“Hmm,” Hunter broke in. “Seems like both of your families have had a negative influence on your dating lives. Grant didn’t allow women to get close for fear they’d reject him because of his family, and Sophie intentionally chose partners so she could
keep
getting rejected by her family.”
“Whoa.” Grant sat still, absorbing Hunter’s words. He gazed into Sophie’s luminous brown eyes and found a deeper connection than before, if that was possible. Maybe this therapy thing wasn’t so bad.
After a few moments of silence, Grant pressed on. “So, um, if nothing happened with Dr. Alton, what about after him? Were you with other men?”
Sophie suddenly seized up with fear. She’d been dreading this conversation for quite some time, and she had no idea how to begin answering his question. Her face felt hot, and she couldn’t look at Grant.
“Hey,” he said gently, taking her hand in his and stroking her forearm soothingly. “What’s wrong, Sophie?”
“Please,” she choked out, still gazing down. “Please don’t make me tell you about Logan.”
Grant abruptly dropped her hand and flinched away from her. “Logan?” he rasped.
Damn it!
How had he forgotten Sophie kissed his brother? He shook his head, trying to get that image out of his mind.
Sophie was shaking her head too, and tears threatened to erupt. “I can’t see what good can come of this,” she murmured, glancing at Hunter and stealing a peek at Grant. “I can’t see what good can come from telling you I slept with your brother.”
Grant gasped. “You had sex with Logan?”
Her head snapped up. “I thought you knew!” Her eyes widened as his face went pale. “I told you I behaved inappropriately with a client, remember?”
“You said you
kissed
him!” Grant roared, scooting farther away from her on the sofa.
Hunter felt his chest tighten as he watched the horrible scene unfold.
“I said I kissed him, and I…I did some other things too,” she admitted, stinging tears now cascading down her face. She didn’t want to hurt Grant—God, she didn’t want to hurt him any more! His family had hurt him far enough.
“I was so ashamed,” she cried. “I couldn’t tell you what we’d done, but I thought you’d figured it out.”
Grant took his head in his hands, anguished. Unable to contain himself, he popped off the sofa and began pacing around the room, feeling restless energy and a building pressure in his head that threatened to overwhelm him. He’d buried Logan! And now his brother felt very much alive again; his brother was still here to ruin his life. Logan’s palpable presence in the room was immensely disturbing.
Finally, standing by the aquarium set into the wall, his back turned to both psychologists, Grant whispered, “How?”
Sophie wrung her slender hands. “How?” she repeated.
He spun around, and she was immediately frightened by the cold glint in his eyes. “How did it get to the point that you
fucked
my brother?”
Sophie inhaled sharply and drew her hand to her mouth, sobbing in earnest now. Sensing the waves of fury rolling off of Grant, Hunter carefully instructed, “Grant, take some deep breaths. You two will get through this.”
The muscles lining Grant’s jaw rippled with hostility, but he did struggle to slow his accelerated breathing. Lightning-hot anger coursed through his veins, making his skin tingle.
“You’re frightening Sophie,” Hunter said evenly, and Grant looked at him with surprise, seeming to shake himself out of a dissociated state. “I’d like you to take a seat.”
Grant glanced at his girlfriend, who was almost hiccupping from crying so hard. “Yes, sir.”
“Sophie, when you’re ready, try to answer Grant’s question, okay?”
She nodded and scooped up some tissues from the box he offered her.
There was another silence as both parolees looked down at their laps, lost in their own worlds of suffering. Now they didn’t seem so different from most of the other couples Hunter saw. He hoped they could bridge the huge chasm that had developed between them.
Eventually Sophie had steadied herself enough to speak, though her voice still trembled. “I made so many mistakes, Grant,” she began. “I told Logan too much about myself. I was initially attracted to him, and I should’ve referred him, but I didn’t.”
Hunter squirmed a bit in his chair as Sophie continued.
“Then he told me an awful story from his childhood, and I tried to comfort him. That’s when I really screwed up. He…he kissed me, and I let him.” She sniffed. “And that eventually led to…other things.”
Grant clenched his fists. No wonder Logan had lied about where he met Sophie. If his brother had felt one-tenth the shame and anger Grant was currently experiencing in therapy, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Grant was furious to still feel that ache inside him, thinking of his brother. He ached to be loved by Logan, a longing that would never be fulfilled.
“What story did he tell you?” Grant growled.
Sophie’s eyes got big. “You don’t want to hear it,” she said, desperate not to hurt him further. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”
“
What story?”
he yelled.
Sophie flinched.
Knowing precisely what Logan had told Sophie before he kissed her, Hunter hesitantly nodded at her, preparing for the onslaught.
Sophie pursed her lips and sniffed, glassy tears sliding down her pale skin. “He told me about a time when he was nine, and his, um, his younger brother was four. Please, Grant! I didn’t know it was you! I hadn’t even met you then!”
