The door closes behind us, and suddenly I'm sobbing. Really sobbing. The kind of crying that's ugly and snotty and completely humiliating.

"I'm sorry," I gasp out. "I'm sorry, I don't know why—"

"It's okay," he says, and his voice is so kind it makes me cry harder. "It's okay to cry here, Sloane. This is a safe space."

He guides me to the couch—not our usual chairs, but the leather couch against the wall—and sits beside me. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth of him.

"I'm such a mess," I say through tears. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid—"

"It's not stupid," he says...