“It’s my job as your father to protect you. You’ll understand it when you have a child.”
“I won’t ever get to that point if you scare off any potential suitors,” I had said pointedly, my hand gripping his shoulder. I’d looked up at him and begged with my eyes. “Please, Daddy. Just let me have this one relationship and trust me that I know what I’m doing. Please.”
His eyes had softened and he’d pulled me close to his chest. “You know I love you, Riley.”
“I know, Daddy. Now prove it by trusting me.” I spoke into his shirt, his hand pausing in its pat of my back.
“If that’s really what you want, pumpkin.”
I pulled back and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Now, where is this man? At least let me give him a warning glare.”
I had laughed, looping my arm through his and leading him to Brett. Dad had postured, straightening to his full height and gripping Brett’s hand with a strength that had to hurt. Brett had smiled, easy and confident, his eyes direct on my father’s, soft on my mother’s, his head tilting when he listened to her speak. He was, simply put, perfect. And they didn’t fight it, Mom beaming at me, Dad actually clapping Brett on the back near the end of the night, his mouth curving into a rare smile. If I could replay the evening a hundred times, I would. Especially our last dance, the music slow, our bodies close, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging at the pins there. I hadn’t protested, I’d just rested my forehead on his as I felt the fall of curls on my bare back. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you,” he’d murmured. I’d said nothing, just released a soft sigh and taken his kiss when it’d come.
I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.
The best sentence in the world.
“You know that she’s dead.” Nicole kicked off her shoes and leaned back in the chair, bringing her feet up and sitting Indian-style.
I flinched. “I thought therapists were supposed to be gentle.”
“Therapists may be. I was probably gentle with you two years ago. But I’m a psychiatrist now. And that gives me the ability to do what needs to be done.”
“And to overcharge me,” I grumbled, loosening my tie and pulling it off.
She laughed in response, catching the tie when I threw it at her. “I work for practically free. I get my payment in other ways.”
“You’re a godsend,” I lowered myself into the chair across from her.
“No, but you were.” Nicole straightened, picking up a stress ball, and spun slightly in the chair. “Back to Elyse.” Her voice had flipped, business-like once again, and I wondered, for a moment, what her other patients saw. Was it the light-hearted tease or the serious doctor? Or did they see what I did, an infectious blend of the two?
I closed my eyes. “Back to Elyse.” It always came back to Elyse. It couldn’t not. Not when so much of my daily life revolved around, or was because of, her. She had touched me in life and stolen me in death. Stolen me, pulled me into this madness and wouldn’t let me leave. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave. Not when we were changing so many lives.
“I feel like you are letting Elyse jeopardize your current relationship.”
“I paid for your grad school for that?” I joked, opening my eyes and lifting my head.
“You need to tell Riley.”
I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t bring her on the trips if she knows. If she said something wrong, gave it away—I’ve worked too hard on my cover.” And I had. A pile of money spent burying any trace of Elyse on the Internet. False documents, backgrounds, and paper trails in place. If someone researched Brett Jacobs, they found me. If someone investigated Brett Betschart, they found next to nothing. Certainly nothing about Elyse. Certainly nothing that would link the two identities.
“Think on it.” She pressed.
“I have.”
She held firm, holding eye contact, and, for a brief moment, I realized how proud I was of her. An egotistic thought. “You are allowed to be happy, Brett,” she said quietly. “You can let that happen.”
“I know that.”
I did know that. But it still felt wrong.
3 months before
Caribbean Sea
I stretched out, my red toenails peeking at me as I propped my feet on the deck railing, the cushion beneath me warm against my wet skin. Around us, navy blue water as far as the eye could see.
“Happy?” I felt his hand tug through my hair before he played with the strands. I looked up to see Brett looking down, a smile on his face.
“How could I not be?” I patted the cushion beside me. “Come lay down.”
“Sunbathing isn’t my thing. I don’t like to turn on all the seagulls.”
I laughed, rolling over and running my hand down his stomach, his abs hard beneath his T-shirt. “Then ... why don’t you turn me on instead?”
He squatted, bringing his face level with mine, and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, his hands running up my arms and to my neck, my bathing suit top undone and stolen before my mind had a chance to catch up. He stood, smiling down at me, my hands tight to my chest as I lay on my stomach and glowered at him. “Give that back,” I hissed.
“You’re missing the benefits of yacht ownership. We are fifty miles from anyone … just you and I on the boat.”
