Page 13 of Our Pucking Secret (2-Hour Quickies #4)

Logan

Two Days Later

When Amanda texts that she needs to talk, something in my gut tightens. Maybe it's the formal tone of her message. Maybe it's how she's been distant. Or maybe perfect moments never last.

She shows up in sweats, no makeup, hair still damp from a shower. Not tired—more like scraped raw.

"You okay?"

"I just need you to listen," she says quietly. "Please. Let me read this article all the way through before you say anything."

"Of course. Want a whiskey?"

She shakes her head. "Just water."

I watch her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds a printed page and starts reading.

—

When It Isn’t Love: Understanding Trauma Bonds and Emotional Projection By Dr. Celine Hartwell, Clinical Psychologist | Published in The Human Mind Quarterly

Love can be overwhelming. It can feel electric, irrational, even fated. But not all intense emotional connections are true love. In some cases, what we call “love” is actually a trauma bond — or a projection of old feelings onto a new person .

These two psychological dynamics are powerful, especially when they emerge from high-stress situations, grief, or identity upheaval. Let’s explore what they really are.

What Is a Trauma Bond?

When we experience intense, life-altering events with another person — whether fear, grief, isolation, or shock — our brains sometimes mistake that adrenaline-laced attachment for real intimacy.

This is called a trauma bond . It’s not just a clinical term. It’s a trap disguised as devotion.

The classic example is Patty Hearst , the heiress kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army in 1974.

After weeks in captivity, she adopted her captors’ ideology and even participated in their crimes.

Psychologists believe she formed a trauma bond — a coping mechanism rooted in survival, not affection.

In fiction, we see this dynamic romanticized.

In Beauty and the Beast, Belle falls for her captor.

In The Phantom of the Opera, Christine becomes emotionally entangled with a masked man who controls her environment and manipulates her fears.

In dark mafia romance, we see classic trauma bond fantasy dressed up in silk sheets: “He kidnapped me, but he treats me like a queen.” “He threatens everyone else, but protects me.” “He’s cruel to the world but soft only for me. ”

These aren’t love stories. They’re psychological case studies.

The confusion arises because intensity feels like depth, dependency feels like intimacy, and shared pain feels like bonding.

When two people experience emotional chaos together, it can create a chemical cocktail of adrenaline, cortisol, and dopamine — addictive and consuming.

But it’s not always sustainable. It’s not always healthy. And it’s not always love.

That is why, in dark romance novels, “love” stories develop as the couple feels alive in the fire—but conveniently end before the trauma bond fades away, leaving only devastation.

In fiction, we mistake high-stakes turmoil for passion. In real life, it’s often a recipe for confusion, codependence, and eventual heartbreak.

—

She pauses. She’s been reading with a steady voice, but I can see how hard she’s working to keep it that way. Each word feels like a brick being laid between us.

Her composure slips for half a second—but she steels herself and goes on.

—

What Is Emotional Projection?

Projection happens when we subconsciously transfer our feelings about one person onto someone else.

For example, you might instinctively trust and admire someone who resembles a parent you love— even if that new person hasn’t earned it. This isn’t love; it’s your brain flooded with transferred affection. It feels personal, but it's often symbolic.

In romantic contexts, projection can look like

Feeling instant warmth toward your best friend’s sibling — not because of who they are, but because you love who they come from.

Feeling protectiveness toward someone simply because they remind you of someone important.

Mistaking familiarity for fate .

Projection isn’t about the other person. It’s about who they represent in your emotional landscape.

—

She stops—the silence stretching dangerous and thin.

"And you think this applies to us?"

"I think... it scares me that it might."

"You really think this was all just trauma bond or projection?"

"I don't know, okay?" Her voice breaks. She stands, pacing like she needs to put physical distance between us. "I just... I read this, and I don’t want to believe it’s us—but the timing, the way it happened…

What if we're just... clinging to each other because of the shock? Because none of us can’t hold the weight of our fucking secret alone, without breaking? "

She stops, panting slightly. “God, I sound insane.”

"That's not what this is."

"How do you know?" Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "We found out this huge thing about ourselves, about our families. Of course we turned to each other. Of course it felt intense and magic and—"

"I know what I feel. Do you?"

