Dr. Tomblin smiled. “We’re going to get right to work onfilling his position, and will hopefully have someone here by the time he leaves.”
“Ugh,” Marie groaned. “Like anyone can fill his shoes,” she said with a wink at Dr. Toma.
I nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it. It’s not going to be the same.”
Michelle chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll find someone who will be worthy of your approval.”
Chapter 9
It was Saturday night,and Gabe convinced me to come out with him.
We met up with Wes, Lucas, and Callie at The Sandbar for their usual Saturday night out—Morgan was a no-show, which seemed to get under Wes’s skin.
I was sitting directly across from Wes, and it was making my encounter with his sister replay in my head once again.
It’d been just over a week since that night. I kept trying to reassure myself that Haley was right—there was alcohol involved, I didn’t recognize her, and it was a meaningless, one-time mistake that didn’t mean anything, so it shouldn’t matter.
Still, every time I replayed it in my head, I felt a twist of anxiety. I knew none of that would matter to Wes, and that thought overshadowed all of Haley’s logic. Even so, I had promised her I wouldn’t say anything, so I kept my mouth shut.
Susan was standing at the table, talking to Lucas and Callie about their upcoming wedding. “What color are the bridesmaids’ dresses again?”
“It’s called misty blue,” Callie answered.
“It’s just blue,” Wes quipped, earning a snort from Gabe and Lucas.
Callie chuckled. “If our resident color expert, Morgan, were here, she would tell you that it’snot‘just blue.’”
“Well, she’snothere, is she?” Wes said, almost bitterly. He tried to mask it with a smirk, but I think everyone at the table caught it, just as I did.
Trying to change the subject, Lucas cleared his throat, looking at Wes. “Hey, I thought Haley was coming tonight?”
At the mention of her name, I choked on my drink, setting my beer down a little harder than intended as I began to cough. She was coming tonight?Fuck.
“Whoa, you okay there, buddy?” Gabe asked, chuckling as he clapped my back.
“Wrong…pipe,” I choked out between coughs.
Wes laughed before looking back at Lucas. “She was going to, but she got called into work.”
Oh, thank God. It was already hard enough to sit there with Wes. Having Haley show up would’ve made keeping up the charade impossible.
This was proving to be much harder than I’d thought it would be. Technically, it wasn’t Wes’s business what happened between me and Haley. We were both consenting adults. But Wes was my best friend, and Haley was his younger sister. And that made me feel like a fucking asshole, no matter how I tried to rationalize it.
Part of me almostwantedWes to find out, just to relieve the pressure of keeping it secret—I’d already told Haley I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him if he asked. On the other hand, maybe I was just overthinking everything. The shock of learning whoHaley was still hadn’t worn off. Maybe once it did, the guilt would fade too, even if only a little.
Over the next couple of weeks, whenever I was around Wes, I caught myself doing that guilty thing—avoiding eye contact, fidgeting, anything to keep him from suspecting me of something. But Wes didn’t seem to notice. I figured he chalked it up to the other stuff I was dealing with, so he didn’t push.
As far as what else I was dealing with, there wasn’t much change.
I was still doing therapy twice a week, but I still had these walls up, ones I wasn’t sure would ever come down. I’d never been one who particularly liked the idea of opening up about things, but then again, I never had much I felt I needed to open up about. Nothing like what I was going through now.
Nate, my therapist, reminded me every session that his job wasn’t to judge but to help me process what happened and change any unhelpful thoughts and feelings I had associated with it. When he said that to me during my first session with him, I was so uncomfortable that I almost walked out.
I stuck it out, butnothingwas changing. According to him, that was because I was punishing myself. I was holding onto the guilt because I felt like I deserved it. He wasn’t wrong. And I didn’t know how not to feel that way. I was trying…but at the same time, I wasn’t.
At my parents’ house, I was becoming increasingly restless. I had too much damn time to myself. Too much time to think. Too much time toremember.
Other than going on runs and to the gym, I sat at home mostdays during the week, feeling like I was doingnothingwith my life. Meanwhile, my mom hovered and asked me about twenty times a day how I was doing. At one point, my dad offered to build a home gym in the basement—he loved working with his hands and enjoyed building and fixing things. I politely declined. I needed to be able to leave the house and gosomewhereto be alone.