“So?” I looked around furtively.
“I won’t ever get to that point if you scare off any potential suitors,” I had said pointedly, my hand gripping his shoulder. I’d looked up at him and begged with my eyes. “Please, Daddy. Just let me have this one relationship and trust me that I know what I’m doing. Please.”
His eyes had softened and he’d pulled me close to his chest. “You know I love you, Riley.”
“I know, Daddy. Now prove it by trusting me.” I spoke into his shirt, his hand pausing in its pat of my back.
“If that’s really what you want, pumpkin.”
I pulled back and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Now, where is this man? At least let me give him a warning glare.”
I had laughed, looping my arm through his and leading him to Brett. Dad had postured, straightening to his full height and gripping Brett’s hand with a strength that had to hurt. Brett had smiled, easy and confident, his eyes direct on my father’s, soft on my mother’s, his head tilting when he listened to her speak. He was, simply put, perfect. And they didn’t fight it, Mom beaming at me, Dad actually clapping Brett on the back near the end of the night, his mouth curving into a rare smile. If I could replay the evening a hundred times, I would. Especially our last dance, the music slow, our bodies close, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging at the pins there. I hadn’t protested, I’d just rested my forehead on his as I felt the fall of curls on my bare back. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you,” he’d murmured. I’d said nothing, just released a soft sigh and taken his kiss when it’d come.
I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.
The best sentence in the world.
“You know that she’s dead.” Nicole kicked off her shoes and leaned back in the chair, bringing her feet up and sitting Indian-style.
I flinched. “I thought therapists were supposed to be gentle.”
“Therapists may be. I was probably gentle with you two years ago. But I’m a psychiatrist now. And that gives me the ability to do what needs to be done.”
“And to overcharge me,” I grumbled, loosening my tie and pulling it off.
She laughed in response, catching the tie when I threw it at her. “I work for practically free. I get my payment in other ways.”
“You’re a godsend,” I lowered myself into the chair across from her.
“No, but you were.” Nicole straightened, picking up a stress ball, and spun slightly in the chair. “Back to Elyse.” Her voice had flipped, business-like once again, and I wondered, for a moment, what her other patients saw. Was it the light-hearted tease or the serious doctor? Or did they see what I did, an infectious blend of the two?
I closed my eyes. “Back to Elyse.” It always came back to Elyse. It couldn’t not. Not when so much of my daily life revolved around, or was because of, her. She had touched me in life and stolen me in death. Stolen me, pulled me into this madness and wouldn’t let me leave. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave. Not when we were changing so many lives.
“I feel like you are letting Elyse jeopardize your current relationship.”
“I paid for your grad school for that?” I joked, opening my eyes and lifting my head.
“You need to tell Riley.”
I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t bring her on the trips if she knows. If she said something wrong, gave it away—I’ve worked too hard on my cover.” And I had. A pile of money spent burying any trace of Elyse on the Internet. False documents, backgrounds, and paper trails in place. If someone researched Brett Jacobs, they found me. If someone investigated Brett Betschart, they found next to nothing. Certainly nothing about Elyse. Certainly nothing that would link the two identities.
“Think on it.” She pressed.
“I have.”
She held firm, holding eye contact, and, for a brief moment, I realized how proud I was of her. An egotistic thought. “You are allowed to be happy, Brett,” she said quietly. “You can let that happen.”
“I know that.”
I did know that. But it still felt wrong.
3 months before
Caribbean Sea
I stretched out, my red toenails peeking at me as I propped my feet on the deck railing, the cushion beneath me warm against my wet skin. Around us, navy blue water as far as the eye could see.
“Happy?” I felt his hand tug through my hair before he played with the strands. I looked up to see Brett looking down, a smile on his face.
“How could I not be?” I patted the cushion beside me. “Come lay down.”
“Sunbathing isn’t my thing. I don’t like to turn on all the seagulls.”
I laughed, rolling over and running my hand down his stomach, his abs hard beneath his T-shirt. “Then ... why don’t you turn me on instead?”
He squatted, bringing his face level with mine, and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, his hands running up my arms and to my neck, my bathing suit top undone and stolen before my mind had a chance to catch up. He stood, smiling down at me, my hands tight to my chest as I lay on my stomach and glowered at him. “Give that back,” I hissed.
“You’re missing the benefits of yacht ownership. We are fifty miles from anyone … just you and I on the boat.”
“So?” I looked around furtively.
