“Harsh.” I roll my eyes, but her words hit closer than I’d like to admit. She’s not wrong. Lately, my life has felt like an endless cycleof work and avoidance, as if I’m trying to outrun something. Or someone.
“Okay, let me rephrase,” she says, her voice softening. “I miss you. Like, really miss you. You’ve been… distant. Even for you. And that’s saying a lot.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, guilt tugging at the edges of my thoughts. “I know. I’m sorry. Things have just been… a lot.”
Sarah reaches over and squeezes my hand, her warmth cutting through the chill that’s been following me. “I know, but don’t let those things stop you from living your life. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you.”
“And nothing brings joy like shopping.” She grabs her phone, scrunching her forehead in concentration. “By the way, you still haven’t picked a dress. What about this one? It says, ‘sexy professional that wants to get bent over a desk,’ but without being too slutty.”
I laugh, not only in amusement, but out of pure happiness. Tonight is the first time that my best friend has acted like her old self. The person she was before the assault.
“Try again, but with less skin showing.”
“You’re no fun. Okay, hear me out. This one.” She tilts her phone toward me. The dress is sleek, floor-length, and emerald green, with just the right balance of elegance and edge.
I glance at it and shake my head. “Too bold.”
“Too bold?” Sarah’s jaw drops as if I’ve just insulted her personally. “You’re literally the keynote speaker for one of the biggest fundraising events of the year. You’re the university’sstar alumna, Geneva. You need bold. You’re not supposed to blendinto the background like you do at work in that depressing office of yours.”
“First of all, ouch. Second, I’m not trying to blend in,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
She smacks my leg and looks at me as if I’m the one who just slapped her. “Trying too hard? You’re going to stand in front of a room full of high-profile donors, alumni, and university hotshots because they’re basically worshipping you for being the only person who’s ever created a psych profile onhim.” She lowers her voice on the last word, leaning in closer like we’re swapping secrets. “I mean, come on. Own it.”
I shift in my seat, glancing out the window as the city lights streak past. “It’s not just about Ghost. They’re asking me to talk about my work in general. Convictions, profiles, and how psychology intersects with criminal justice. Those types of things.”
Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically. “Puh-lease. They’re asking you because you’ve put away, what? Thirty? Forty criminals? And because you’re the only person in the world who’s had a front-row seat to the inside of that psycho’s mind.” She pokes me lightly in the arm, grinning. “Face it, bestie, you’re a big deal.”
“I’m not—” I sigh, cutting myself off before I can finish the sentence. There’s no point in arguing. Sarah’s right. The university has made it clear that my keynote isn’t just about my achievements as a criminal psychologist; it’s about my connection tohim. Ghost. The man whose mind I dissected and mapped like some dark, endless labyrinth.
Except I never finished the psych profile.
And I won’t.
“They don’t even care about the speech,” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah. “They care about the name attached to it. Ghost’s name is more than famous. It’s legendary now.”
“They asked you because you’ve worked your ass off.” Sarah softens, the note of teasing in her voice fading. “You’ve earned this. Yes, the Ghost thing is part of it, but it’s not the whole picture. Don’t discredit all the work you’ve done. Or all the people you’ve helped. Including me.”
Her words hit a tender spot. On impulse, I throw my arms around her. She hugs me back and pats my back as if I’m the victim. Not her.
Sarah doesn’t bring it up often, but when she mentions the way I testified in court, I want to smile and throw up. Prison is too good for Frank “Skinner” Burns. The serial rapist deserves to burn in hell and have his dick cut off. Not necessarily in that order.
When Sarah was crumbling under the weight of her trauma, I was there. I helped her find her footing again, guided her through the storm she thought she’d never escape. She’s always credited me for that, though I’ve never felt like I did anything extraordinary. Listening, supporting, or even testifying—that’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you care about.
In the end, Sarah’s right. I’ve done important work that was due to my profession, and I should be recognized.
After pulling back, I exhale slowly, leaning my head against the headrest. “You’re right. They’re lucky to have me. I just hate public speaking.”
“I’m always right. Which is why you should let me pick your dress.”
“Fine.”
Sarah claps her hands, releasing a tiny squeal, and I immediately regret my decision. Or I would if her face wasn’t so joyful. I’d give that keynote speech butt-naked to make my best friend happy. Hopefully, she doesn’t consider that as an option.
The driver clears his throat, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “This your stop?”
I look out the window at my apartment building, the familiar silhouette looming in the dark. “Yeah.” I reach for the door handle but pause, turning to Sarah. “Promise me the dress will be something appropriate.”
