He looks affronted. “Wait,that’swhy Tatiana insisted that Sarah buy a whole shelving display of Little Debbie Valentine’s Day cakes, and she kept asking for you to come sledding with us on my birthday?”
“Oh, shit,” I sigh, feeling defeated. Only, I shouldn’t, because if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have gotten the help I needed. Thatdisappointment I felt, knowing I let his little girl down, is what ate away at me for days after. Things got real dark around here, all by myself, alone in my spiraling thoughts. Finally, I broke when I got that text from Gannett.
So yeah, I went through the program again. Well, most of it, anyway. I didn’t graduate from the intensive program this time, but I was damn close. I just felt I had responsibilities I needed to tend to here, so I didn’t stay for the full three months.
But now I’m set up to continue getting treatment as an outpatient with my new doc, Dr. Goucher. He specializes in cases like mine, I guess. He seems trustworthy enough that I plan to continue seeing him virtually.
Also, I’m on meds, I’ve got some new coping mechanisms in my toolbox, and I’m feeling better now. Not the best, and I know in my heart of hearts it will always be an ongoing struggle to maintain this peace. There is no cure, obviously, but I know I’ve got new motivation to keep on trying to be better now...
I’ve got a plan for my future, and I want Gannett in that future with me.
“Well,” Gannett sighs, rubbing my back just like he used to—something I’ve missed wholeheartedly while away. “I probably have time for a shower, but then I really have to get going. I just—maybe not with jizz-face. And, like, maybe not with you this time, because, well, I probably won’t actually leave after.”
I nod, letting him sit up. “Keep the key to my apartment,” I tell him. “Oh, and, uh—thank you, Gannett.”
“For what?”
“Being your stubborn self.” I grin.
He cups my jawline, looking me dead in the eye. “Thanks for calling me a greedy slut. I like the beard, by the way. Very sexy. Never thoughtI’d say that.” Patting my cheek, he lifts off the couch and makes his way to the bathroom. “Is ittoobisexual of me to admit that I can’t wait to find out what beard burn feels like on my thighs? It is, isn’t it…”
Oh, this fuckin’ guy.
Karaoke at Portside Pub appears to be a big hit. It’s still going strong when I finally make my way down to my truck, having seen Gannett off and showering myself after. Peering in the window, I can see the Harnden twins, specifically the one who had the gall to kiss Gannett to get a reaction out of me, singing Cher’s hit "If I Could Turn Back Time" to the guy who is, I guess, named Shane—the one who looked equally as unimpressed with the kiss.
I nearly drop the box I have for Morgan when someone steps out of the shadows near the fire escape. In a panic, my gaze darts around, assessing the threat. Old habits die hard, apparently.
My gut clenches, my hackles on hyperdrive. Instinctually, I ready myself for a fight, but suddenly, there are large, iridescent blobs—fuckingbubbles—floating everywhere. Then, a giggle.
My brows furrow, but the tension in my muscles starts to dissipate. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Morgan titters, brandishing a giant bubble wand. “Found this on your fire escape, and I stole it. I don’t smoke, but I needed a break. Tonight has been a mad-house. I didn’t realize you too were a bubble fan.” She smirks.
I chuckle. “I’m not. If I had to guess, it’s Gannett’s girls’ toy they forgot here.”
She nods, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
“What’s that look for?” I ask her.
“Ohhh, nuthin’.” She shrugs. “Just that he recently left your apartment looking as if he just found out he can shoot glitter from his fingertips… It’s kinda the same look Dad used to get when he thought he was being all sneaky-sneaky with Evster.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
She winks at me. “Your secret is safe with me, but youmayhave some splainin’ to do when it comes to my bonus dad.”
Yeah, no shit. Well aware that if I fuck this up, I’ll have hell to pay with Evan.
“How are you so observant?” I ask her. “It’s unnatural to be that perceptive.” It’s something so inherently Ryann…
She shrugs. “It’s a gift, I guess.”
Oh shit, that reminds me. The box. “Speaking of gifts,” I begin, handing the box over to her and nodding towards the bar. “I can go in and cover for you, but… well, I think you should have these.”
“I think Taryn’s okay in there for now,” she notes, concern creasing her brow. She hesitantly takes the box from me and lifts the lid. She eyes the contents and then peers up at me. She backs up, taking a seat on the bottom stair, and rifles through the box some more. “These are pictures of me and Mom,” she rasps, tears welling in her eyes. “Where—how did you get these?”
I owe her the truth. For Ryann. So, I pull up a seat next to her and explain to her about how Miranda must have held onto this box, in the hopes that it would eventually make it to their rightful owner. They’ve been sitting in storage at the women’s shelter for years, unclaimed. One of the workers there recognized me from being in some of the pictures, and brought it to me while I was in rehab.
I go on to explain why I was in those pictures. How I knew her mother. What a powerful impact she had on my life, despite the short time knowing her. She got me the help I needed, and, in return, all I did was unwittingly make things worse for her—all because I was blinded by pure rage.
