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I’d forgotten the appointment with the therapist, so I hauled ass back to Wahredua. My conscience made me stop once, at a Phillips 66, to squeeze out the load and clean myself up as best I could. As I sat on the cold toilet seat in the filthy little shitter, I thought it would have been funnier if it had been a Kum I was surprised he hadn’t taken out a notebook and started jotting down these words of wisdom.

“One last thing I always tell people is that therapy can unearth moments of self-discovery, things that might surprise you—often, what we start with isn’t always what we end up wanting to address. Part of that process can also involve strong emotions and disagreement. I’m here to help you navigate those emotions and to keep our conversations productive and solution oriented, even when we feel overwhelmed.”

“We’re really grateful for your time,” Darnell said. I was surprised by how thick his voice sounded, and when I looked over, he was wiping his eyes. “This has been a long time coming.”

Pauline nodded, but to my surprise, she didn’t rush over to pat him on the shoulder and tell him everything was going to be okay. Instead, she said, “Why don’t we start with you telling me a little about your relationship? How did you meet, how long have you been together, that kind of thing.”

“Gray’s a—” He stopped and looked at me. “Can I tell her?”

“She already knows who we are,” I said. “Wahredua’s tiny.”

Darnell looked to Pauline for confirmation.

“It is a small town,” she said. “But our conversations are always confidential, so you can be sure of your privacy here.”

“So, you know Gray is a detective. Okay. We met on one of his cases. He was looking for this guy—” Darnell stopped, a flush rising behind his beard. “They actually interviewed me, like, maybe I was a suspect.”

“You weren’t a suspect,” I said.

But the memory of that night was suddenly vivid in my mind. At the time, Darnell had lived in a trailer outside of town. My boy John-Henry and I had been trying to track down a scumbag named Dennis Tonda, and we’d followed messages on his phone to a planned hookup with an underage girl. Instead, we’d found Darnell. He’d been running—well, it was like the white trash version of To Catch a Predator. He’d lure guys out there, jam a shotgun between their teeth, take pictures of them, and scare them off.

It was jarring, the force of the memory. I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. I’d forgotten how…strange it had been. The potential for violence. And in my head, I saw the image that Harvey had planted: Jordan and Rory showing up on our doorstep, talking to Darnell. He’d been angry, Harvey had told me.

Caught up in the chain of thoughts, I’d missed part of what Darnell was saying. “—so nervous I could barely talk. I thought I’d made a fool out of myself, sending him those flowers, trying to tell him I was interested in him. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening. I don’t even remember what I ordered. I probably didn’t even take two bites.” I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “He wore a button-up printed with bananas. And these cute shorts. I thought I was the luckiest guy in the world.” Then, voice rough, he added, “I still do.”

“Gray,” Pauline said, “is there anything you want to add?”

I’d told John-Henry I was worried I was dating down. That memory, almost forgotten, floated up now too. It didn’t feel real, as though it had to have been someone else who had said that, who had thought that, because it couldn’t have been me. The unreality of it almost made me laugh. I shook my head, but then I heard myself say, “You didn’t make a fool out of yourself. You were so sweet.” More words kept coming, even as I tried to stop them. “I’d never dated anyone…kind. I liked that about you. That you were kind.”

The shotgun, another part of me thought. Shoving it in their mouths.

Darnell was wiping his eyes again with one hand; the other, still holding mine, squeezed hard.

After a brief silence, Pauline asked, “How long have you been together?”

“A little over two years,” Darnell said. “We clicked right away. We complement each other, that’s what I think. Gray’s fun and spontaneous. And I’m a little more serious, I guess. But we balance each other out.” I could hear the tears in his voice again as he said, “Everything was so good until—until the accident.”

The nights I’d wanted to go out, and he’d wanted to stay in. The nights I’d been bored, and he’d needed to work. The weeks when cases piled up, and I barely got home to sleep, much less to spend time with him, and so I got treated to huffy silences and stiffly pronounced absences. The weekends he had to travel for work, and he didn’t want me going out by myself. The fighting. We’d fought all the time. A dazed part of me thought, I set the fucking bed on fire. But that was like it had been someone else too. We didn’t fight now, though. Not really.

“How do you feel things have been since the accident? Is that what you call it?”

It wasn’t an accident, I thought. Some psycho bitch blew up my face.

