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Joy seems to think so, too, based on the way she relaxes in her seat and reaches for her iced coffee. “Take me back to the moment everything changed between you two.”

I groan, reaching up, and fiddle with the ends of my hair. I should have put it up before therapy; playing with my hair was a nervous habit of mine that I’ve never been able to break. “It was the last night of the Olympic Trials in 2016—we hooked up. It wasn’t ever supposed to happen.”

“Then why did it happen?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. If I close my eyes, I can still see the two of us. We were so much younger, so unsure of what the world could bring us. I wonder if he was as blind to real heartbreak as I was back then. “He turned out to be different than I expected. It was the first time he and I had really hung out without everyone else around us and…I don’t know. I guess he surprised me.”

“In what ways?”

I twirl the strand of hair I’m playing with around my finger. “In every way. We only stayed out for two drinks and then we went back to his hotel to watch movies. He had been rooming with Bryce during the entire meet, but he’d gotten that room specifically to hookup on his last night. At least, that’s what Bryce told Josie. Buthe never once came on to me, never pushed me for more, or even flirted with me.”

“I thought it bothered you when he acted like the Olympic playboy?”

Of course, Joy’s going to ask the hard questions. Questions I don’t know how to answer because the truth is, I did hate it. It drove me nuts and insulted my feminist heart, but more than that, something in me knew that it wasn’t him. There was something about the entire reputation he carried with him that felt rather forced—or, at least, it did.

“It gave me a glimpse into the real him, and that made me put my guard down.”

She nods, watching me closely. “Who made the first move?”

“I did.” My hands drop to my lap and a new fidgeting starts; this time I’m picking at the chipped polish on my nails. “I don’t even know what came over me, but I was the one who pushed it further. We were laughing about something and when our eyes met…it just, it felt like the moment was suspended in space. Does that make sense?”

“Like you were seeing everything you’ve ever wanted and if you took a breath, it’d all vanish around you.”

I want to argue. God, do I want to argue. Ronan isn’t everything I’ve always wanted, but in that moment, he was. I wasn’t always fair to Josie when it came to her hooking up with Bryce, because I did the same thing. I saw the draw. I knew what it meant to see this gorgeous man—the exact kind of man we’d grown up hearing fat girls can’t date. Yet I had this moment and I’d taken advantage of it. Worry crawls up my chest.

I bite my lip, looking at Joy. “Do you think I used Ronan to prove something to myself?”

“What would you need to prove to yourself?”

“That I was desirable…that I was sexy.” Tears sting the corner of my eyes. “I don’t want to be that kind of person, Joy.”

“Do you think you are?” What kind of question is that? “Let me rephrase this. The Olympic swim team is full of attractive men and women, correct?” I nod slightly, wondering where she’s going with this. “If you really wanted to prove to yourself that you could get someone attractive, would you have picked him?”

“Absolutely not. He’s my friend. Or he was.”

“Then I don’t think you took advantage of him, Mia,” she replies. “I think you’re worried about that now because you still can’t let yourself believe he wanted you back.”

My stomach churns and twists. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me, and everything starts to blur. The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Anxiety crawling up my arms; the need to hide away from my own insecurities too much to take right now. Before I can force myself to stand and flee, Joy’s voice stops me.

“Mia.” Her voice is steady and calm. Something I can focus on. “I need you to take a few deep breaths for me.”

Together, Joy and I work to get the anxiety attack under control. By the time my breathing is back to normal, and a water bottle is pressed into my shaky hands, we’ve used about ten minutes of my session. Joy’s warm smile and calm voice continue to center me.

As soon as I step into the building after therapy, Josie seems to know the session had been a long one. There must be something about the look on my face or something in my eyes because she glances up, offers me the smallest smile, and focuses back on the parent at thedesk. I quietly move through the small crowd, heading up to our shared office with the hope no one else stops me.

Carter and Bryce are chatting outside the offices, in the small communal space we have there. Neither pay me any mind as I sneak into my office and close the door quietly behind me. Leaning back against it, I take a couple of deep, centering breaths. The smell of chlorine lingers in every part of this building and, while some people might find it annoying, it helps comfort me even more. It’s something tangible I can hold on to and use as a centering tool; some of my fondest memories involve the smell of chlorine.

It’s also involved in some of my least favorite memories, but I’m choosing not to focus on those.

It takes longer than I would like to admit for me to feel like the floor has settled beneath my feet, but once it does, it’s time to focus my attention back on the mountain of work I need to do. I take my time, pulling everything I need from my bag and setting up my desk to be as productive as possible. I’m content to forget about pesky things like anxiety or feelings that get in my way. After all, I’ve always been pretty good at avoiding things I don’t want to face.

I don’t emerge from my office for a few hours. I allow myself to be fully emerged in the work I need to do and the way it can distract me from everything else. When I finally do come out, Ronan is standing at the coffeemaker. I curse under my breath and am just about to shut myself back into my office when he turns.

The frown on his features causes his eyebrows to furrow in a confused way that would look adorable on anyone else. But definitely not on him. “When did you get here?”

“Right after lunch,” I reply, moving into the room. “Like I’m scheduled.”

It’s not that we have a schedule we need to keep track of. Neither Bryce nor Carter care when I come and go as long as I finish thethings I need to. The days I have therapy, though, are marked that I’m unavailable until after lunch on the shared calendar, specifically to give me time to get my life sorted out. I wake up early, do some freelance work, go to therapy, and then come to work at Adair. Usually, I don’t feel like I’ve been fileted open, but what can you do?