Page 160 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I freeze. I’ve been trying to drag him closer. He hasn’t budged, though. He just examines me with those ocean-blue eyes that see everything.

“When did I break?” I ask him. “God, I can’t even kiss you without losing it.”

“You’re not losing it.”

“I am,” I assure him.

I release my hold on his jeans and step back. I bump into the wall and lean against it, closing my eyes. Normal seems very fucking far away from where I am.

“I’ll tell you who I blame: the guy who tried to rape you.”

I stare at him.

“And then Oliver.”

When I cringe, he clicks his tongue.

“I’m going to make an observation,” he says. “And you can tell me if I’m wrong.”

“Okay…”

“You were grabbed by two masked men and thrown into a trunk. Driven to an unknown location. Promised pain and violence. You didn’t know who they were when one put the rope around your neck and tried to rape you. You only knew it was Oliver and Penn who stopped it.”

My throat closes.

He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. But it’s me who ends up clinging to his fingers.

“You were dealing with that, and then you saw him again. The same mask. It brought you back to that warehouse. You relived your first trauma as you experienced the second.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “But?—”

“But then you found out who was actually touching you in the arena, and he didn’t stop. No one was there to save you from him.” His gaze darkens. “You inserted Oliver behind the mask for the previous event because it was him the second time. Someone you trusted for saving you became the villain, and your memory has blended the two.”

My vision blurs. As soon as I blink, tears spill down my cheeks. I can’t stop fucking crying, and I hate it with every fiber of my being.

“In my dreams, the clown-masked guy succeeds in raping me. And when he takes it off, right as I’m on the verge of passing out, it’s Oliver.” I dash at my cheeks. “I know it wasn’t him the first time.”

“You know it when logic is in control,” he agrees. “But then your emotions take over. Similar emotions for both events, would you agree?”

“Yes.”

He sits on the bed and pulls me down with him. My knees go on either side of his hips. I like being face-to-face with him like this. It puts us on an equal level in other ways. Mentally, maybe.

“So how do I fix it?”

He lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. But I do have an idea for helping you regain control. If you want it.”

I suck in a long, slow breath. With Carter’s hands on my waist, the cords that bind around my chest don’t seem so tight. I lean forward and press my forehead to his, closing my eyes.

Do I want control?

Did I ever have it? I guess it doesn’t matter, because my answer to the first question overrides everything else.

“I want it.”

forty-nine

oliver