“Yeah,” Darnell said, “the accident. Things have been tough.” He squeezed my hand again. “But I know this is an opportunity to make our relationship even stronger. We’ve built something really great, and I know we can make it even better.”

Pauline looked at me now. “Gray, could you talk a little about how you see your relationship?”

It was like it had been someone else’s life. Like it had all happened to someone else.

“It’s hard for him to talk about some of that stuff,” Darnell said.

“Is that true, Gray?” Pauline asked.

“We’ve worked really hard on intimacy,” Darnell said, and he tugged on my hand until I looked him in the eye. “Haven’t we? That’s our foundation.”

Our foundation, I thought. Intimacy. Like we’re a bedrock of traditional family values. I just got fucked by a weird dom type with about a hundred people on the other side of a window. I had to stop to squirt out his cum in a gas station crapper. How’s that for traditional family values? Like Wilma Flintstone getting railed by that guy Steve from Blue’s Clues on Nick at Nite.

“Yeah,” I said.

Darnell sat back, his expression satisfied, but Pauline studied me for a moment longer before saying, “Could you tell mehow things have been since the accident?”

“Hard,” Darnell said. “Things have been really tough.”

“Gray?”

“It’s hard for him to talk about it,” Darnell said. “The physical injuries were really bad, really scary. I mean, we didn’t know what was going to happen with his eye, and we’re still waiting for the go-ahead on the scar revision surgery.”

Pauline nodded and looked at me.

“And it’s really affected his self-image,” Darnell said. “His self-confidence. I mean, Gray is always going to be the handsomest man in the world for me, and I’ll always be attracted to him, but I know it’s been difficult for him to process, uh, the changes. Like, his body image. His whole identity, actually.”

“Gray, do you feel like that’s true?”

I shrugged.

“He doesn’t—” Darnell began.

“Darnell, I’d like Gray to answer. Gray, do you want to tell us how you feel things have been since the accident?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Not great.”

“Do you want to tell us more about that?”

“It’s hard for him to talk about it,” Darnell said.

Pauline didn’t look like she lost her shit very often, but if she were in charge of those stupid reward charts, I can tell you this: Darnell would not be getting a fucking sticker.

“Darnell mentioned that, in addition to the physical injuries, he thinks you’re still dealing with the psychological trauma of the accident.”

It wasn’t a fucking accident, I thought.

Into my silence, Pauline said, “Lots of people who suffer injuries that affect their appearance experience periods of diminished self-worth. They often struggle with their identity and self-esteem. And—” There was an unexpected current of energy in her voice—faint, but undeniably there. “—they may find themselves struggling with their role in their intimate relationships. Do you feel like any of that has been true for you?”

Darnell put a hand on my arm and said, “You don’t have to answer that.”

I shook him off. Pauline was still looking at me, so I went for something safe: “I’m still figuring things out.” And then I heard myself add, “Some days are better than others.”

“Gray’s been doing really well, actually,” Darnell said. “All things considered.”

But her eyes didn’t leave me. She said, “How are you dealing with the bad days?”

I shrugged.

“We’ve worked on lots of healthy coping mechanisms,” Darnell said.

And then he was off to the races, explaining everything he’d researched, all the stuff we’d done. He talked about creating a supportive atmosphere—making me feel safe by establishing routines, helping me avoid triggers. He talked about the different hobby nights we tried. For fuck’s sake, he talked about art night. He told her all about the self-care strategies he was modeling. He was so proud of me for getting back to the gym. He spent way too much time on the sticker chart; he at least had the good sense to call it a visualization and a progress reminder , so I didn’t sound like I was learning to do my potties like a big boy.

After the first few minutes, his words washed over me, dissolving into meaningless noise. What I kept hearing—what I couldn’t stop hearing—was Pauline saying, Lots of people who suffer injuries that affect their appearance experience periods of diminished self-worth.

The days I walked by the mirror—still, a year later—and didn’t look.

They often struggle with their identity and self-esteem.

We didn’t go out anymore, or when we did, I got so trashed I couldn’t remember it. Brother Gary and Red Alvin hauling me into an interview room at the sheriff’s station. Sitting in Peterson’s car, getting dressed down because I’d gotten caught sticking my dick in witnesses. The half-remembered night outside the Pretty Pretty, hot slashes of piss, a boot on my throat, the world shrinking smaller and smaller. Sunny pressing my face against the glass, the party spread out below us, and all it would have taken was for one person to have glanced up. Sweat broke out under my arms, across my chest. My face felt hot.

