“Knock ’em dead, tiger. I’ll come by later with soup and a movie,” he promised, making me smile. He really was such a great guy.

“Twilight?” I joked, knowing the answer. Brooks tapped my nose with his finger.

“You’d have to be at death’s door for me to agree to that one,” he stated.

I laughed. He laughed. And then a pointed cough had us both quieting down.

“Has group been canceled or something?” I looked over Brooks’s shoulder to see Maxx standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, disheveled blond curls falling over his forehead, and a cold and stony expression on his face.

“Uh, no. Go on in and grab a seat.” I indicated for him to walk around me, but he continued to stand there, making no move to head inside the classroom. Brooks looked at me questioningly. It was hard to miss the feral testosterone rolling off Maxx as he stood there and regarded the two of us angrily.

What was his problem?

The three of us stood there, a triangle of silent awkwardness. I couldn’t place the emotion that flashed in Maxx’s eyes, because everything that came to mind made absolutely no sense. Desire. Longing. Possessiveness. And most strangely, sadness. Maxx looked at me like a man who had lost something.

Oh, come on, Aubrey. This cold is screwing with your brain.

“Call me when you want me to come over. Feel better,” Brooks said finally. His suddenly narrowed eyes flitted between Maxx and me as though trying to read the uncomfortable situation we found ourselves in.

“Okay, thanks, Brooks,” I said, hoping my friend would get the hint.

Brooks stared at Maxx for a moment longer, and when he looked back at me, his face was a varied mix of emotions. It made me nervous.

But before I could say anything to allay my concerns and Brooks’s apparent unease, he mumbled a quick good-bye and walked down the corridor.

I tried to settle the knot that had formed in the pit of my stomach during the difficult exchange, but it was proving tough under the strength of Maxx’s gaze.

I eyed Maxx apprehensively. “You can go in, you know,” I muttered, not bothering to disguise my irritation.

Maxx ran a hand through his curls and then scrubbed his face. His expression neutralized, and he gave me his trademark careless smile. “After you,” he said, sweeping his hand forward, indicating for me to walk ahead of him.

I arched my eyebrow but didn’t comment, hurrying inside. I sat down and looked around at the other group members. I attempted to make eye contact and give a smile in greeting to a few of them, but was shut down each time.

My eyes eventually found Maxx’s, and I wasn’t surprised to receive a blinding grin. I didn’t reciprocate and instead turned my attention to Kristie, who was explaining tonight’s discussion.

Twenty minutes later, everyone was working in their journals, creating a life map. People had been tasked with identifying both positive and negative experiences that had impacted them in some way. This was meant to lead to a bigger discussion about what had triggered their using. It was a great activity, one that would undoubtedly lead to some great therapeutic interaction in any group but this one. Sadly, I couldn’t imagine anyone here taking it very seriously, the way it was intended.

Kristie encouraged me to participate as well. She had told me before group that some elements of personal disclosure from a facilitator can have a powerful impact. She warned me to be careful of what I would expose about myself, but she said that small bits of information could be a great way to create a bond between them and me.

The idea of opening myself at all had always been hard. And it would be absolutely agonizing to do so with this particular group of people.

When the time was up, Kristie started going around the group, asking everyone to share something. Most shared very shallow things, from Marissa getting her first car to Twyla’s rejection by her first choice of a university. When Kyle, the frat guy, stated that a negative experience in his life had been the time he got locked out of his dorm room, I sort of lost it.

“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed. Thirteen sets of eyes swung in my direction. Kristie frowned, clearly not appreciating my outburst. She silently reprimanded me for my lack of supportive sensitivity, but I didn’t care. I had had it with sitting week after week in a group of people who weren’t taking this opportunity seriously.

What I wouldn’t give for my sister to have had the chance to sit and learn something in a group like this. Their rigid refusal to absorb any of what Kristie so patiently tried to teach them was frustrating to the point of blinding rage. And Evan and April, with their derisive sneers, tipped me over the edge.

Kyle looked taken aback and blinked in confusion. “Uh, yeah, that day sucked. I had to walk down to campus security, and then I had to wait like two hours for a replacement key. I was late for my chem lab . . .”

I held up my hand and cut him off. “Enough. You know that’s total bullshit,” I said blandly. Kyle puffed up indignantly, which was a hell of a lot better than his placid disinterest.

“Well, fuck you. What do you know about having a hard life, Miss Barbie Doll?” Evan piped up, his arm squeezing his girlfriend to his side so tightly it was as though he worried she would try to escape—though I wouldn’t blame her if she’d tried.

Kristie snapped her fingers, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s move on to deep-breathing techniques,” she said with a fierce perkiness that belied her irritation with my outburst.

“No, Kristie. Let me answer Evan,” I spoke up, my eyes meeting his beady dark ones head-on. This guy was used to intimidating others. Well, he could just fuck off.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Aubrey,” Kristie reproached me firmly. I was going to be in trouble for this. But something had to be done. These people didn’t respect either of us. They sat there in their self-involved bullshit, thinking they were the only ones with pain. And they didn’t understand a goddamned thing about it.

It was time to page Dr. Fucking Phil and call them on their crap.

“I lost my fifteen-year-old sister to a drug overdose three years ago. She was pumped full of heroin by a guy she thought loved her but then left her in an alleyway to choke on her own vomit. Her body wasn’t discovered until two days later when the trash guys came to empty the Dumpster she was propped up against,” I snapped.

Evan’s eyes went wide, and I couldn’t help but relish the way he seemed to recoil at my moment of honesty. And then I realized what I had said. Christ, I hadn’t meant to say any of that.

I looked around at the group, and everyone’s expression was the same. Shock. And pity. Which made me want to hit a wall.

But when I dared to look at Maxx, I didn’t see any of those things on his face. Again, there was an emotion I wasn’t sure I was interpreting correctly. Because he looked relieved?

Kristie cleared her throat, trying to take control of the group again. Judging from the look of restrained anger on her face, I had screwed up big-time. “I want everyone to take a few minutes and write about one of the events on your life map and why you feel that impacts your addiction,” she directed, getting to her feet.

Kristie met my eyes and jerked her head toward the hallway. I sighed and followed her. After she had closed the door to the classroom, she rounded on me. “That was completely and totally inappropriate, Aubrey. I’m in shock right now that you would do something like that. Not only did you belittle a group member and invalidate his feelings, but you made the group about you and your feelings. While disclosure can be beneficial, it most certainly isn’t when it’s given in a context like this. It has to be about solidifying a connection between counselor and patient. When it’s all about you, it’s not healthy,” she lectured, and I hung my head in shame. She was right. I had overstepped.