Page 31 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Luna

I usually see my therapist once every three months—maintenance mode, no crisis. But now? I’ve booked weekly sessions because life is confusing the hell out of me.

After years of keeping men at a distance, I seem to have opened myself up to, of all people, Dom.

I’m dating my ex. The one who shattered my heart and made me question whether I could ever really trust a man again.

I haven’t forgiven him—not entirely. But I also know that being young and scared makes you do things that defy logic.

And maybe, growing up means recognizing that truth in someone else…and in myself?

Dom and I are spending an inordinate amount of time together. We’ve gotten to know who we are now quite well. I like him. He says he loves me.

We still haven’t had sex. That intimacy still seems to be something I’m not ready for.

In the heat of the moment, there are times I think I’m ready, but Dom pulls away, like he knows it’s just pheromones talking.

He reasons that he doesn’t want me to regret being with him—and that when we make love again for the first time since the last time (talk about a mind fuck), he wants it to be because I’m absolutely certain about him and us.

Does it hurt him that I’m still wary? Yes. I can see it. I don’t want to hurt Dom. I love him, but I find that my heart is still closed off.

“I thought I hated him,” I tell Dr. Monica Ryan.

She’s someone who knows everything there is to know about me. I’ve been coming to this office since I was twelve, long before I understood how much I needed a space like this.

I spilled my grief and rage into the cushions of the sofa that came before the one I’m sitting on now, carving out pieces of myself in quiet, furious confession.

I stared at that same brass floor lamp while learning how to breathe again.

I memorized the sound of her teacups clinking when I couldn’t find words.

If comfort were a smell, I’d say it’s lavender and books, which is what Dr. Ryan’s office smells like.

Not the fake lavender of drugstore lotion, but the soft, real kind that clings to the air and makes you feel like you’re in Provence.

The walls are lined with shelves—some for show, some clearly used .

One holds her collection of antique clocks.

Another, books with titles about trauma, family systems, and healing.

“Do you really think you hated him?” She’s sitting in her leather armchair, her teal linen blouse perfectly pressed despite the heat, legs crossed, notepad balanced on her knee, though I know she only writes things down when she absolutely has to.

Her salt-and-pepper curls halo her head in soft waves, framing eyes that miss nothing. They’re kind, but never indulgent.

I look away, staring out the window for a long moment. “I don’t know.” I sigh and then blurt out, still not looking at her, “I went to my parents’ party.”

Dr. Ryan makes a humming sound.

“They were…themselves. I mean, who else could they be?” My voice is flat. I turn to face her. “Mama was drugged up. Dad was angry. A textbook Steele family gathering.”

I lick my lips as I consider my next words. “But something was different this time.”

She waits.

“Dad almost hit Lev. I mean…he would’ve if Dom hadn’t stopped him. And then he tried to strike Dom.” I still can’t believe that happened.

“That seems like an escalation,” she notes.

“Yes,” I agree. “He’s drinking a lot…and I think he’s pissed that Lev is financially supporting him.”

“How do you feel about that? About Lev supporting your parents? ”

I shrug. “The money…I don’t give a damn. It’s the emotional capital he expends with them that worries me. I know he does it for Mama. What I don’t know is why he won’t give up.”

She doesn’t say anything. She knows my process. It takes time, but I finally get it all out, and then we can dissect what I’m really feeling and why.

Then, I tell her everything that happened that night and finish by saying, “It was a shit show.”

“You’ve never called your mother out before,” she remarks. “Why did you this time?”

I think about it and then say, honestly, “I think because Dom was with me.” It’s the truth. He gave me strength. “I think having him meant that I didn’t fold into the old wounds. I just…called it like I saw it.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Freeing.” I take a breath. “And final . I’m done. I can’t continue this nonsense, even for Lev’s sake.”

I chuckle as a thought strikes me.

“What?”

“Because Dom is there.”

“Explain.”

I smile sadly. “Because I know that Dom will take care of Lev. He’ll be there with him whenever he has to face our dad. Dom will…take over, and I can stay away from their toxicity.”

She makes a note of something.

“You know what I don’t understand is…why Lev won’t cu t them off. He still defends them. Still…. I just don’t get it.” I let my frustration show.

Dr. Ryan leans forward slightly. “Luna, not everyone heals by severing ties. It’s not better or worse—it’s just different.”

“But he’s hurting.”

“Yes. And you can’t fix that for him.” Her voice softens. “You can only be his sister. Support him. Love him. Let him know you see what it costs him.”

I nod again, slower this time. “I’ll always have his back. Even if I don’t understand him.”

“And Dominic? He seems to be in your life in an organic way.”

I close my eyes.

That’s the harder truth. “I wonder if I’m being an idiot, letting him back in.”

“Wonder or fear?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Fear,” I concede.

“Now that you know he didn’t cheat on you,” she muses, “now you know the truth, how does it make you feel?”

I give her a soft, contemplative glance. “He was a kid when he left me. Terrified.”

She regards me thoughtfully. “But?”

I lift my shoulders in a helpless gesture.