"I think we need time. Space. To figure out this nightmare."

"Amanda—"

"I need to go back to Bellwood anyway. The clinic needs me." She picks up her bag. "We both need to go back to our lives. See if what we feel survives."

"It will."

"Then we'll know it's real." She steps closer, cups my face in her hands. "But if it's not... better to know now than later."

Her kiss is quick, fierce, final. Her hand brushes my jaw with trembling fingers. I want to grab her wrists. Not hard. Just enough to keep her here. “Amanda, please. This isn’t some chemical reaction. It’s you and me. It’s everything we are.”

But I don’t move. Because that wouldn’t be fair. And she’s not mine to keep if she doesn’t want to stay.

Then she's gone.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening. The smell of her shampoo lingers on my shirt.

Last time she brought me research, I didn’t know her. I didn’t believe her. I dismissed it.

But now I do know her. And I trust her.

So what if she’s right—again?

Three Days Later

Three days without Amanda feel like three years. Each hour stretches endless, marked only by moments I reach for my phone to tell her something, then remember I shouldn’t. The penthouse feels too big, too empty, haunted by memories of her laughter.

I keep replaying her words. Trauma bond. Projection. As if everything I feel could be reduced to psychological terms. As if my heart breaking right now is just some clinical reaction to stress.

By the third morning, I can't take it anymore. I book a flight to Tennessee.

The Bark Side looks exactly like Amanda described—small, welcoming. Like everything in Bellwood. I wait in my rental car, watching staff members leave one by one. A tech in scrubs. A receptionist juggling files. Finally, Amanda emerges.

She looks tired. Beautiful, but tired, like she hasn't been sleeping either. When she sees me, she freezes mid-step.

"Hi," I manage.

"Hi. "

"Can we talk?"

She hesitates, then nods toward the stairs at the side of the building.

Her apartment above the clinic is pure Amanda—medical journals stacked on coffee tables, a wall of family photos that makes my chest tight.

I spot one of her and John fishing, both grinning at the camera.

Another shows Elizabeth teaching a young Amanda to bake, flour on both their noses.

"Why are you here?" she asks quietly.

"Because I've spent three days thinking about that article. About you. About us." I step closer, needing her to understand. "And I realized something."

"Logan—"

"You use research like a shield. Maybe you got that from Patricia—not the genetics, but the need to analyze everything until it makes logical sense." I see the words hit home. "You hide behind studies and statistics because feelings are messy. Unpredictable. They can't be peer-reviewed."

She wraps her arms around herself. "That's not—"

"It is. You are both brilliant women. And I get it. There’s nothing wrong with it. When your whole identity gets turned upside down, you grab onto anything that feels solid. But some things can't be explained in scientific journals."

"Like what?"

"Like how I would have chosen you in any crowd, even without knowing we were switched. Like how watching you with those scared animals tells me more about your heart than any Myers-Briggs test ever could."

"You know about Myers-Briggs?"

"Had an assistant coach who thought knowing our personality types and zodiac signs would help team dynamics." I can't help smiling. "She quit after walking in on a locker room... discussion about whose sign was more virile. "

That gets a small laugh, and something in my chest loosens.

"The point is," I continue, "this isn't some dark mafia romance. I'm not your captor, you're not paying off your father's debt. We've always been equals. If anything," I manage a teasing tone, "you're smarter than me."

"And you're prettier than me," she says automatically.

"Hey, you said it, not me."

For a moment, we're just grinning at each other like we used to. Then her smile fades.

"But what if—"

"Let me finish, please?”

“Sorry.”

“Maybe I remind you of John," I cut in. "Maybe that's part of why you feel something for me. But isn't that true for everyone? Don't we all look for echoes of the people who taught us what love looks like?"

She's quiet, but I see her walls starting to crack. “That’s… deep.”

"These past three days..." My voice roughens. "Every time something good happens, I reach for my phone to tell you. Every time something bad happens, I wish you were there to make me laugh about it. That's not trauma bonding. That's just... missing you."

"Logan—"

"I've followed your science. Your research. But not this time." I take her hands in mine, relieved when she doesn't pull away. "I'm not separating from you. I want more time with you, knowing exactly who we are, like we really did just meet that day in the rain."

"Why?"