I shake my head. “I don’t need you to come here and psychoanalyze me.”
“Actually, I think you do,” he says. “I didn’t come up here intending to bust your balls, but I think I’m overdue. I haven’t been much of a brother to you all these years, and I’m sorry for that. But every time life gets hard, you can’t go dive out of a goddamn airplane or whatever it is you do.”
“It’s not about life getting hard,” I say.
“Then what is it about?” he asks. “What is it that makes you do all that stupid shit? Mom thinks you have a death wish. She’s convinced it’s survivor’s guilt and you’re trying to tempt fate or something.”
“I’m not trying to die,” I say. “This is what I mean. You look at me and you think you understand what I went through, or what it did to me. No one does.”
“Then enlighten me,” he says. “What’s it like to be you? Why do you take such stupid fucking risks with your life?”
“Because that’s the only time I feel alive,” I say. “Right now, sitting here? I’m half dead. I don’t feel much of anything. I don’t jump off cliffs or out of airplanes, or climb rock faces, because I want to kill myself. I do it so I can stay alive.”
Damon gapes at me for a long moment. “You’re a fucking mess. You know that, right? The only way you’re ever going to get better is if you find something to make you feel alive that isn’t going to kill you.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Which part?”
I put a hand to my chin and look away.
Something that makes me feel alive, and won’t kill me.
I had it. That’s exactly what she was.
“What?” Damon asks.
“No, it’s nothing,” I say.
“Fuck that,” Damon says, his voice sharp. “I’m sick of sitting on the sidelines watching you self-destruct.”
“Self-destruct?” I ask. “Look around you. This company is mine. I bought it because I had a vision that no one else had the guts to pull off. And I’m right on the brink, Damon. I’m one presentation away from making this happen.”
“I know you’re successful,” Damon says. “I’m sure you have more money than you know what to do with, although you probably risked it all to buy this company.”
I tip my head. He’s right about that. I did risk it all.
“But here’s the thing, Ronan,” he says. “No risk is ever going to be enough for you. You can keep betting it all and hoping you come out on top, but one of these days, you’re going to be fucked.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Don’t be an ass,” he says. “It’s the truth. I know you hate it when I do this, and I’ve always backed off. Just … tell me one more thing.”
“What?”
“What was that a second ago?” he asks. “I said something about feeling alive, and your face changed. What went through your mind?”
I’m not one of his goddamn patients. But he struck a nerve, and I’m compelled to tell him. “Her name is Selene.”
“Tell me about her.” He settles back in his chair and I can imagine him sitting in his office, talking to his patients in the same, soothing voice.
“She works for me,” I say. “She’s amazing at her job—smart, passionate, driven. She’s one of those women that makes every man stare.”
“And you were in a relationship with Selene?” he asks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Fuck this headache. “Yes.”
“That’s past tense,” he says. “You’re not with her now.”
“No.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
For reasons I can’t fathom, I tell him everything. How I pursued Selene relentlessly. How she made me feel. I tell him about taking her skydiving, and her chute failing. About how it made me realize I had to end it with her, even though now I feel so dead inside I’m not sure why I’m even here.
Damon doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I start to regret telling him. He’s probably diagnosing me right now.
“Chelsea wasn’t your fault,” he says finally. His voice is quiet.
“Excuse me?”
“What happened to Chelsea wasn’t your fault,” he says. “I don’t think you realize that. I think you’re carrying the responsibility for her death on your shoulders. You need to let it go.”
“I wasn’t talking about her,” I say.
“No, but that’s where this comes from,” he says. “You just admitted to me that you fell in love for the first time since Chelsea, but you broke up with her. Why do you think you did that?”
“Because she deserves better. If I stay with her, everything in her life would be wrapped up in me. Her career. Her happiness. Her fucking life. I’m never scared for myself when something goes wrong out there. But I was scared shitless for her.”
“But that’s a completely normal reaction to a person you love being in danger,” he says.
“It isn’t about the jump,” I say.
“No, I know it isn’t. It’s about realizing that someone trusted you deeply, and being afraid that you aren’t worthy of that trust.”