They may find themselves struggling with their role in their intimate relationships.

When was the last time Darnell and I had touched each other? When was the last time we had talked? Not those stupid couples’ cards. Not art therapy night. Not the simmering tension because he couldn’t bring himself to be openly angry with me. At one point, Darnell would have killed me just for cracking jokes about threesomes and foursomes and fucking around. And now, what happened when I went out and screwed around?

I didn’t know. I had no idea. It turned out, I didn’t know anything. Didn’t even know where he was, or why he was lying, or why he didn’t care anymore.

Do you feel like any of that has been true for you?

My heartbeat hammered in my chest. The room was spinning, and I leaned forward, elbows on knees, taking deep breaths.

He’d fucked me right up against the window, all those people watching, and John-Henry had been there. And Rory and Jordan and—

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Something was wrong with me.

It was like déjà vu. It’s like déjà vu all over again, that’s what my dad had liked to say.

Something was really wrong with me, and I hadn’t seen it, hadn’t even been able to think about it. Glimpses, maybe. Hints. The way people looked at me sometimes. The way I knew, without wanting to put it into words, that I was avoiding thinking too closely about things.

I thought for a moment I was about to be sick.

My mom sitting at the little shitty vanity in her bedroom, looking at herself in that shitty little makeup mirror from Sears, covering up a bruise and saying, We want to look nice for daddy.

I am really fucked up.

That was it. That was as far as I could go on my own.

I am really, really fucked up.

“—send you a picture of it,” Darnell was saying, “so you can see what I’m talking about, but Gray has been doing really well—”

He’s not going tosave you, I thought. He can’t.

“I’m fucking a lot of strangers,” I said.

The words punched a hole in the air. Darnell’s face went blank with shock. Pauline’s watery blue eyes fixed on me.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

Pauline didn’t say anything.

Darnell’s shock was fading to tamped-down anger. “We agreed to try an open relationship—”

“No, we didn’t,” I said. “We didn’t agree. I said we were doing one. And you let me.” My hands felt greasy, and I dried them on my trousers—or tried to, anyway. “I fucked somebody today. He fucked me, I guess. Before the session. Someone I was supposed to be interviewing for a case.” Disbelief made my voice tight. “And it’s not even the first time. I mean, I know better. I know I’m fucking up this case. I know I need to keep my dick in my drawers. But I keep doing it. I keep—I keep fucking everything up, and it’s like part of me knows I’m doing it, and part of me likes it.”

It wasn’t until I said the words that I realized they were true. I hadn’t thought them before. Hadn’t even let myself consider them. But they were true nonetheless. There was a part of me that… relished this string of fuckups. A part of me that sat back and savored each and every time I blew up another part of my life. And that was so terrifying that I felt my lungs close, and I struggled to breathe as words continued spilling out of me.

“I drink way too much. I’m definitely abusing alcohol. I vape all the time. I—I freak out sometimes. My heart just starts racing, and I can’t think straight, and I feel like I’m going to die. For nothing. Absolutely no fucking reason, like a fucking nutcase. I am a nutcase. I can’t even touch a fucking light switch, so Darnell does it for me. Or doesn’t, when he’s pissed. Which is a lot of the time. And I know I… I deserve it, I guess. But we don’t talk about anything. We can’t talk about anything. I know that’s my fault.”

But I thought about art therapy night and about the couple’s cards and about all the questions Darnell chose to skip rather than let me try to answer, and I faltered. The flow of words felt like a dam had broken, and for a surreal moment, I found myself on the brink of saying more. He hit her. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into their room and that fucking radio started playing. And she wanted it. She made him do it. But somehow, I fell back from the intensity of the memory. And then I couldn’t say anything. I dropped back against the sofa, trembling with the hoofbeats of my heart, and tried to focus on the floor so that the room would stop spinning.

For several long seconds, the only sound was Darnell’s harsh breathing, and the whisper of his whiskers as he scrubbed a hand across his face.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Pauline said. “It takes a lot of courage to put those feelings into words. It sounds like you have some behaviors and coping mechanisms that you’d like to change, or maybe to replace with some healthier options. Is that right?”

I still couldn’t say anything. But somehow, I nodded.

