My smile is hesitant—a polite facade meant to placate. “Can I get back to you? I need to check my schedule.”
He gives me a look, like he knows better, but drops his chin. “Of course. Just call the office, and Janice will book you in.”
I don’t hesitate to make my escape after that, finding myself on the concrete steps outside, trying to breathe through my nose, feeling like I can’t get enough air. My phone rings, and I scramble for it, disappointment flaring when I see that it’s not Gracie, but Marjorie.
I decline the call, unable to bear talking to anyone right now, ice steadily trickling through my veins. My limbs don’t feel like they’re attached to me, but I welcome the iciness, letting it numb me. But as soon as my eyes fall shut, all I see isred.
Nausea washes over me. I look at where my truck is still parked, but the last thing I want to do is drive the hour to Sterling Creek.The last thing I want to do is drive at all.
The sound of screeching metal fills my head, blocking everything else out. I close my eyes, clenching my fists as I suck in a chestful of air, holding it—trying togroundmyself, as Martin calls it.
I let the breath out and then repeat the process several times, until the memory of the noise has faded and thesweat dampening my skin cools. I’ve got several hours before I actually need to leave to make it back on time, so I decide to stay true to what I told Gracie and finish my Christmas shopping.
The Ashland Wellness Center is located at the edge of a strip mall, so I ignore my truck and turn, figuring that trying to settle my stomach with something to eat might help before anything else.
This close to Christmas, it’s busy as hell, the sidewalks crowded with people, bags of shopping hooked on their arms. I weave through the crowd, ignoring the way the world tilts on me as I push through the doors into a packed coffee shop. The line moves quickly, and I order a black coffee and a sandwich, managing to snag a table as someone gets up to leave.
By the time my coffee and food arrive, delivered by a guy with a nose ring and a scowl. I’m already feeling less off-kilter, even if my mind is still fucked.
“Braxton?” I look up as Paisley pulls the chair out across from me and sits down, blinking in surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was just about to ask you that!” She laughs, tugging at the red scarf draped around her neck and setting it on her lap. “I’m doing some Christmas shopping, because?—”
“Mrs. Chamberlain,” we say at the same time, and she grins at me, rolling her eyes.
“What about you?”
I open my mouth, about to tell her that I’m doing the same, but something else altogether spills out. “I just had a counseling session.” Her eyes widen, her amusement falling away.
“Oh. Are you okay?” She wrinkles her nose. “Am I supposed to ask that? I’m not sure what the protocol here is.”
I take a long sip of my drink, savoring the burn as thehot liquid rolls down my throat. “I’m okay, but I attended a pretty serious car accident a couple of weeks ago.” I try to say it casually, like it doesn’t matter, except halfway through, my throat tries to choke the words off. I don’t know why saying it to someone I know feels so different, but it’s almost like speaking the words out loud somehow makes them more real.
Paisley reaches across the table and pulls my hand off my mug, her cool fingers gripping mine. I stare at where they’re joined, knowing I should pull away, but feeling numb enough that I just…don’t.
“I’m so sorry, Braxton. I knew that something wasn’t right.”
I want to askhow, because she doesn’t know me. Not really. Our memories aren’t enough to sustain a friendship, and by all accounts, she erased me from her life when she left.
The hurt of that burns, her rejection thrumming through me in a bitter wave, and I pull away from her, tucking my hand under the table, wiping it against my pants.
“I’m okay. I just…” I grimace. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not after spending an hour talking about it with Martin. And yet… “There was a child involved, and—” I shake my head. “A little girl. Five.”
Paisley’s expression falls as she slumps in her chair, but the grungy-looking server returns before she can say a word. He sets a hot chocolate down in front of her, and she murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” When he’s gone, she looks back at me. “Do you want to talk about it? Or are you all talked out?” There’s a current of understanding in her tone. I flick up an eyebrow, and she smiles self-deprecatingly, admitting, “I saw a therapist last year. Just when it felt like things were getting on top of me.” She looks away, masking the vulnerability in her eyes. “No big deal, youknow? Everyone needs to talk through their trauma sometimes.”
“I don’t have trauma,” I say sharply. “This isn’t the first car crash I’ve dealt with, or the first death. I’m not…I’m notdamaged.”
She watches me impassively. “No one said you were, Brax, but I grew up in this life, same as you. I watched both our fathers bury their pain until it exploded out of them in the worst possible ways. You know better than to hold onto something like this.”
Shame heats my cheeks. “Right.”
“Tell me about it,” she says softly. “If you want to.”
It takes me several minutes to breathe through the constriction around my chest. Paisley doesn’t push me, going into extreme detail about her day of shopping and what else she has left to buy. Eventually, my coffee is gone, and I’ve taken one bite of my sandwich before pushing it away, unable to stomach the idea of food.
She falls quiet as I lean forward, keeping my voice low so no one will overhear. “It was a family.” My voice is hoarse, guttural. “They were driving across the country. Some kind of family vacation or…I don’t know. It was about thirty minutes out of Sterling Creek, but we were closest.” I close my eyes, smoke filling my nose as I step out of the rig, the asphalt crunching under my boots. “Another car had drifted across the center line, hitting them head-on.”
