn’t all sexual—well, it was a lot sexual—but it was also emotional. She made me want to share things with her I’d never talked about outside therapy. She made me want to change the way I lived my life. She made me want to deserve her, or at least try.

But I’d fucked up already…Would she forgive me if I apologized again?

Probably. That was the kind of person she was. But she might not be willing to take another chance on me without some assurance that I wasn’t going to keep doing this. And how the fuck could I offer her that kind of assurance when I had none of it myself?

All I could do was try harder, and as I rowed hard back toward the cabin, muscles aching, I vowed that I would.

• • •

The following day, I spent the morning at my father’s office, getting caught up on some files he’d assigned me, and the afternoon covering the front desk for Lorena, his assistant, who had to go pick up her sick child at school. My dad had offered to call in a temp, but I assured him I could handle the job. Mostly I spent the time thinking of things I could do for Skylar, ways I could make it up to her for being such a dick. I still hadn’t contacted her, but I had an idea in the back of my mind.

Around three, a couple came into the office that I’d never seen before. She was little but curvy, like Skylar, with a thick head of wavy light brown hair and a friendly smile. He was dark-haired and taller than his wife—they both wore rings, I noticed—but not really a tall guy. I wondered if she was pregnant, because as soon as they entered the lobby, she sank into a chair and put both hands over her stomach. “Oof,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Are you OK?” the guy asked, putting a hand beneath her chin. “I can run you home, Mia. You don’t have to be at this meeting.”

“I’m fine, just woozy. We’re already here so let’s get this done.”

He straightened up and approached me at the desk. “Hi. We have an appointment with Malcolm Pryce at three fifteen. Lucas Fournier.”

I noticed he had a slight accent. “Of course. I’ll let him know you’re here.” But after fumbling for a moment with the complicated phone on Lorena’s desk, trying to use the intercom, I gave up. “OK, forget this thing. I’ll just go back there and tell him.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, but quickly turned his attention back to his wife.

I went down the hall and knocked on Malcolm’s open door. “Your clients are here. Fournier?”

“Oh, right. Fuck. ” He pushed back from his desk, which was a mess. It drove me crazy how disorganized he was. How the hell could he find anything in this shit pile? “I need a few minutes. I’ll meet with them in the conference room. Can you show them in?”

“Sure.”

“Great, thanks.” He stood up and straightened his tie before stacking some paperwork together.

Back up front, I found Lucas Fournier seated next to his wife, her hand in his. “Malcolm will be right up,” I told them. “In the meantime, I’ll take you into the conference room. I’m Sebastian, Malcolm’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you.” Lucas got to his feet and shook my hand before helping his wife rise slowly from her chair. “This is my wife, Mia.”

“Hi.” She shook my hand as well. “Sorry I’m a little green in the face. This pregnancy is killing me.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Congratulations?” I tried.

She smiled. “Exactly.”

“This way, please.” I showed them to the conference room and got them each a water bottle from the fridge in the kitchen across the hall.

“Thank you,” Mia said gratefully, unscrewing the cap and chugging the water. “I’m so thirsty all the time.”