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“It means that you’re very obvious about your obsession with her.”

Obsession with me?

Hell no, he hasn’t been obvious.

But then I think of him standing outside my window.

I think of when I’ve caught him staring so openly at me.

I think about him following me on my walk.

I know that the two of us share some kind of connection, but I’ve honestly thought it’s all been in my head. So to hear this is…something.

Kincaid is silent for a moment. “It can’t be helped,” he concedes miserably.

That would sound romantic, but the way he says it makes it sound like some incurable disease, like he’s dying.

“Obsession leaves when you stop feeding it,” Everly says. “You need to stop feeding it. You need to focus on your own mind for once and rein it in. Focus on your work. Focus on me! I know you, Wes. I know what you’re like, your need to fixate andcontrol…the spiral you’re about to go down, the writing on the wall…”

“What if she feels something for me?” He says this so quietly I have to strain to pick it up above the hammering of my heart.

“She doesn’t,” she says matter-of-factly. “She just thinks you’re hot. She just wants to sleep with you. Poor thing.”

“And if it’s more than that?”

“Then you act like a professional,” she says sternly. “You’re her doctor, for god’s sake. You can keep it in your pants, can’t you? You need to be there for her as a doctor. Not as a friend, not as anything else. You need that distance, or things will get really fucking messy. It’s already fucking messy.” She pauses, sighs. “She’s just not smart enough.”

The fuck?

Her words stab me right in the chest. Suddenly, I have a flashback to grade school where I overheard class hottie Ryan Corrigan telling Vicki Bessey that he hated being next to me in math class because I looked so stupid while I tried to figure out the equations. I struggled through my calculus in college because what he said stayed with me, made me think I was an idiot.

So to hear that from Everly, of all people, after she just called me brilliant, her star fucking pupil, is a real trip.

She’s been lying to me.

“Sheissmart,” Kincaid snaps at her. “She’s just adjusting. These things take time. She’ll prove herself, just not now.”

“Well, you’re not working hard enough, Dr. Kincaid,” she says.

“Neither are you,” he says quietly. “The other students?—”

“You leave them to me. They might be useful in time.” I hear her walking toward the door. “Patience is key.”

I can’t be caught here. I quickly turn around and scamper down the hall and into the common room. I stand there, heart inmy throat, back against the wall, praying she doesn’t follow the trail of water to find me.

Then I hear the door close to the outside.

I exhale heavily, clutching my chest. Jesus.

I take a moment to compose myself. The last thing I want is for Kincaid to think I heard anything. I lightly tap my fingers on my face and neck, trying to calm myself down and stay steady.

When I’m finally ready, I walk back down the hall and knock on Kincaid’s door. This time, it’s closed.

“Come in,” I hear his voice.

I open the door and pop my head inside. Smoke wafts toward me, smelling like sweet tobacco. Kincaid is sitting at his desk and staring at that small white square piece of paper again before he slips it into a drawer. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s one of those mini Polaroid photos, like the one he brought for documenting when we went to the beach. A hand-rolled cigarette smokes from an ashtray on the windowsill, where it’s been put out.

“Take a seat,” he says, and when he meets my eyes, I can see the frustration in them. I would give anything to know exactly what they were talking about. Am I being tested somehow to prove how smart I am, prove I’m good enough to work at the Madrona Foundation? Is this actually more of an internship than anything else? Is that why we’re all here?