“I think that would be an excellent goal for us. Not only will establishing healthier patterns in your life help you live the kind of life that you want, Gray, it will help both of you as you work together to strengthen your relationship. And since you are in a relationship, I think it’s important to point out that adopting these healthier patterns is going to require work from both of you. Darnell, you’re going to have an important role in helping Gray integrate these new practices in his life.”

If Darnell did anything to acknowledge this, I didn’t see it; I couldn’t look at him.

“We don’t have much time left in this session,” Pauline said, “but I feel like we’ve done a good job of laying the groundwork for what we want to accomplish. I’d like to give you some homework for this week. How do you feel about that?”

After that outrush of emotion, I didn’t feel much of anything—I felt numb, and empty, and exhausted. But I managed another nod.

“One of the things you mentioned was that you and Darnell aren’t communicating the way you’d like. So, I’d like you to start with something simple. This week, I’d like you to have a set time every day for a short check-in. These are short check-ins, but they should also be honest. You’ll ask each other how you’re doing and if you can do anything to support or help each other. By establishing a set time every day, you’ll make sure they happen, even if you think that you might not need to have a check-in that day. How does that sound?”

I had to work spit into my mouth before I could say, “Yeah. Okay.”

Darnell said, “Fine.”

“I also heard you mention that you feel like you’re not using substances responsibly. Why don’t we start with a tracking journal? However is easiest for you, keep a log of every time you use a substance. How does that sound?”

“I can do that,” I said.

And because I was in therapy now and healing and self-actualizing and shit, I didn’t even make a crack about where do I write down ‘did a line of coke off some dude’s boner’ .

“You expressed concern about how you’re engaging in anonymous sex. We can talk more about this, but I’d like you to consider the possibility that you’re looking for connection and validation, even if that may not be how you’ve framed it to yourself. This is going to be one of your big homework tasks, so get ready.” She smiled, but she was the only one. “I’d like you to make a list of people in your life you have felt connected to, even if you don’t feel that way now. And then I’d like you to identify one person who you know will be supportive of you. Here’s the hard part: I’m going to challenge you to plan a low-key social activity with that person. It doesn’t have to be something big. Ask them to get coffee with you. Invite them on a walk. You can even schedule a time to catch up on the phone, if something in-person feels like too much. Are you willing to do that?”

I hesitated. It was one thing to text somebody on Prowler, to meet up and smash and never have to say anything more than, Get your dick out . Who was I going to call? Who, in my entire fucking life, had I not shat on during the last year? I thought about Peterson’s offer of a drink from a few days before, and a flush ran through me at the realization that somehow, I’d managed to drive off every friend I’d ever had.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Darnell asked. His voice was brittle—an attempt at calm, but a bad one.

“What do you mean?” Pauline said.

“I mean you’re asking him to—I mean, you’re rushing him.”

“What makes you feel that way?”

“Gray’s been in a really bad place,” Darnell said. “You don’t know how bad it was.”

“Darnell—”

“He needed time to himself. Time away from people. To heal.”

“Let’s all take a calming breath.”

“I don’t know what’s so wrong about needing some time and privacy!”

Pauline waited a beat for the shout to die away. “Why don’t we ask Gray if he feels like he’s being rushed?”

I felt the blush in my face intensify as their gazes settled on me, and I kept my eyes on Pauline as I said, “I don’t know.”

“Gray, it’s always your choice to do what you think is best. But you go to work. You do your job. You go shopping and run errands and live your life. You’re not a shut-in. I think you’re ready for this.”

“Did you honestly just use the word shut-in?” Darnell asked.

Pauline took a calming breath of her own before she said, “I’d like to give you one more assignment for the week.”

Darnell’s scoff was unmistakable.

“We haven’t talked much about the accident—”

“It wasn’t a fucking accident.” The words tore their way out of me. “I don’t know why everyone keeps calling it a fucking accident. That psycho bitch rigged a homemade bomb. How the fuck is that an accident?” They were both looking at me. Darnell, for some strange reason, practically radiated satisfaction. I dropped my eyes, ran my hands over my knees for what felt like the hundredth time, and muttered, “Sorry. What’s the homework, or whatever?”

“We haven’t talked much about what happened to you,” Pauline said, “or about the effects it’s had. I think those are important conversations for a future session. But you said that you’re unhappy with some avoidant behaviors you’ve developed. I’d like you to keep another log—”

“You know who would love this log shit? Emery.”

