Page 179 of Scattered Glitter

Koen tilts his head slightly, studying me. “So, what are you saying?”

I take a deep breath, the air feeling just a little easier now, the sunlight less overwhelming. “Will you help me find a therapist? Please? I’m over this. Over being scared. I don’t want to be stuck anymore.”

“Of course,” A slow smile spreads across Koen’s face. “We’ll find someone. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I’ll find you the best there is. Fuck, I’m so damn proud of you.”

“Nothing to be proud about yet.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly.”

I look back at the open door, at the sunlight spillingacross the hallway, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself entertain the idea of moving forward, of not being stuck.

Turning again, I imagine her standing before me in the sunlight, laughing at me, daring me again.Come out and play.

I will. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I will. For her. For me. For whomever I’m still trying to become.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Novalee

It’s Monday night, and I’m exhausted.

Yesterday, I spent the day alone, spinning in circles with the thought of the date looming tomorrow.

Nicholas Harrington and his stupidly beautiful face.

He wants to drive around a bit. Fantastic. Just what I want, to be trapped in a moving cage, feeling the walls close in while he sits beside me, probably radiating ease.

Yet here I am, about to do a dry run with Koen because, yes, I texted him during yesterday’s spiral and asked if he could hypnotize me or something to make it easier to take the ride. If Nicholas sees me spiral, I’ll have to explain, to come up with something.

When I’m with him, I seem to only be able to tell the truth. To be myself. And if opening up about it to Nicholas sounds like a recipe to fuck up this mission, asking Koen for help is the lesser evil.

I step outside the back door of Euphoria, the bass notes vibrating through the concrete and up into my bones as I scan the parking lot. My eyes catch on the familiar outline of the Bronco under the streetlight, Koen leaning againstthe driver’s door. His arms are crossed, his stance so infuriatingly calm it feels like a personal insult to my anxiety.

He shifts slightly, the motion making his hair fall into his eyes, and he brushes it back with a careless sweep of his fingers. It’s ridiculous how that simple movement knots my stomach with something sharp and sweet.

Damn him for looking hot.

His gaze flicks over my outfit—leggings and an oversized hoodie—a look I never go for after work, but he’d insisted I’d be more comfortable this way. At first, I’d balked at the idea, my usual post-shift routine of tight dresses and high heels feeling like armor I wasn’t ready to shed.

Of course, when I protested, he saw right through me and texted back.

You don’t need the armor with me. Just be comfortable.

And now, standing here under his steady gaze, wrapped in fabric that feels more like a cocoon than a costume, I understand why. His eyes soften as if he sees something underneath the layers, something that doesn’t need sequins or glitter to shine. It’s like he knows the real me and wants me to know it’s enough.

“Not your usual clubwear,” he comments.

“Yeah, well, I’m following orders.”

I even showered in the godforsaken changing room for this.

I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Let’s make one thing clear. You’re the one who owes me for this. If I weren’t doing this for you…”

“… you wouldn’t be here.” He finishes for me. “You think I don’t know that, Little Thief?”

There’s something about the way he says his nickname for me that makes my heart stutter. I brush it off, shrugging asif it’s no big deal. “So, are we getting this over with or what?”

He gestures to the passenger side. “Get in.”

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