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Chapter Forty-Eight

It’s Dylan’s birthday,and we’re hanging out at his house, dressed in green since it’s also Saint Patrick’s Day. The last four months have been the happiest of my life. It’s just the three of us, but Tommy is leaving soon to meet his girlfriend. I’m looking forward to alone time with Dylan.

But for now, I take turns dancing with my two favorite boys to the soundtrack of P!nk.

Dylan steals me away from Tommy again. I giggle and laugh like the little girl I never had a chance to be. Tommy tries to cut in, but Dylan turns and spins me out of reach.

“Dylan Jameson Beckett!” Tommy’s voice paralyzes me.

“J-Jameson?” I stutter.

Dylan tries to twirl me, but I’m frozen in place—my feet have grown roots.

“Yes.” Dylan runs a hand through his hair. “Jameson is my middle name. It’s a family name. After my father and grandfather—”

“And his father and grandfather and so on.” Tommy finishes the sentence in a way that tells me this is something that was repeated often. “All the firstborn males get the middle name Jameson. We can trace it back to the eighteen hundreds.” He tries to step around Dylan again, but gets blocked.

Everything comes rushing at me. Every word we exchanged. The tapping. Their voices so similar. Their voices! It all clicks into place like the pieces of a puzzle. How is this possible?

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. How could I have been so stupid?

“Becca? You look white as a ghost, are you okay?” Dylan’s gentle hands on my waist are more than I can bear. I break his hold, step away. His hands drop to the side. Dylan and Tommy look at each other and back at me.

It’s him!

Dylan is Therapist11. Therapist11 is Dylan.

My heart rages inside my chest like a trapped wild animal. “It’s you … It’s you!”

“It’s me what?” He takes a step closer, and I take two back.

“You’re Therapist11. It was you all along.”

The realization hits me like a tidal wave. I let my guard down. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have a chance to prepare, to protect myself.

I’m caught in a riptide of emotions. I’m tumbling, going under, drowning. My lungs are robbed of air. Coldness closes in on me, climbing up my legs, numbing my fingers, creeping into my chest, constricting, squeezing my heart into a painful and erratic cadence.

Dylan tilts his head, blinks, opens and closes his mouth. “How do you know …” He blinks again. His face rearranges from confused to knowing. He makes the connection.

And I helped him.

My hands reach into the space between us and cover my mouth, one hand over the other as if I could capture the words and shove them back inside. If I had kept my mouth shut … maybe he wouldn’t know.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Cougar22,” he mouths.

Tommy gets between me and Dylan. “What’s going on?”

I take another step back. My entire body shakes as if I’m standing in my own personal earthquake. Everything is crumbling. All my layers of lies and protection that were so carefully built turn to dust. Rage and fear erupt, and I scream. “Did you know? Did you know it was me? Has this been a game all along? Did you get a good laugh at my expense?”

Dylan’s arms come up, trying to reach me. “Becca, no! Never. I had no idea. How could I?”

My face burns. The heat spreads to my chest. My entire being is ice and fire and shame. Devastating shame, thatheof all people should know all the horrible and sordid things that happened to me. AndIwas the one to tell him.

“Becca?” He tries to reach out to me again.

I stumble back. My eyes dart everywhere, searching for a point to fix on so I can ride this down. But panic has a hold on me, and there’s no fight left. Fueled by adrenaline and fear, my legs gain purchase and turn. There’s not a rational thought left in me. It’s just the need to escape now.