That made her smile—a surprisingly genuine one—and it took her a moment to resume her calm, professional facade. “In this log, I’d like you to do two things. First, I’d like you to list all the things you’re avoiding. If you can, identify why you’re avoiding them, or how they make you feel. Then I’d like you to pick one of them—one of the minor ones, not a big one—and spend a few minutes every day exposing yourself to the thing you’ve been avoiding. This won’t be easy, which is why I want you to pick something small to start. I don’t want you to force yourself. Just find the threshold of when you start to feel uncomfortable and see if you can stay at that point for a few minutes. Then, in your log—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Darnell surged out of his seat. It was disorienting, sitting there, looking up at him. He was so big. I always forgot how big he was. How much bigger he was than me. His face was red, and he waved his arms as he said, “He can’t do that! Stay at the threshold—do you know what that’s like for him? He’s terrified! He can’t do that! He can’t!”

Pauline gathered her hands in her lap. “I understand that changing routines and patterns, especially when they feel like they’ve been helping, can be frightening. I think a good homework assignment for you would be to track when you’re feeling overwhelmed, or compelled to fix things, or scared—”

“I’m not scared!” Darnell breathed deeply through his nose, visibly trying to calm himself, but it didn’t appear to be working. I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. “I’m the only one who’s tried to help Gray. I’m the only one who’s been there for him. For a year! And now, because I’ve been supportive, I’m the bad guy!”

“Hey,” I said. “No one thinks you’re the bad guy.”

“Darnell,” Pauline said, “I can tell you care deeply about Gray and about helping him. And your support is going to be crucial as the two of you make these changes—”

“It’s like you haven’t listened to a single thing I’ve said. He’s not ready for all of this. He’s trying his best!”

A thought bubbled up inside me: if I was trying my best, how did we end up here?

But before Pauline or I could say anything, Darnell gulped another unsteady breath and marched toward the door. He shut it hard behind him.

“He’s upset,” I said, which had to be the stupidest thing anyone had ever said in the history of the world. I got to my feet. “I should check on him.”

Pauline nodded, but she said, “It may take some time for him to adjust to the idea that you might need to try several different strategies before you find what works best for you. If you can frame it for him like that, about options rather than about being right or wrong, it might help.”

“Thanks.”

In the parking lot, Darnell sat in his car. The engine was off. In the late afternoon, he had to be baking.

I opened the passenger door and got in. I’d been right: the heat felt packed inside the car, so thick the air was gluey against my skin. Darnell sat with his hands locked around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. His jaw was set. His color was still high. There was more silver than I remembered, threaded at his temple, and I thought he didn’t look like the guy I’d first met.

“Where does she get off?” he said. Shouted, really, the words echoing inside the cramped space of the car. “What’s her problem?”

“She’s trying to help.”

But he didn’t seem to hear me. “Has she ever seen you when you have to turn on a light? Has she been there? Does she have any idea what it’s like?”

The heat was catching up with me. Sweat broke out on my face.

“A year,” Darnell said. “Barely. Anybody in your position would need time. Time to yourself. Time to heal. And now she thinks you’re supposed to jump in and—and what? And change everything? That’s bullshit.”

He sounded like he was on the brink of tears. At some level, I understood that he was upset. But beneath that obvious, first-level understanding, I felt like the ground had dropped out from under me. Darnell was the one who’d wanted to come here. He’d wanted things to change.

But then, I wondered, had he?What had he wanted? Whatever it was, he hadn’t gotten it.

He shook himself, coughed, and finally looked over. His eyes were bloodshot. “You don’t have to do that stupid homework.”

I almost asked why. But I’d heard the answer already, even if he hadn’t known that was what he was telling me. He’s not ready .

“This was a mistake,” Darnell said. “We’re not coming back here. We’ll find someone else.”

Maybe it was the clarity of having seen myself, if only briefly. Maybe it was the cop in me. Maybe it was that I’d known him for so long, and that I knew him so well. Better, in some ways, than I knew just about anybody. And then I remembered all the secrets he kept, and I was surprised to find a tight little smile on my face.

However I knew, I knew it then. I patted his shoulder, and when he turned to hug me, I put my arms around him, and I said something that must have been the right thing because his shoulders shook and he squeezed me against him.

And I kept thinking, as he clutched me to him: He doesn’t want me to get better.