“Dan,” Storm cuts in, her eyes shifting between the doctor’s and Livie’s.

“Right. Dan.” He clears his throat. “I think I can help you. I think you can live a normal life again. But I can’t help if you don’t want to be helped. Understand?” I’m left gaping at this man who calls himself a doctor and so clearly can’t be. What kind of doctor walks into a room and says that?

When I don’t answer, he strolls over to look out the barred window. “Do you want to be happy again, Kacey?”

Happy. There’s that word. I thought I was happy. And then Trent destroyed me. Again. I fell in love with my family’s murderer. I spent night after night with him next to me, inside me, dreaming of a future with him. Bile rises to my throat with the thought.

“A requirement of my therapy session is that my patients talk, Kacey,” Dr. Stayner explains without a hint of sarcasm or annoyance in his voice. “So I’ll ask you again. Do you want to be happy?”

God, this guy’s pushy. And he’s going to force me to talk. That’s what this is about. Why does everyone insist on drudging up the past? It’s done. It’s over. No amount of talking will ever change it, will ever bring anyone back. Why am I the only one who sees this?

That comforting numbness is back and trickling into my limbs and chest, forming a hard icy coating over my heart. My body’s natural defense. Numbness to take away the pain. “There’s no such thing as being happy for me.” My voice is cold and hard.

He turns to me again, those kind eyes tinged with pity. “Oh, there is, Miss Cleary. It will be an uphill battle, and I will test you every step of the way. I can be unconventional with my methods. With you, I will do things that are questionable. You may hate me at times, but you and I will get there together. You just have to want to. I will not move you into my clinic until you willingly agree to it all.”

“No,” I growl defiantly, the very idea of going anywhere with this new quack outrageous.

I hear a choking sound beside me. It’s Livie, struggling to stay calm. “Kacey, please,” she pleads.

I set my jaw stubbornly, even though it pains me to see her like this.

She sees my knee jerk reaction and sudden rare fury flashes in her eyes. “You are not the only one who lost their parents, Kacey. This isn’t just about you anymore.” She jumps out of my bed and hovers over me, her fists balled up. And then she rages like I’ve never seen before. “I can’t take it! The nightmares, the fighting, the distance. I’ve had to deal with this for four years, Kacey!” Livie’s hysterical now, tears pouring freely, screaming, and I expect security to stalk in any second. “Four years of watching you come and go in my life, wondering if today’s the day I’m going to find you hanging in a closet or floating in a river. I get that you were in that car. I get that you had to see everything. But what about me?” She chokes, the fury that fueled her forward with that outburst deflating, leaving her looking drained and miserable. “I keep losing you over and over again and I can’t take it anymore!”

Her words hit me over the head like a sledge hammer.

I thought my heart was already broken but it wasn’t.

Not completely.

Not until now.

“I know what happened the night Storm was attacked, Kacey. I know,” Livie says, watching me under a meaningful gaze. Storm. I shoot a glare her way, and Livie scolds me with a waggling finger. “Don’t you dare give Storm grief over telling me, Kacey Delyn Cleary. Don’t you dare. Storm told me because she cares about you, and she wants you to get help. You almost attacked a man with a broken beer bottle. We’re not going to help you avoid your shit anymore, understand?” Livie gracelessly wipes the tears away. “I’m not doing it anymore.”

I’ve told myself time and time again that this is all for Livie. Everything I've done is to protect Livie. If I watch her now, if I look at what Livie has had to deal with, I wonder if it’s all been about protecting myself? I know Livie lost her parents. I know she lost me too, in a way. But have I ever really considered what she feels like? Tried to put myself in her shoes? I figured no one’s shoes were half as bad as the ones dragging me down like cement blocks. And Livie never let on. She’s always been so strong and level-headed. She’s always been Livie—with or without my parents. I just thought …

I didn’t think … My God! I never really weighed my actions, all my reactions, and what they do to Livie. I just figured if I was upright and breathing, that I was here for her. For Livie. But in a way, I never really have been.

Suddenly I want to die.

I feel my head bob up and down, all resistance vanishing as a new level of pain surges. Awareness. All I’ve ever told myself is that I want to protect my little sister from pain, but it hasn’t been about protecting her. It’s been about protecting me. All I keep doing is causing pain for her. For everyone in my life.

“Good,” Dr. Stayner takes that as an agreement. “I will have your room prepared. The first part of your therapy will begin now.” I’m reeling over how quickly he seems to react. Efficient and business-like, but at the same time like a tornado, swooping in to wreak havoc. He smoothly walks over to the door and motions someone in.

No. I cower in my bed and squeeze Livie’s hands until she whimpers slightly. Good God, please … no! He wouldn’t.

An older version of Trent turns the corner and steps into my room, sorrow marring his handsome features.

Trent’s father.

Cole’s father.

Fuck. I don’t even know what to call him anymore.

“I want you to listen to what Mr. Reynolds has to say. Nothing more. Just listen. Can you manage that?” Dr. Stayner asks me.

I think I nod, but I’m not sure, I’m too busy staring at this man’s face, how much he reminds me of his face. His eyes that I fell into day after day. Happy. In love. Yes. In love. I was in love with Trent. With my life’s murderer.

“We’ll be here with you the whole time,” Storm says, gripping onto my free hand.

Trent/Cole’s father clears his throat. “Hello, Kacey.”

I don’t respond. I just watch him slide his hands into his pockets and hold them there. Just like his son does. “My name is Carter Reynolds. You can call me Carter.”

A shiver runs through my body at the sound of that family name.

“I want to apologize to you for all that my son has put you and your sister through. I tried to do so four years ago, but the police issued the restraining orders. My family and I respected your privacy then. Unfortunately, Cole … Trent has since harmed you again.”

He takes a few steps further into the room until he’s at the end of my bed, casting a furtive look at Dr. Stayner, who only smiles at him. “It was our car … my car … that Sasha drove the night of the accident.” A frown flashes across his face. “I think you knew that, though, right? Insurance papers would have specified that.”

There’s a pause as if he’s waiting for me to acknowledge. I don’t.

“We lost Cole after the accident. He ceased to exist. He dropped out of Michigan State, quit football, cut off all contact with his friends. He left his girlfriend of four years and stopped drinking altogether. He changed his name from Cole Reynolds to Trent Emerson—his middle name and his mother’s maiden name.”