Page 25 of Dissonance

She studies me for a moment before continuing, tone measured. “You put a great deal of yourself into protecting other people, Lockie. We’ve talked before about what you want outside of that. Have you given it any more thought since our last session?”

Last month, she asked about hobbies, interests, dating—though she’d said it carefully, the way she says most things.

“I’ve got my cabin.”

She smiles softly, tilting her head a fraction. “And how’s that going? When it’s finished, what do you want to do with it? Who do you picture sharing that space with you?”

The question gives me pause. Longer than it should, longer than it did the last time she asked. My gaze drifts toward the window, a laugh I haven’t heard in three years echoing in the back of my head, dark hair falling loose from whatever neat hairstyle it started the night in. Bright and unguarded in a way I rarely get to see.

Thea avoided the studio for the rest of the week, turning down Cooper’s invite for drinks when the song wrapped.

I let the image go before it becomes something I’d have to name.

“Haven’t thought that far.”

“That’s okay.” She closes her notebook, hands folding in her lap. “Sometimes we don’t think that far until something shifts.”

This is the part where she gives me space, time to bring up anything that might have played on my mind since the last time.

I don’t.

Not because this is pointless. It isn’t. There were years when a room like this was the only place I could set down the weight long enough to breathe, when it didn’t follow me straight back out the door. When getting through a session felt like getting through a firefight. The measured breathing, the constant glances at the exit, the temptation to leave halfway through.

That was then.

Now it’s maintenance. Like checking your gear before a job, making sure nothing’s missing or worn thin, nothing quietly cracking where I can’t see it. Ensuring it holds when it really matters.

“Okay. Same time next month?” Joanne asks when it’s clear I have nothing else to add. I stand and lean across the small coffee table to shake her hand. “You know you can always reach out before then, Lockie.”

Glancing at the window again, I nod. The crossing is empty now, the lights still cycling, the people of Taunton Falls going about their day, everything carrying on the way it always does.

“Thanks, Doc,” I say, knowing, as I always do when she offers, I won’t be calling. Reaching out between sessions would mean something had gotten through the armor that couldn’t wait another month to deal with. And in all the years I’ve seen her, it hasn’t happened.

She walks me to her door, holding it open as I step into the hallway, back into a world where I don’t have to sit still long enough for the past to catch up, where I don’t have to think about my little brother and the one failure I’ll never outrun.

“I hope Cooper wins at the Grammys next week,” she says, with that small, knowing smile. “I’ll be watching.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Me too.”

I push out into the afternoon sun, the light sharp after the dim quiet of her office. Session done. Box closed. Weight carried back out with me like it always is, a little more organized than when I walked in, but no lighter than before.

Chapter Ten

Thea

AMAs, VMAs, even the night Cooper unveiled his wax figure at Madame Tussauds, nothing compares to tonight. The Grammys are on a completely different level.

Tyler leans into the camera like he was born for this, tongue out, fingers thrown up in the universal sign for rock and roll. He’s in full ZeroSaint mode; eyeliner dark and smudged, shirt gaping open, bare chest on display, chains catching the light every time he moves.

I stand half a step behind, close enough if he needs me, far enough to let the persona breathe. The camera flashes don’t slow. Tyler’s grin stretches wider as he gives them exactly what they came for.

ZeroSaint never disappoints.

Zane hovers at his shoulder, phone out, recording every second. His eyes dart constantly, the territorial gleam setting me on edge, and the scowl he throws at anyone who gets too close tightens my jaw.

“I could get used to this,” Tyler pants when we finally break away from the press line, shoving his hair out of his face.

“Keep releasing music like you have and you will,” I tell him, because I really believe that.