Page 160 of Letters From A Stalker

Her eyes close. “Jesus Christ.”

“He realized the second it came out.”

“And then?” The next sip she takes is a bigger one.

“I made him admit it. I told him to tell me who Ghost was, and eventually he just looked at me and said it.” My throat tightens hard enough that I have to pause.

Tessa’s hand closes around mine and for a while neither of us says anything.

Then she asks, more carefully, “Did you have any idea before you saw the tattoo? Even a tiny one?”

“No.” I shake my head and then laugh without any humor. “Which makes me feel so fucking stupid now.”

“Why?”

“Because there were clues everywhere once I knew to look. The bike alone should’ve made me think. Kai rides. Ghost rides. Kai has amber eyes, Ghost has amber eyes. They’re about the same height and build, and apparently I was looking at the same fucking hands for months without connecting them.”

Tessa turns toward me more fully. “Why would you connect them?”

“Because apparently I’m not nearly as perceptive as I think I am.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her tone is affectionate but firm. “You saw Ghost mostly in the dark while he deliberately hid his face and changed his voice. You saw Kai under office lighting in glasses and three-piece suits while he rummaged through your trauma. Normal people don’t look at their psychiatrist and think, ‘hmm, I wonder if he’s secretly the man in a balaclava outside my bedroom window.'”

“When you say it like that…” I trail off.

“When I say it like what it actually is?”

I give her a tired look, she squeezes my fingers and then something in her expression changes.

“You liked Kai.” The statement catches me off guard enough that I straighten.

“He was my therapist.”

“That was not what I said.”

I stare at her.

Tessa lifts one eyebrow. “Every time you talked about him, you pretended it was completely clinical, and somehow I still knew when he almost laughed at something you said and how frustrated you got when you couldn’t actually make him laugh.”

“I never got frustrated over not being able to make him laugh.” The words come out of me meant to sound like a protest but fail miserably.

“You absolutely did. You said he makes you feel like you’re not funny.”

“I mean… I am funny.”

“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious, absolutely.”

Heat climbs into my cheeks despite everything. She sees it and gives me a look that would be smug under different circumstances.

“You noticed him.”

Of course I did. It feels almost embarrassing now because I spent so long carefully filing everything I noticed about Kai under “irrelevant”. His mouth when he tried not to smile. The dry humor that started surfacing once our sessions stopped feeling like emotional triage. The way he relaxed when he spoke about Mara or Connor. The rare moments when the psychiatrist loosened enough that I got a glimpse of whoever existed once the office door closed behind me.

“I liked him,” I admit.

The words sound strange spoken aloud.

“Not like I was sitting there fantasizing about my psychiatrist while he took notes. I knew what the relationship was. But yes, I liked him as a person, especially lately.”