Grant clenched his teeth and looked off to the side, watching the fish swim in lazy circles. He couldn’t look at her.
Taking a shuddering breath, she resumed, “Your dad had just beat up your mom, and he was striking you both with a belt. In the closet.” Grant stopped breathing. “Logan said he tried to cover you so you wouldn’t get hit, but your dad dragged him away to his room. And your dad, he…he left you in the closet all night.”
Grant’s face had gone white.
“The next morning…” Sophie could barely get the words out, she was sobbing so hard. “The next morning, your dad—he got y-y-you out of the closet, and when he saw that you, that you—” She was almost hyperventilating. “That you peed your pants, he…he b-b-beat you again.”
So it was true then. It had really happened. Apparently he had truly pissed in his pants, just like a baby—just like his dad said he was. Grant felt numb, and he was swept away on a river of the past, waking up in a sterile white room with a kindly older gentleman explaining that he’d gone catatonic in his solitary cell. He’d peed all over himself once again, this time as an adult. But really like a baby.
The words sounded far off, like someone was calling for him. He felt like he was underwater as he heard his name repeated in slow motion. Like one of the fish in the nearby tank, he felt himself swimming to the surface agonizingly slowly. Blinking a few times, Grant found himself staring into Hunter’s concerned face.
“Grant? I want to you focus on your breathing. Look around the room and tell me what you see.”
Frantically, Grant felt beneath him and breathed out with relief when he touched the dry sofa cushion. He followed Hunter’s order and began haltingly scanning the room around him. When his gaze landed on his girlfriend’s gorgeous face, he took in her splotchy cheeks, stained with tears. But when he saw her eyes, his heart stopped. She looked at him with an expression of such raw pity—he knew he’d explode if he stayed one second longer.
With wild eyes, Grant leaped off the sofa and flew to the door, exiting the office with lightning speed. He couldn’t care less if he’d be in trouble with Officer Stone for leaving the session early. He had to get out of there. Now.
The door slammed behind him with a bang, and Sophie sat stunned. “What just happened?” she asked.
Hunter sat back in his chair. He was wondering the same thing himself. Grant had obviously experienced some sort of trauma reaction, but there was something else— something he couldn’t put his finger on. Hunter had the distinct impression Grant was hiding something. He glanced at Sophie worriedly, praying another Mafia man wouldn’t destroy her once again.
A rash of goose bumps prickled her alabaster skin, and Sophie set aside her textbook and climbed out of bed, padding over to the thermostat on the apartment wall. Now that it was late August, the daytime humidity gave way to increasingly cool nights, and it was hard to keep the temperature just right.
After setting the thermostat two degrees higher, she turned back toward the bed, rubbing her palms over her arms. Wincing, she glanced down at her left arm and extended it straight out, taking stock of the ugly scar above the elbow. Despite the summer heat, she’d been wearing long sleeves to hide the circular wound, but she only owned a couple of nightgowns, and they were sleeveless.
She sniffed as she crawled back into bed, realizing her sudden chill had nothing to do with room temperature and everything to do with dread about seeing Grant for the first time since he’d fled Hunter’s office that morning. She had no idea what she’d say to him. After leaving him desperate voice messages all morning long, she’d finally received a text from him this afternoon:
At work. C u tonight.
Though curt, the message had relieved her immensely. She’d been worried his intense distress would cause him to do something stupid, but at least he’d made it to the architectural cruise; at least he wouldn’t return to prison for failing to show up at work. But her trepidation remained over what would happen when they did “c” each other tonight.
Sighing, she returned to her
Theories of Personality
textbook, trying to stay one step ahead of the students she’d begin teaching next week. This chapter covered one of her favorite theorists, Alfred Adler, a contemporary of Freud. Born in 1870 in Vienna, Adler was the second of six children and often had to compete for his parents’ affection, leading him to focus his own work on key concepts like sibling rivalry, birth order, and the inferiority complex.
As an only child, Sophie was intrigued by the role of siblings in personality development. She’d never been forced to fight over toys or felt jealous of siblings receiving more attention than her. On the contrary, she’d often craved siblings for the very reason of
deflecting
her parents’ attention.
Adler’s theory was that people who felt inferior typically behaved in a superior manner to hide their inadequacies. Reading this material with a fresh eye, Sophie immediately thought of Carlo Barberi. Upon taking his last breaths, Carlo had admitted to killing Logan, and then bitterly complained that his father, Angelo, had always loved Logan more than him. Carlo had acted cocky and brash, yet Sophie somehow knew that was to cover up his self-hatred.
Adler further argued that some people responded to feelings of inferiority by simply giving up hope, whereas others compensated by searching for a way to succeed despite earlier setbacks. Now that they’d emerged from prison, she hoped she and Grant would be in the latter category.