“But I get it. He thought he had to become more to be with me. For him, that meant a Cornell degree, a career, and proving he wouldn’t be some financial millstone around my neck.

And my father, who you know is a narcissistic psychopath, knew exactly where to press.

He poked every insecurity Dom had. I can’t really blame Dom for reacting to it.

I’ve fallen for my father’s manipulation more times than I care to admit—and I fell knowing better, when I was older. ”

Dr. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just lets me keep unraveling.

“He never stopped loving me,” I murmur, almost as if to myself, then my voice rises, “that’s the part that guts me. He ran, yeah. But not away from me—away from who he was back then.”

“And who is he now?”

I look down at my hands. “He’s strong. He’s steady. He still makes dumb decisions like making me jealous by pretending he’s with Camy. God! That was dumb.”

Dr. Ryan’s expression lightens with amusement.

“And,” I continue, “he still hides behind charm, but he doesn’t run anymore. He’s comfortable in his own skin—more than I am. And I don’t think he’s hung up on our social statuses like he used to be. I don’t think he gives two fucks about that anymore.”

She leans back, thoughtful. “Do you still love him?”

I meet her eyes. “I never stopped.”

“And do you trust him?”

I hesitate. “Yes.” I groan out aloud. “Am I a fool?”

“Why would you say that?” she asks as she studies me.

“He lied to me and left me, and…now I’m trusting him again. Makes me a moron, doesn’t it?”

Her gaze softens with understanding. “And who’s sitting judgment on you over this? ”

I grab a cushion and set it on my lap, and play with the tassels. “I guess I am.”

“Then stop it.”

I huff out a laugh.

“What is it that’s really bothering you, Luna?”

My eyes linger on her as my mind searches through my emotions.

After a moment, I reveal, “That he’ll hurt me again, and then it’ll be my fault. You know that saying, fool me once, shame on you?”

“From what you have experienced since you let him back in, how likely is it that he’ll hurt you?”

I let out a long breath but there is no hesitation when I tell her, “Slim to none.”

“Why is that?”

I rock back and let out a breathy laugh. “Because he’s not hiding anymore. He’s not protecting his pride or trying to be noble in some dumb way. He’s just…showing up. Being with me. Being honest.”

Dr. Ryan smiles.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve grown. A lot.”

“Maybe,” I permit. “I just…I want us to be more than a beautiful mistake.”

She nods. “Maybe now you have a chance to be something better than what you were. Then you were kids, Luna, and who knows, maybe you wouldn’t have made it as a couple, because as much as love is needed in a relationship, it isn’t enough if there isn’t maturity to handle it.

” She looks at her notes. “As you were talking, I wrote down the word ‘acceptance’. The way I see it, you accept the past for what it is. You accept him—the boy and the man. The struggle is to accept yourself—understand that trusting Dom, trusting yourself, is not a weakness, it’s a strength, it’s courage, it’s what makes us who we are. ”

I tuck her words away, as I often do during our sessions, so I can ruminate over them later and better understand myself and the path I want to take.

“Do you think I have that kind of courage?”

She gives me a full-blown smile. “Absolutely. Luna, I’m so happy to see that you and Dom are building something honest together.

From everything you’ve shared, I believe the two of you have a far better chance at a successful relationship now than you ever did back then.

When you talk about him, it’s not just love—it’s trust. You describe someone who stands beside you, who protects your brother, holds your hand through the hard stuff, and shows up for your team so you can win.

That kind of partnership isn’t just romantic—it’s real. ”

I smile at that. “He is on my team.”

“Then live your life, Luna. You’re not impulsive or self-destructive—you’ve always been thoughtful and deliberate.

So trust yourself. If you’re choosing to give Dom a chance, it’s not just about the history between you.

In fact, I’d say what you’re building now has very little to do with the past, and everything to do with who you both are today. ”

I give an exaggerated eye roll. “Come on, all this is residual love…first love st uff, isn’t it?”

Dr. Ryan regards me with quiet consideration. “You have chemistry, and it’s profound. But it survives and thrives because you both work on it, as you are now.”

“That makes sense.” I set the cushion aside. “So…why haven’t we had sex yet?”

“You’ve done other things? You have intimacy. Sex is just penetration. You’ll get there when you get there.”

“So…that doesn’t mean that this relationship is not real? I just feel like, if we’re not fucking, then something is wrong.”

“Happily married couples don’t have a lot of sex, but they have intimacy, they have closeness.

You two are holding off, maybe because you want more time to get comfortable with your new reality, or maybe it’s just a mating dance.

I see nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Ryan sets her notebook on the small table by her chair.

“And it’s not like you don’t want to have sex.

You have to stop yourself from going all the way, right? ”

“True. Though, he’s the one who stops, says I’m not ready.”

“I agree with him,” Dr. Ryan states.

“When will I be ready?”

“When you’re ready,” she replies unhelpfully.

“He must have the bluest balls this side of the Mississippi.”

Dr. Ryan chuckles. “I hear it’s not a fatal condition.”