I need to talk to Emma, but what do I say? How do I explain? I’ve kept so much from her, so many secrets. Too many. The weight of them suffocates me every time we talk. The guilt leaves me unwilling to reach out. But I still need her, still need the one person who knew me before Bryce, during Bryce, and now. When I’ve become a woman I don’t even know. A woman I’m scared to share with her.
And my dad. I need to tell my dad.
But how? He and Mom married young, a handful of months before I was born. And he’s been clear that his path shouldn’t be mine. I need to graduate college, get a good, stable job. And then I can worry about the rest.
This isn’t that. This isn’t close.
I’m not sure it’s even wanted.
At least, not like this. Never like this.
My silence doesn’t bother RJ. He tucks a blanket around me as I lean against his headboard, my mind spiraling. Too manyquestions, not enough answers. And not a damn solution in sight.
His monitors flare to life as he moves to his desk, clicking and cycling through who knows what as I watch him from behind.
His anger was a surprise. But it also wasn’t.
For months he’s tracked down every video of me he could, trailing the scumbags who had them, removing the videos and the money that bought them.
And he never told me. Not until I knew enough to ask.
Another protector. I didn’t know I needed one, let alone two.
Turns out the redundancy might be necessary.
I scoff out a bitter laugh at my own thoughts, RJ turning his chair to check in.Am I okay?
Closing my eyes, I tuck my knees under my chin.No, no, I’m not.
Needing to get myself out of my head, I force a question out of my mouth. “Is Jansen okay?”
“I don’t know.”
I open my eyes, gazing across the dim space at RJ, my cheek on my knee. “Are you worried?”
He nods.
“Me too.”
The silence is thick.
“Has he been like this before?”
“Once. That I know of.”
“What caused it?”
“Heartbreak.”
This has me sitting up a little straighter. “But this time?”
“Definitely not heartbreak,” he says, a soft smile on his face. “This is probably some kind of adrenaline issue. Brain chemicals all messed up after Chicago, and trying to find a new normal.”
“One of us needs to be a doctor,” I say, closing my eyes again. “Or maybe a therapist.”
His chuckle pulls a smile out of me. “That probably wouldn’t hurt, sugar. We all have got issues.”
“Yup. And a million reasons why it’s not safe to share them with outsiders.”
