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He snickers and I grin back at him.

“In the end, we were both acting. I don’t think we really knew each other at all. I found him banging our next-door neighbor.”

“Ouch.”

“I was angry, obviously. But I wasn’t heartbroken. I didn’t feel that empty, hopeless feeling people talk about. I dumped his record collection on the front lawn and set it on fire.”

Callum barks a laugh. “Holy shit, Mia. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

I bump his shoulder with mine. “I like you, you’re safe.”

Silence descends once more, but without its previous strain. We watch the sky. Spy a few shooting stars. A breeze kicks up, tickling our exposed skin with warm drafts.

“I’m getting better,” he says mutedly, almost to himself. “Some things Dr. C has told me are finally making sense.”

“Like what?”

“Hard to explain.” He tilts his head toward me. “The fact I’m not obsessing over you is pretty amazing. It’s almost enough to make me fall in love with you.”

“Me?” I scoff. “Buddy, I’m ten miles of bad road. You’d be better off with Kinsey.”

Instead of laughing, he says gravely, “You really don’t see yourself at all.”

I scowl. “Quit it. We both know I’m a hot mess.”

“Are you?” he asks cryptically. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re complicated, and passionate, and terrified of the depth at which you feel things. It’s easier for you to pretend you don’t feel anything at all. A coping mechanism.”

“Wrong.” I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I had another cigarette. We smoked his last two. “The problem isn’t that I can’t feel anything, it’s that I can’t feel fear. And believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve put myself in horrible situations. Dangerous ones. Short of strolling naked into a biker bar, I’ve walked some shady lines. Scared the shit out of everyone who cared about me. Everyone except myself.”

“Because you don’t care about yourself,” he states sadly.

“Meh,” I say dismissively, having heard that assessment many times. I counter it with the same logic I always use. “If I didn’t care about myself, I’d simply jump without a parachute.”

“Self-loathing and being suicidal are different,” he says gently. “This I know.”

I rub my face roughly. “Fine, Dr. Rivers. You win.” Peering at him over my fingers, I snarl, “I liked you better when you weren’t playing therapist. Chastain’s bad enough.”

He laughs. “He’s growing on you, isn’t he?”

“Like a sexy fungus.”

Callum thinks this is hysterical and bends in half with the force of his laughter. I try to hold my frown, but my lips quirk. Eventually he recovers, standing to wipe his streaming eyes.

“Don’t try to seduce him.”

My brows rise. “Why not?”

All traces of laughter vanish from his face. “For both of your sakes. I don’t want Dr. C to lose everything because of you.”

I open and close my mouth a few times before finding my voice. “You’re making a rather large assumption on his behalf.”

Callum stares at me, eyes fathomless in the shadows. “It’s not an assumption.”

My pulse makes itself known again, this time between my legs. Ignoring the insistent throb, I say, “Just because you want to bone me doesn’t?—”

“Let me put it to you this way,” he interjects. “When we met, you immediately triggered my obsessive disorder. A part of that means I become hyperaware of potential challengers. Competition. I’ve seen him look at you when he thinks no one’s watching.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Unnerved more than I care to admit, I feign affront. “I’m not going to seduce my therapist, no matter how hot he is. That’s low, even for me.”