"It's fine," Devon says quickly, touching my arm. "Dr. Reeves just thought it would be good for us to all talk together. You know, as a family."
I look at Devon. The smug look has been tucked away. Now she's doing that thing where she makes her eyes go wide and vulnerable, like fucking Bambi.
"Come on in," Dr. Reeves says, gesturing toward the office. "We can all chat.”
I follow them through the door, my legs moving on autopilot, and that's when I see him. And my entire being seizes up. Asher is sitting in one of four leather chairs arranged in a semicircle. He's holding an espresso cup, and when he sees me, he sets it down on the small table beside him. His expression is supposed to be apologetic, but he’s failing.
"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out sharper than I intended.
"I wanted to be here," he says, standing up.
"You said you had a meeting."
"I moved it."
The lie is so obvious it's almost insulting. The truth comes at me like a cannonball. His car wasn't in the parking lot. Which means he parked somewhere else so I wouldn't see it. So I wouldn't know. This was planned. All of it. A fucking ambush.
And I was a lamb to the goddamn slaughter.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
JULIE
"Please, sit,"Dr. Reeves says, gesturing to the empty chair closest to her. Her tone is pleasant, but there's steel underneath it. This isn't a request.
I look at Devon. She's already settling into the chair next to Asher, her expression serene. As for my husband, he’s trying hard to pull off concerned. But I swear, both of them are watching me with barely contained glee.
I look at Dr. Reeves, who's watching me with that same cool, assessing gaze. I sit for two reasons. The first is that my legs have turned to fucking jelly and my heart is slamming against my chest. I amthiscloseto having a panic attack. The other reason I don’t bolt is because I don't know what else to do. Because if I leave, I'm the problem. If I refuse to participate, I'm unsupportive. If I do anything except smile and go along with this, I'm the villain.
The office is massive, decorated in the same expensive, understated style as the waiting room. Dr. Reeves settles into her chair across from us. She picks up a leather-bound notebook and obscenely expensive gold pen.
It’s a Montblanc, which I recognize because I’d done a ton of research when I bought one for Asher’s father as a gift for his birthday.
"Thank you all for being here," Dr. Reeves says, her red lips curving into something I think is supposed to appear as a gentle smile but gives me a Cruella DeVille vibe.
"I know this feels a bit unexpected forsomeof you, but I really think this is going to be productive."
Her eyes land on me when she says "unexpected," and I feel my face flush.
"Devon has been making wonderful progress in our sessions," Dr. Reeves continues, "but I think it's important that we bring the whole family into the conversation. Grief doesn't happen in isolation, and neither does healing."
That sounds reasonable. Professional. But her eyes are saying something else.
"Devon," Dr. Reeves says, turning to her with a soft smile. "Why don't you start by telling us how you've been feeling lately?"
Devon takes a breath, and I watch her transform. Her shoulders curve inward slightly, her voice goes soft. "It's been really hard," she says. "I'msograteful to Asher and Julie for letting me stay with them, but I know it's been difficult. I hate being a burden."
"You're not a burden," Asher says immediately, reaching over to take her hand in his.
Dr. Reeves nods approvingly. "That's beautiful, Asher. That kind of support is exactly what Devon needs right now."
I can’t help noticing that Asher is still holding Devon’s hand, his thumb stroking over the back of it. I remember when he used to do that with me.
The doctor turns to me. "Julie, how do you think you’re reacting to having Devon in your home?"
The question feels loaded. Like there's a right answer and a wrong answer, and I'm about to give the wrong one. I look away from Asher and Devon’s hands.
