Page 39 of The Torment of Two

“I’m proud of you,” Tate says. “You’re in charge of your own happiness. It’s okay to ease into it little by little. I know you’re capable of this.”

Thankfully, I’m able to steer the conversation away from Gemma and back to the Enneagram. We spend the rest of our session discussing the different types. He gives me some more handouts and resources for me to read up on. I also get his phone number so I can text him whenever. Sure, Dad is paying him, but I can already tell Tate is someone I could be friends with even outside of our therapist/patient relationship.

“Have fun this weekend,” Tate tells me when we’re finished. “If you meet up with Golden again, I want to hear all about it.”

I wave him off, ignoring the tightening in my chest.

I’m looking forward to seeing her again, maybe locked away in my shed with me. The fact that this is a stupid fantasy of mine makes me cringe.

A weekend off from Gemma is more than needed.

She’s working her way under my skin.

The pool hall is busy as fuck tonight. Cars are jammed into every spot and it’s only by pure luck that we snag a place in the damn lot when someone leaves. Dax is his usual chipper self, dressed to impress. If he’s on the prowl for a hookup, it’ll happen.

I, however, am not.

The last thing I want is to date or be with someone.

That shit sounds exhausting.

Dax hops out of my Rover and leads the way, giving a chin lift to a group of girls. I ignore them altogether, striding to catch up to my eager friend.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” I demand. “It’s just pool.”

“I want you to meet my friends from class,” Dax says, bumping me with his shoulder. “I told you. Time for you to get out of your shell and meet some people.”

“Can’t it just be us?”

“It’ll always be just us,” Dax says with a boyish grin that reminds me of our childhood, “but we can also hang with other people too to spice things up.”

I grunt at his response, following him into the pool hall. It reeks of beer. The clacking of balls, loud hum of chatter, and offensive country music on the jukebox all nearly have me turning on my heel to hightail it back to my car.

But then I see her.

Gemma fucking Park.

I recognize her long, sleek dark hair and the animated way she talks with another girl around her age. Her artsy nails—nails I now know she did herself—move wildly as she talks, clearly with both her hands and her mouth. The blonde next to her sees me staring and shoots me the bird.

It reminds me of middle school. Dax suddenly became one of the popular kids while I was still his weirdo best friend who went everywhere with him. While Dax didn’t care, the other popular kids did. They always did shit like smart off to me or flip me off or fucking sneer when he wasn’t looking.

And even though I act like that doesn’t hurt, it does.

It always fucking does.

Gemma turns to see where the blonde is looking and when her eyes latch onto mine, she doesn’t flip me off. No, her gaze brightens and she beams at me. The sting in my chest is immediately soothed. How Gemma of all people made that happen, I have no idea.

“Holy shit,” Gemma says, bouncing over to me. “How weird for us to run into each other here!”

I’m stunned when she launches herself at me and hugs me. I remain stiff with my arms at my sides, but I do inhale the scent of her hair. I wonder if it’s the hair mask. Definitely worth the two grand.

She pulls back and grins. “Me and Aubrey were holding a table for Dempsey and Spencer. You two should play with us until they get here.”

Dax nudges me with his elbow and mutters under his breath, “Hang with your girl, man. I’ll be right over there.”

Before I can beg him not to leave me alone, he’s gone. Gemma frowns after him and then grabs my wrist like she did at Hemingford Hall. Of course I can’t help but go willingly. This weird magnetic hold she has on me is alarming. It makes me want to run the other way, but I can’t.

“One of your followers?” Aubrey, the bitchy blonde, asks. “She’s famous, but you already knew that.”

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