Page 68 of The Torment of Two

“Tate’s my therapist. I, uh, told him all about Golden—er, Gemma. I didn’t realize you all were connected.” I drop my chin and meet Dempsey’s probing stare. “I really liked him too, dammit.”

“You can still see him,” Sloane says gently. “He’s not one to talk about his other patients. You can trust him.”

We’ll see.

My trust in Tate went from ten to one in a matter of minutes.

“I’m adopted,” I blurt out, returning my stare to the hideous ceiling. “My parents adopted me when I was two, hence the nickname.”

The table is silent. Gemma reaches over to touch my hand. I want to jerk it away, the hurt of my past making me raw, but I draw strength from it instead. She threads our fingers together and squeezes my hand.

“When all the stuff was going down with Dad and Callum,” Gemma interjects softly, “Mom considered giving her baby up for adoption.”

“Of course she did,” Dempsey huffs. “I bet it was me, huh? They were going to keep you?”

Sloane shakes her head. “Jamie knew she was pregnant but didn’t know about the twins until much later on. Let them speak, Dempsey.”

For his credit, he clamps down, jaw muscle ticking, and nods my way.

“She must have got in contact with my dads somehow, though I don’t know all the backstory, and promised them a baby,” I explain, skin prickling with embarrassment. “Dad named her Gemma—this baby girl they were hoping for.”

“Oh,” Sloane murmurs. “She didn’t even tell me she considered adoption when she found out she was pregnant. Jamie was probably terrified—even too terrified to confide in her best friend.” Sloane slumps as though that thought physically wounds her. Maybe she can talk to Tate—the therapist for every-fucking-one—and sort that emotional shit out later.

“Your dad came through and they decided to keep the baby. Furthermore, to honor my parents, they decided to keep the name, Gemma, if it were a girl.” I rub at my temple that’s now throbbing. “You know how fucking crushed they must’ve been? They had a nursery set up for her. I saw the pictures.”

Dempsey watches me with pity.

Hell, they all do.

Gemma, for her part, also looks guilty.

This dinner with my “not really that serious” girlfriend has gone down the toilet all too quickly. I’m eager to get the hell out of here.

“Damn, dude,” Dempsey rumbles. “That’s…so fucked up.”

Unable to deal with their expressions any longer, I push back from the table, the wood legs screeching across the floor.

“I need a breather,” I grunt out. “I’ll be in the car, Golden.”

Without another word, I bolt.

Gemma

Beauty decides that Two’s abrupt exit is her cue to hop onto his vacated chair and help herself to the rest of his lasagna. While Dempsey and Sloane both simultaneously start hollering at my precious fur-niece, who was just hungry, I abandon my own meal to follow after Two.

Before I can get the front door open, he’s barreling back through it with a familiar yellow flower in one hand and a note in the other.

My stalker strikes again.

Coldness seeps into my every cell. This creep followed me to my brother’s house and left me another message while we ate. I feel so violated.

Sloane, sensing my mood change, abandons scolding Beauty to come over to us. “What is it?”

Two trembles with fury or fear—I’m not sure which.

“My stalker,” I say sharply. “Wherever I go, they go.”

“Set it on the coffee table,” Sloane instructs. “Let me grab some gloves.”

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