Page 51 of The Therapist

I gag, pressing a hand to my mouth.

Oh, God. I was involved with him. My patient.

It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out. Before my name is dragged into this.

Flash scratches at the door. On shaky legs, I stand to let him inside. Tears stream down my face. I can hardly breathe.

My phone vibrates on the coffee table.

An unfamiliar number.

I hesitate. Then answer.

“Dr. Richardson?” A deep, clipped voice on the other end.

I swallow hard. “Yes.”

“This is Detective Halloway, we need to ask you some questions about a former patient of yours—Cooper Burick.”

My blood turns to ice.

“We’d like you to come in and make a statement. And—” the detective pauses, his tone sharp, probing, “—we may need you to testify against him.”

The room tilts.

Testify?

Against him?

The man who once whispered my name like a prayer? Who kissed me so deeply it felt like drowning?

Who, despite everything—despite the sickness curling in my stomach, the betrayal clenching my ribs—I know I still love?

I clutch the phone tighter, my breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps.

Twenty Five

Present

Iwrote to him a month ago. It had taken me a while to get the words right. I must have balled up and thrown away four different versions of the letter I ended up mailing.

Cooper,

I got your letter. I read it once, slowly. Day by day, page by page. Then I read it again, and then I let it sit on my nightstand like it might dissolve into something less dangerous if I gave it time.

But your words don’t fade, don’t soften. They settle deep, winding through my ribs, curling around the parts of me I thought had turned to ash.

I needed to hear it. Your voice in my head, your confessions laid bare. The weight of your love pressing against me, filling the spaces you left hollow.

You loved me. You love me.

And God, Cooper, I love you too. I never stopped.

I tried—I told myself that love should be easy, that it should be safe. That the kind of love we shared was meant to be left in the dark. But I was wrong. Because love isn’t safe, and it isn’t easy. It’s raw and ugly and breathtakingly beautiful all at once. It’s knowing someone’s darkest parts and still reaching for them in the light just as they are.

And I’m reaching for you now.

But I need you to reach back.

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