Page 103 of Falling Like Stars

“That is a lot,” Dr. Baldwin says, unperturbed. “When you consider everything, what is the issue that rises to the forefront of your feelings?”

“None of that,” I say, surprised. “I’m all in with him. What scares me is that the guilt hasn’t budged, no matter how okay I am, or how in love with Zach—his name’s Zach.”

“I’m forbidden to share anything outside this room.”

I heave a breath. “Whatever happens with Zach and his ex, I can take it. But the deeper I get with him, the more I feel like I’m betraying Josh and leaving him behind.”

“You once told me you believed he’d want that for you. To be happy.”

“I know he would, but it’s still hard to accept. And his mother…”

“What about his mother?”

“She texts me. A lot. And we visit his grave at least once a month, but I’ve been pushing her off since February.”

Dr. Baldwin frowns. “How does it make you feel when she texts?”

“Resentful. Then I feel like shit, because it’s the least I can do. He’s her only son and he died because of me…”

Now the tears and regret I thought had given me a pass come roaring up. Dr. B hands me a tissue while I cry until my stomach aches.

“If you’re ready,” Dr. B says, “we need to address the night of Josh’s death. In depth.”

I nod and tell her everything that happened—not the sanitized version from our first session, but everything. And it’s another purging. Words I’ve kept locked up for years come pouring out. Not even J.J. knows the particulars. The blood in the street, his broken head in my lap. His shoe…

Dr. Baldwin listens with a focus that makes me feel like my feelings are important. And safe.

“Does it give you relief to tell me all this?”

“Yes and no,” I say, sucking in a shaky breath. “I feel better, but it’s so obvious that he’d still be alive if he hadn’t gone to get me that goddamn hoodie.”

“This is the program you’ve been running your entire life,” Dr. Baldwin says. “An equation with three factors that arrive at an inevitable conclusion, yes? The way I’m hearing it, the three factors are you, Josh, and the car that struck him.”

I nod.

“Were there other nights like the one you’ve just described? Where Josh ran across the street for you?”

“God, a hundred,” I say tearfully. “He was so considerate. Always bringing me a snack or even a full meal because my mom was so out of it.”

Dr. Baldwin nods. “Because he was your boyfriend. He frequently did things for you and I’m sure you did things for him.”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I tried. I didn’t have much to give.”

“You were in a relationship. He loved you and you loved him.”

“Yes,” I whisper, the tears falling.

Dr. B’s voice is gentle but intent. “This entire time, you’ve been operating on that equation and its three factors—you, Josh, the car. Your equation says that of those three elements, you are the cause of Josh’s accident. You are the factor that drives it to its final conclusion. Your fault. You.”

I nod slowly. “Yes.”

“But you and Josh were a pair. A unit. Many nights, he ran across the street to get something for you, and he wasn’t hit by a car. A hundred nights, you said. Every night but one.” Dr. Baldwin leans forward. “Was he ever going to stop doing that?”

“No,” I murmur, and I feel the tight bands around my chest begin to loosen.

“No,” she agrees. “The night he died became The Night because it was the last night. The night that trumped all the rest. The night that created the equation. But the anomaly that caused the tragedy wasn’t you, it was the car. It was the factor introduced into the equation of you and Josh and changed it forever. You and Josh were the constant.” She shakes her head. “And you were his common denominator, Rowan. Not the outlier.”

The tears are pouring out of me so hard, I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. My hands grow cold and numb, and I hear a low, groaning noise. It takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me.

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