Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
There’s only one person who might have answers now.
I start the car, the engine purring to life, my decision made. I’ll have to face Dr. Ezra after all. After months of avoiding him and thinking I knew better, I’ll have to admit how catastrophically wrong I’ve been. The admission tastes like ash in my mouth.
As I pull out of the parking lot, my tires crunching over loose gravel, a chill runs down my spine, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck. For just a second, I swear I feel someone else’s presence—not Mads, but something colder, more calculating. Something that watches and waits in the shadows of my mind, its gaze a physical weight pressing against the back of my skull.
I press harder on the accelerator, the car surging forward, as if I could outrun what’s inside me. The world outside blurs—green trees, blue sky, normal people going about their normal lives, all of it seeming unreal.
But there’s no escaping what lives in your own head. No matter how fast I drive, how far I go, it comes with me, patient and waiting.
And I’m terrified of what it plans to do next.
TWENTY-FOUR
DOMHNALL
The rich, earthy scent of Dr. Ezra's leather chair fills my nostrils as I sink into it, the material creaking beneath my weight. Rain patters against the window like impatient fingers, the gray Dallas sky pressing against the glass. I stare at the geometric pattern in the rug beneath my feet, tracing the lines with my eyes rather than meeting his gaze.
"It's been a while, Domhnall," Dr. Ezra says, his voice measured and calm. The bastard's always calm, like nothing can touch him. Like nothing's ever touched him.
I grunt in response, focusing on the steady ticking of the antique clock on his bookshelf. Each second punctuates the silence between us like a tiny accusation.
"What brings you back in today?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, the leather of his own chair whispering as he moves.
I finally look up, taking in the carefully curated office with its wall of books, the framed credentials, and the soft lighting designed to make people feel safe. To make them spill their secrets. I've never trusted safe spaces. In my experience, they're usually the most dangerous.
"Been sleeping like shite even though everything in me life's great," I mutter, my brogue slipping out despite my efforts to contain it. My overnight in Austin was shit. The business part was fine, but I spent all night pacing. There's been this nagging sensation that something's off between me and Anna. But maybe this is just what normal feels like. I sure as fuck wouldn't know, and what if I fuck it up because I'm being an insecure little bitch?
On your knees, dog. What a pathetic little bitch.
I grit my teeth together against his voice in my head. The rain intensifies, drumming harder against the windowpane and mirroring the pounding in my chest. "Better than great. As near as a lad can get to fecking perfect. So I don't know what's wrong with me. Thought maybe you could help."
Dr. Ezra waits, his silence an invitation I resist accepting. The scent of his coffee---dark roast, no sugar---drifts between us. My own cup sits untouched on the side table, growing cold.
"Anna's happy," I finally continue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "We're planning the wedding. She's... present. All the time now. No more switches. No more wondering who I'll wake up beside."
I pause, running my thumb over the ridged scar on my palm---an old wound from a broken bottle when I was fourteen. When I next speak, my voice drops lower.
"But...?" Dr. Ezra prods.
"But something feels... off. Like the quiet before a storm rolls in."
"Have you discussed this feeling with Anna?" he asks, his pen poised above his notepad.
I hate that fucking pen. Hate the scratching sound it makes as it chronicles my weaknesses.
"No," I say shortly. "She's been through enough. I'm not going to burden her with my paranoia."
"You assume it's paranoia."
"What else would it be?" I snap, my fingers digging into the arms of the chair.
Dr. Ezra's gaze is steady, penetrating in a way that makes me want to look away again. I don't. I stare back, a challenge.
"And if it's not her... then the problem has to be... me, then, right?" I force my voice to remain steady. Fuck, I hate being weak. "I've been in a fight with my sister. Maybe that's just what's got me on edge."
"Oh?" Dr. Ezra tilts his head. "What about?"
Heat flushes my face, anger rising hot and fast. I stand abruptly, pacing to the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. The city below is a blur of gray buildings and black umbrellas.
"I gave her simple rules to follow," I say, my back to him. "Only fuck inside the club. I was trying to keep her safe. And what did she go and do?" I whirl around, my voice rising. "She ended up fucking him. Of her own free will!"