Page 76 of Borrowed Pain
He stared at me. "Now you."
I swallowed. "I'm still here."
"Because you're reckless, too."
I stood and walked over to him, reaching for his hand. "Maybe that's true."
He stared at me, rising to his feet. "You scare the hell out of me," he whispered. "Not because of what we're chasing. Because of what I'd lose if I knew I wouldn't see you again."
The words sounded like a diagnosis I didn't want to hear. My knees wobbled, but Rowan's arms caught me around my waist, and we held each other for a moment.
"I've told my clients that healthy relationships don't form during a crisis." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "Trauma bonding isn't real intimacy."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe I was protecting myself more than my clients." I pulled back to look into his eyes. "This scares me, too. Needing someone when everyone who gets close to us ends up in handcuffs or worse."
He cradled my cheek in his hand. "We could walk away. Right now. Hand the drive to Marcus and let the federal system handle it."
"Could you? Really?"
He offered a rueful smile. "No. And neither could you. We're both too fucked up to choose safety over justice."
"So what does that make us?"
"Partners," he said, and it was more than a romantic notion. "No more solos. Whatever happens, we face it together."
I kissed him then—not brief, not gentle, but desperate and claiming and full of the terrible knowledge that tomorrow we might not get another chance.
My work phone buzzed on the nightstand. I turned to check it.
Rowan's eyes narrowed. "Unknown?"
"No caller ID."
"Answer anyway," he said.
It was an unfamiliar female voice. "Dr. McCabe."
"Who—"
"Dr. McCabe, this is Dr. Celeste Harrow." Her voice was measured and professional, threaded with a hint of warmth. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Every muscle in my back locked. Harrow.
"I wasn't expecting—how did you get this number?"
"Through professional channels," she said smoothly. "I've become aware of troubling compliance issues in our field. Exploitation of trauma survivors. Systematic privacy violations. And your advocacy has reached me through colleagues. I believe you may have been targeted yourself."
I glanced at Rowan. He froze, suddenly fully alert.
"What makes you think that?" I asked.
"The kind of resistance you've shown attracts predators. I know—my research on accelerated trauma resolution has been stolen, corrupted, and weaponized by those who care nothing about healing. They're turning treatment into control. And you, Dr. McCabe, are precisely the kind of therapist they would seek to neutralize."
The comments sounded real, not rehearsed. A tiny voice in my head said to hang up, but the rest stopped me. I engaged instead.
"What are you suggesting?"
