“Hmm, Kacey?”

I swallow the prickly lump in my throat. “Empathy.”

***

“So maybe you’re right.”

Dr. Stayner’s brow curves up in question. “Is this about the dream you had last night?”

My scowl tells him it is.

“Yes, Sara told me. She wanted me to know in case there were any concerns. That’s her job. She didn’t betray you.” He says it like it’s a line he’s said time and time again. “What happened exactly?”

For whatever reason, I tell him the entire nightmare, from beginning to end, shivers running over my body as I relive it.

“And what made it so horrible?”

I cock my head and glare at the doctor. Clearly he hasn’t been listening to me. “What do you mean? Everyone was dead. Jenny was dead, Trent’s parents were dead. I killed Livie. It was just … so awful!”

“You killed Livie?”

“Well, yes. It’s my fault.”

“Hmm …” he nods, giving nothing away. “How did you feel when you saw Jenny lying there, dead?”

My hands press against my belly button with the thought.

“So you mourned her,” he answered for me.

“Of course I did. She was dead. I’m not a sociopath.”

“But she was driving the car that crashed into Trent’s family. Into Livie. How can you possibly mourn her?”

I’m rambling faster than I’m thinking. “Because it’s Jenny. She’d never want to hurt anyone. She didn’t do it on purpose—” I stop short and glare at him, clueing in. “Sasha is not Jenny. I see what you’re doing.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re trying to make me see Sasha and Trent as people who laugh and cry and have families.”

His know-it-all brows rise.

“It’s not the same! I hate them! I hate Trent! He’s a murderer!”

Dr. Stayner leaps out of his chair and runs over to his book shelf, pulling off the biggest dictionary I’ve ever seen. He storms over and throws it into my lap. “There. Look up the word, murderer, Kacey. Do it! Look it up!” He doesn’t wait for me to, likely feeling his asinine point made. “You’re not a stupid girl, Kacey. You can hide behind that word, or you accept it for what it is. Trent is not a murderer, and you don’t hate him. You know both are true, so stop lying to me and, more importantly, stop lying to yourself.”

“Yes I do hate him,” I spit back, my voice losing some of its strength.

I hate Dr. Stayner right now.

I hate him because in the back of my mind, I know he’s right.

Chapter Nineteen

Dr. Stayner leads me into a small white room with a window overlooking another small white room. “Is this a one-way mirror?” I knock on it.

“Yes, it is, Kacey. Sit down.”

“Okay, Dr. Dictator,” I grumble, flopping into the pro-offered chair.

“Thank you, Patient Pain in the Ass.”

I smirk. Sometimes Dr. Stayner’s unconventional methods make this less painful. Mostly not, but sometimes.

“What punishment do you have in store for me today?” I throw back nonchalantly as the door pushes open. My body goes rigid and I suck in a mouthful of air when I see the face walking through.

It’s Trent.

Cole.

Trent.

Fuck.

It’s been weeks since I saw him last. With that light brown messy hair of his, striding in with those long, lean muscles, he’s as beautiful as ever. That much I have to admit. And I hate admitting it. Except now I see no smile on his face. No dimples. Nothing that resembles the charming guy I fell in love with.

In love with. I clench my teeth to fight the ache that comes with that recognition.

He takes the chair positioned directly in front of me. I don’t even need to know Trent to read the raw agony alive in his eyes. But because I do know him, or some slice of him, that pain screams out to me.

And it’s intolerable. Instinctively, I want to reach out and take it away.

Dr. Stayner’s hands push down on my shoulders a second before I bolt out of the room. “He can’t see you, Kacey. He can’t hear you.”

“What’s he doing here?” I whisper, my voice shaky. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You keep saying you hate Trent and we both know you don’t. He’s here so you’ll admit that to yourself once and for all and move on. There’s no room in your recovery to hang onto the idea of hatred.”

I can’t pry my eyes away from Trent, even as I deny Dr. Stayner’s words. “You are one fucked up, twisted doc—”

Dr. Stayner cuts me off. “You know that he’s also my patient, Kacey. And he needs as much help as you do. He also suffers from P.T.S.D. He also deluded himself into thinking he could bury his pain instead of dealing with it appropriately. He just did it in a less conventional way. We won’t talk about that now.” I flinch as he pats my shoulder. “Today, I’m cheating a little. This is a two for one session.”

“I knew it.” I shoot an accusatory finger up at him.

Dr. Stayner smiles as if my reaction is funny. I don’t find any of this funny. I wonder what the medical board will think of this when I report him.

“This is as much for Trent’s healing as it is for yours, Kacey. You are going to sit, and you are going to listen to what he has to say. After this, you won’t see him again. He’s leaving after today to go back home. He’s doing well but treating him effectively when he knows you’re in this building has been impossible. I can’t risk the two of you running in to each other. Do you understand?”

An unintelligible grunt is my only answer.

Dr. Stayner leans over to flip a switch beside a speaker. I could bolt right now. I could. I’d probably get away. But I don’t. I just sit and stare at this guy who I know so well, and not at all, and I wonder what he could possibly have to say. And as much as part of me wants to, I can’t force myself to look away.

“He can’t see you. He wanted it that way. There’s a red light to tell him his microphone is now on,” Dr. Stayner explains and I hear a soft click behind me. Glancing back, I see that he’s stepped out of the room, leaving me to face the guy who destroyed me twice.

I wait with balled fists, and a clenched stomach as Trent shifts in his chair, pulling it forward until his knees touch the glass. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, dropping his focus to his fingers, fidgeting. Those fingers, those hands, they were my salvation not long ago, bringing me remarkable joy. How could things change so quickly?

With slow almost pained movements, Trent looks up, and he’s level with me, boring into my eyes, those light blue irises flecked with turquoise landing on me with such force that I’m sure he can see me. I panic, shifting to the left and right. His pupils don’t follow. Okay, so maybe Stayner isn’t lying.

“Hey Kacey,” Trent says softly.

Hi, I mouth back before I can stop myself, the sound of his voice wrenching at my guts.

Trent clears his voice. “This is a bit weird, talking to myself in a mirror, but it’s the only way I knew I could get through saying all that I needed to say so … I’m happy that you’re here, with Dr. Stayner. He’s a great doctor, Kacey. Trust him. I wish I had trusted him fully. Then maybe I wouldn’t have put you through all this.” He presses his lips together and looks away. I’m sure his eyes turn glassy, but they’re normal when he turns back to face me again. “I thought …” he swallows, his voice husky, “I thought that making you fall in love with me would fix everything else I had done to you. I thought I could make you happy, Kacey. Happy enough that if you ever did find out, you’d be okay with it.” He dips his head into his hands, holding his face for a moment before he lifts it again. A sad smirk touches his lips. “How fucked up is that?”

There’s a long pause, a chance for me to study him, to remember all those days and nights of laughter and happiness. I can’t believe it was real. It feels like a lifetime ago.