The air crackled between us.
Blair’s eyes narrowed. “Already do.”
Without another word, I turned to leave. But before I made it out the door, I caught the hint of fear in his expression. It should have satisfied me. Instead, it left me starved. Sank into me. A hook, sharp and painfully permanent.
And when I finally arrived home and fell into bed, I didn’t sleep. I lay there and stared at the ceiling, waiting for ruin.
My fists were clenched, my teeth gritted, and I was hard as stone; an ache I still couldn’t name.
I blamed leftover adrenaline that refused to melt away after a fight. But deep down I knew better. Unnamed pressure moved inside me as I shifted in my sheets. Not hate, certainly not fear. Not even lust.
Something darker.
What scared me wasn’t the fight but how Blair’s face kept taking shape through the darkness.
And the sick part was, I didn’t know if I wanted to break it or own it.
5
BLAIR
I was absolutelynotthinkingabout Colt Mitchell when I left the grocery store.
Okay, maybe I was. A little.
My hands were wrapped around two large paper bags that crumpled in the humidity. I didn’t normally shop this late at night, but I had to admit the mostly empty store had made it easier to move quickly.
All I could think about was how stupid I’d been for adding ice cream to my cart, as if I were going to sit on my couch and watch something light and normal—instead of letting the Mercer fight crawl back into my head for the twentieth time.
Colt had only been in my anger management group for a couple of weeks.
And yet he lived rent-free in my head.
What kind of therapist am I?
I reminded myself for the thousandth time that this wasn’t merely unprofessional. I’d crossed into downright dangerous. If anyone found out I was… affected by him, I could lose everything important to me.
My license, my career, my credibility, my livelihood.
Worse, I could lose control. And control was what kept me safe in this job.
Colt was a client. A violent, unstable client, and I wasn’t supposed to want to understand or empathize with him beyond his paperwork. His League-mandated hours, his outbursts on ice during games. But every second I held his stare, the earth shifted another inch below my feet.
If I fell, if I so much as wobbled, it wouldn’t just be my job I shattered.
It’d be me.
I took a deep breath, then exhaled and shifted the weight of the bags against my chest as I neared my small car. My Prius was the same unremarkable silver it had been for six years.
Tonight, it was the only safe thing in the parking lot.
I admonished myself for being paranoid when the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rose.
The lot was empty except for one or two cars scattered under buzzing yellow lights. Shadows from cars and shrubbery stretched long across cracked asphalt. The late-night hour made the world feel hushed and hollow in a way that left me unnerved.
Relax, I thought.It’s just a parking lot.
I reassured myself the area was empty and quiet. Normal. Then I heard footsteps.
