Page 37 of Not Fooling Anyone

Her body visibly relaxes as she takes a deep breath and releases it. I continue to stroke her arm, tracing the veins on her wrist, pleased when goosebumps race across her skin in response.

“Is that okay?”

“Yes,” she whispers after a moment.

“You thinking of something you love?”

She doesn’t respond right away.

“Lexie?”

“I don’t know what to think of,” she admits. “There’s nothing I… love.”

My eyes squeeze shut, my movements on her arm slowing. “Of course there is.” Everyone loves something. “What about your mint chocolate chip ice cream?”

She releases a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “You want me to think of ice cream when I see your face?”

“Yeah. Make it a positive association.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

I nod, satisfied now that she seems more relaxed. “I have to go. Keep thinking of ice cream.”

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

Her hand finds mine, squeezing softly. “Thank you.”

I impulsively press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Any time.”

I leave before she can tell me I crossed the line, avoiding Justin’s eye as I shut the door behind me. I hope he didn’t hear any of that.

He starts up the machine again and I silently watch the screen, wishing I could interpret it.

After a few minutes, I ask, “Is she doing better?”

“Not as great as I’d like, but better. Whatever you said must have helped some.”

So maybe he didn’t hear.

“What are you guys looking for?”

He points to an area of her brain on the screen. “The ventral tegmental area is one we want to see light up. Same with the hippocampus, hypothalamus, and a few other places. Those are all associated with emotion regulation and reward processing.”

“What does the area you said earlier do? The one that was lighting up.” The amygdala, I think he called it.

“It activates when someone’s afraid. We usually see a decreased amount of activity there when looking at a partner’s picture.”

Right. Not in Lexie’s case, though.

“Did you, uh, go to the doctor?” he asks cautiously, keeping his attention on the screen.

“Yeah.” I reach a hand up to stroke my beard, scrubbing the wiry hair. “You were right.”

“Aw, man. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I mean, notfine, but I needed to know.” It’s a wonder I could focus on something besides diabetes for the last hour. It’s all I’ve been able to think about otherwise.

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