“Hello?” he repeated loudly. All he could hear was some weird static and rustling noises.
He looked down at the caller ID, puzzled when he saw Lance’s name.
“Lance? Lance! Hello?”
More rustling, and then—suddenly Lance finally responded.
“Tanner? SHIT! My phone must have slipped out of my pocket and fallen in between the couch cushions! I didn’t mean to butt dial you. Sorry about that, dude!” he said, sounding embarrassed and for some reason that just made his call that much funnier.
“No worries,” Tanner replied as he slumped against the wall. He shut his eyes, focusing on calming his breathing and heart rate.
“You alright? You sound kinda freaked—” Lance said, and fuck, Tanner had to be a real fucking mess to not only feel that way but alsosoundthat way.
He snorted, his reply brutally honest. “When aren’t I?”
“Hey, no—” Lance protested, his voice suddenly serious and concerned. “You better cut yourself some fucking slack, you hear?”
Tanner was momentarily taken aback by Lance’s commanding tone. But he was also aware of his gut tightening with pleasure at the knowledge that Lance cared enough to speak to him that way.
“D’you know, they say it takes three months of doing something before it starts to feel normal. After that—your brain recognizes it as average. Regular. Predictable, and everything outside of it becomes the opposite. By my count, you’ve had three years of hell, and then only a few months of your new life—so, if you were well adjusted already, you’d just be some new kind of freak by neuroscience standards.”
A freak of neuroscience—well, that certainly wasn’t something to strive for, now was it?
“How the hell do you know so much about this anyway?” Tanner asked, surprised at how amused he was by Lance’s views.
“Research. Lots of research. But my point is—you’re doing mighty fine, jarhead.”
“I wasn’t a jarhead—” Tanner protested, though by Lance’s quick bark of laughter, he knew that and just wanted to fuck with him.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lance asked, adopting a more serious tone.
“You already have. Thanks for the butt dial. I’ll see you Friday, for sure.”
“Aye, Aye, Sergeant,” Lance replied.
Tanner refused to take the bait. He just laughed as he prepared to hang up.
“Call if you need anything, alright?” Lance added before he cut the call. Just like that, leaving those words hanging between them, giving Tanner another jolt of startled pleasure along with intense feelings of warmth and affection that he’d never experienced while interacting with any of his other friends. Definitely new territory for him, and the only frame of reference he had was what he’d experienced with his own family. His sister said stuff like that all the time. So did his mom and Mark. But coming from Lance, it felt—different. Family was supposed to take care of you no matter what. But friends?—if that’s what he and Lance were—friends had no such obligations.
Light. Tanner had to hold onto the light. Looking around at all the lights in the condo, he thought having Lance just a call away might just be the brightest one of all.
Chapter 5
Tuesdays always came around too quickly, but this time, he was actually glad it was Tuesday. After his call with Lance, he’d spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon anxiously awaiting his appointment with Dr. Jones, his head spinning with all the things that had happened since his meeting with Jake.
He looked like hell—ragged and worn out. He looked—haunted didn’t seem quite right. More like roadkill.
Before he could say anything as he sat down in her office, she said, “Your sister called me this morning. She was—worried that she might have triggered you earlier.”
It took everything he had not to object to his sister’s claim. This washistherapist, he reminded himself. She was paid to deal with his shit, so it was on him to cover up less and reveal more of what was in his head–or something. But Cameron needed to back the hell off and stop calling Dr. Jones. He’d handle shit on his own, thank you very much.
“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Rubbing his eyes and sighing heavily, he struggled to get comfortable and ease the tension in his shoulders. He’d spent hours lying on his living room floor, doing his very best to hold onto the light, but failing miserably.
“But you did get triggered.”
“I don’t like that word,” Tanner replied coldly.
“Triggered? Why?”