Thoroughly engrossed in her reading, it took Sophie a moment to realize someone was unlocking the apartment door. Once she heard the telltale soft steps on the carpeted hallway, she scrambled out of bed and tiptoed to the doorway of the bedroom to find Grant coming toward her. They both stopped short, and despite her nerves, Sophie was captivated by the way his light blue, short-sleeved uniform shirt brought out the gemstone hue of his tired, troubled eyes.
At the same time, Grant’s weary eyes took in the sight of his girlfriend, blocking the entrance to their bedroom and wearing only a sheer nightie, which did nothing to conceal her hard nipples pressing against the burgundy silk. Her hair, looking more strawberry than blond next to the deep shade of the short nightgown, tumbled across her shoulders, and his eyes trailed down the length of her graceful, slender limbs. God, she was beautiful. Warily meeting her forceful gaze, he swallowed, finding his mouth dry. He was at a loss for words.
“Thank you for your text,” she nervously began.
He nodded, embarrassed he hadn’t responded earlier to her pleading voicemails. “Ben told me to stop being a tool and at least let you know I was okay.”
She smiled as she imagined the teenager saying those words. “Did you tell Ben about our therapy session?”
He shook his head vehemently.
“Roger?”
Another shake. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Noticing Sophie’s frown, he seemed to make a decision, and he confidently brushed past her, heading for the bathroom.
Anxiously Sophie called after him, “I could make you something to eat?”
“No,” he said harshly, and then guiltily turned to face her. In a softer voice, he added, “I grabbed a bite with Rog before the evening cruise. I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
Once he actually looked at her, the tension in her shoulders dissolved. But when he turned and closed the bathroom door in her face, the shred of hope that he’d forgive her quickly vanished. Miserably she returned to the bed, clenching her hands together before picking up the textbook once again. The words explaining the concept of sibling rivalry swam before her eyes and were then replaced by memories of angry accusations from that morning.
How did it get to the point that you
fucked
my brother?
Her throat tightened, remembering Grant’s wounded glare. Then her own halting words,
Your dad…he b-b-beat you.
She held her head in her hands and told herself not to cry.
Inside the bathroom, Grant angrily jerked the spigot and water pounded onto the porcelain tub with a most satisfying sound. The energy it had taken to sustain his pissed-off mood all day long had exhausted him, yet he was scared to allow the rage to dissipate, unsure of what maelstrom of emotions lay underneath. He fumbled for the buckle of his belt and slid the black trousers down from his lean waist. As he peeled off and discarded his sweaty clothing, he wished he could do the same for the horrifying images filling his brain.
Unfortunately, the time alone in the shower only sparked more ruminative thoughts, seeming to intensify the disturbing pictures: flashes of his brother’s muscular back hovering over Sophie, humping her on some fucking therapy couch. Grant had earlier pictured her dressed in a professional suit, but now that image was replaced by the wine-colored nightgown he’d just seen. Logan laughed in his deep rumble as his big hands slid up her naked thighs, lifting up the nightie and sliding lacy underwear down her long legs. Sophie smiled lustily beneath him, urging him on with her characteristic moans. Grant balled his hands into fists as the gushing water streamed over his heaving chest.
He quickly turned off the shower and stepped out to yank a towel off the rack. His jaw clenched as drops of water dripped onto the tile. Sophie was
his,
goddamn it! Logan had already taken so much from him—how could his brother also have stolen the one and only good, pure, devoted thing left in his life? How could Logan have betrayed him once again? How could
she
have betrayed him? Before he knew what he was doing, his fist came crashing into the wall with a resounding thump, sending shockwaves up his arm and into his torso.
Immediately Sophie was at the door, knocking frantically. “Is everything okay? Grant?”
Grant dumbly stared at the small crack in the drywall before looking down at his throbbing right hand, slowly turning and examining it for any sign of bruising. At the irritating sound of Sophie’s continued knocking, he swiftly wrenched open the door and gave her a vicious glare.
Sophie gasped and took a step backward, her wide eyes trained on his, simultaneously fascinated and terrorized by a patina of green overtaking the typical palette of blues.
Her look of fear seemed to empower him, and he grasped her right elbow with his uninjured left hand, drawing her toward him. With a surprised cry, she felt herself pressed against his naked, dripping frame, scarcely daring to look up into his torrid gaze.
Once she did, without hesitation his full lips crashed onto hers, at once stealing her breath and her free will.
Attempting to steady her trembling, Sophie’s hands slid up Grant’s slick back, and she clung to him while he hungrily and breathlessly mauled her with kisses. Though she was kissing him back, it was impossible to match the intensity of his pulsating desire, and she found herself teetering between fear and excitement at his aggressive touch. Her mixed reaction was only compounded by the increasing force of his unclothed hardness pressing against her lower abdomen.
