Page 77 of Falling for Autumn Again

“Dr. Who?”

Ezra clears his throat. “Ah, my therapist.”

Ezra has a therapist?

“She’s good. She got him pastmostof his issues.” It doesn’t slip by me the way Phil says the wordmost, as if I’m to blame for Ezra’s issues.

But then, maybe I am. Every day I see mistakes I made.

“Do you know what his dad put him through?” I say, ignoring the guilt building in my chest.

“I do—not firsthand, not like you. But I do.”

I scoff. “I’m guessing you don’t know the half of it.”

“I know that he carries around guilt every single day because of that man. Guilt he shouldn’t have. He was a child when he lived there, when he went through those things.” His dark eyes pierce me.

I flick my gaze up to Ezra, who’s gone slightly pale.

“He isn’t a child anymore. He can go in with new eyes—understanding eyes. He can see the situation for what it is and realize that he is guilty of nothing.”

I can’t argue with that. Ezra didn’t do anything wrong. By some miracle, he turned into the human he did. “I don’t disagree, but he doesn’t need to go back into that house to realize that.”

“He does if he ever wants to put the whole thing to bed. It never leaves him.”

I flick my gaze up to Ezra. Is that true?

“Umm,” he hums. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Phil.” He snatches the phone and hits end before his friend can say more.

I stare at him and he slides a Diet Coke my way. He opens up the can in front of him, rather than talking, and takes a long swig.When he brings the can down, he’s scowling. “Oh, that’s bad. Like, really awful.”

I smirk, open mine up, and take a swig myself. Because I’ve changed. We both have. And I drink Diet Coke now. I like it.

“You don’t need to go over there,” I tell him.

“But I think Phil might be right.” His brows knit. “I wasn’t sure before. But maybe—”

“Ezra! Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Closure.” He lifts the can as if to take another drink, then remembering that he really didn’t like the stuff, he sets it down and pushes it away.

“What did Phil mean when he said Dr. Appleby helped you withmostof your issues?” I take another drink of my bubbly, caffeinated soda.

He clears his throat, sits straighter, and looks me over once. All at once, I’m sorry I asked.

“She helped me move past Dad. She really did. Though she always said to close that door and lock it, I’d need to revisit him one day. See things with new eyes.” He swallows. “But she couldn’t ever get me over you.”

The Diet Coke in my mouth never makes it down my throat. His words have caught me off guard and I can’t stop the spew from coming. Every ounce of liquid in my mouth spurts right back out—onto the table, down my chin, and onto Ezra.

I scoot back in my chair, scraping it along the hardwood of my floors and tipping it over as I get to my feet. I don’t care that Ezra’s clean shirt is splattered with my spit and soda. Apparently, he isn’t going to leave my house clean—ever.

Shaking my head, I can’t quite look at him. “That can’t be true.” Finally, I bring my eyes up to his. “No,” I say adamantly. “You had a fiancée. You fell in love and proposed to someone else.” Even if they never married, that means something. “That’s very much moved on.”

He rounds the table, moving closer like a big cat cautiouslywatching its prey. “I did have a fiancée. You aren’t wrong. I proposed to Bre. But I never—” He shakes his head.

“There you go,” I say, not allowing him to finish that sentence. “She is proof you got over me.”

“You don’t know what happened with Bre.” He sits on the edge of the tabletop. Reaching out, he hooks one finger through my belt loop and pauses my short pace. He tugs until I stand directly in front of him, and I’m pretty sure my chest may implode.

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