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“Why are you so fixated on this?”

“My approach isn’t conventional, but I’d like to know if it’s working.”

His demeanor is too clinical and composed, and every atom in my body warns me to tread these dangerous waters with caution. Still, the truth breaks loose, unchecked.

“I haven’t been able to.”

“But you’ve tried?”

“I guess I’ve been holding back.” I squirm in my seat, hating the way his questions strip me bare. But once the metaphorical clothes come off, there’s no putting them back on.

“What’s stopping you, Novalee?”

“Oliver.” I swallow my pride and my shame, then forge ahead. “He’s been watching me every night.”

Dr. Price sets his notebook and pen down. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“It did…at first.”

“And now?” He folds his hands in his lap, and the energy between us hisses like a viper. “How does it make you feel?”

“Trapped.”

“How so?”

I gaze out the window at the falling snow, dazed by the wintry light of day. “I feel like I’m stuck in purgatory. He hasn’t said a word, and except for last night, he hasn’t moved from my doorway.”

“What was different about last night?”

“I did…something.”

“Please, tell me more.”

“I got his attention,” I admit, flashing back to the large bulge in Oliver’s pajama pants.

“Was that your goal?”

I return to Dr. Price and his dark pewter eyes. A flare of interest transforms his features, vanishing the instant our gazes collide.

Once again, I’ve been playing into his hands this whole time.

“As I told you already, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Understood, but I would like to know one thing.” He leans in, drawing out the pause until it hums with expectation. “You haven’t been able to let go in front of Oliver, but have you crossed that threshold at all since Sebastian’s death?”

His words punch the air from my lungs, and I sit frozen for a beat, torn between the urge to withdraw and the pull of exhausted honesty.

He waits, his pointer finger ticking the seconds away as he dares me to hand over another piece of myself.

“Twice,” I say, my voice so small I don’t recognize it.

“Were you alone?”

“I was with Liam.” The admission burns my tongue, hot with shame.

“When?”

“The night I almost jumped.”