Somehow managing to pull away from the suctioning liplock, Sophie gulped for air and glanced down at his throbbing member. She sensed his rapid breathing and looked into his eyes—despite their continued intense green glare, she detected a hint of the cool, caring blue she knew and loved. Could she trust him? Would he hurt her? Feelings of fear and safety competed for her soul, her heart pounding and her body quivering.
Somehow his long fingers snaked under the elastic of her panties to knead and caress the tender flesh of her shapely rear end. Before she could speak he leaned into her and took her mouth into his once again, bruising her soft lips with insistent kisses while simultaneously tearing her lace panties down her legs until they puddled at her feet. His strong hands resumed cupping and clawing at her buttocks, now uncovered and exposed.
He had control over her entire being, and she felt herself guided backward toward the bedroom wall. Suddenly her feet lifted off the floor as he hoisted her up and back with a breathtaking thump, pinning her between his sinewy body and the wall.
Her heart raced as his relentless lips trailed down her neck, pulling and sucking, undoubtedly leaving bites and bruises on her that would be noticeable in the morning. He seemed to be supporting her only with his stalwart hold on her bottom, and she clung to his shoulders, panting and feeling a throbbing heat building in her core, despite his roughness. Not only did she feel his scorching hands digging into her butt, she also now felt the tip of his rock-hard penis brushing against her nightgown.
“Grant,” she cried, beginning to feel unsure. He had her slammed up against the wall, unsteady and laboring to get air. He seemed not to hear her and continued thrusting his body into hers with each assault of his lips. Should she stop him? Was she safe with him at this moment? Was he so mad he was going to hurt her?
“Grant,” she moaned, tightening her grip on his shoulders while tilting her head back, feeling his teeth cut into her collarbone. Should she listen to her fear and beg him to stop? Or should she listen to her desire and beg him to take her? Was he the compassionate man she’d fallen in love with or a green-eyed monster seeking revenge for her betrayal? “Grant—”
“What?” he barked, lifting his head and staring straight into her frightened brown eyes. His chest heaved, and his face was flushed.
Unable to look into those flaring green depths, Sophie closed her eyes, feeling perched on a high precipice. Whatever path she chose, she was going down. What did he want her to do? What did he need from her? How could she help him through his pain? Could she trust him?
“What?” he repeated, louder this time, still panting.
Meeting his powerful gaze, she made a split-second decision. She pressed up against him, creating grinding friction and feeling his body flinch in response. “Take me, Grant.”
His eyes narrowed as he inclined his head forward, impatiently bashing her inflamed lips yet again. She felt her back peel off the wall, and then they were spinning together. Grant managed to support her weight while not letting go of her lips as he staggered toward the center of the room.
Once he felt his knees against the mattress he roughly released her, and she felt a terrorizing falling sensation before landing on the bed with a bounce. She barely had a second to orient herself before he’d crawled on top of her, brusquely hauling her body up so her head rested on the pillow.
His left hand held her right wrist over her head while his other reached down and forcibly breached her labia. She gasped when his long fingers entered her, deeply stroking and massaging her wetness. Despite being alarmed by his surprising brutality, she could not deny her arousal. Grant’s probing fingers elicited an exquisite aching deep inside, and when she felt him poking at her abdomen she simultaneously felt desirous and apprehensive at the thought of him filling her.
Although Grant was blinded by a rushing, urgent need to consume her, regardless of any whimper or gasp she might offer in protest, his pulsing emotion did not totally void him of logic. Releasing her wrist, he reached for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a condom.
Realizing what he was seeking, Sophie clasped his arm and pulled it away from the drawer. He looked toward her in surprise and was further bewildered to see her shaking her head. She could barely find the words to speak, but she gazed at him intently and simply said, “Now.”
His body throbbing for release, he didn’t argue. He’d barely said one word since emerging from the bathroom. Not only was he scared of what hostile, uncontrollable remarks might tumble out of his mouth, but he was also so tightly wound that he could only act with single-minded purpose: reclaiming her. Quickly he adjusted himself over her, sliding his fingers out a second before deftly sliding his penis in.
There was nothing gentle about this sexual encounter, and Sophie inhaled sharply at his swift entry and continued gasping with each hard thrust. The balance between pain and pleasure was tipping uncomfortably to one side, but she didn’t allow herself to cry out. Instead, steeling herself to his aggressive plunges, she just took it. She hoped his assault on her defiled body would somehow help them both heal.
Clenching her teeth, she sensed his slowing pace and hoped he was almost done. He’d refused to look at her the entire time, but finally she caught a glimpse of his eyes, and the vacant sadness there made her well up with tears.
But Grant was so intent on discharging the screaming tension crowding his mind and body that he didn’t notice her suffering as he limply rolled off of her. He didn’t notice he was the only one coming down from a high, the shuddering climax of orgasm.