Addison looks at Blake. “Think you guys got it from here?” she jokes.
“We’ll let you know.” He laughs.
She looks over at me, and I give her a soft smile and thank her. Without another word, she heads back towards her house. I watch her ponytail swing back and forth with every step.
“She’s not like most girls,” Blake points out.
I sigh. “Don’t I know it…” I mutter.
Blake has yet to ask about me and Addison, if there’s anything going on. I mean, he knows she’s with Brantley, but I often wonder if he picks up on anything when he sees us interact. Or if Sierra ever mentions anything. She and Addison are well acquainted, with Addison babysitting Caden and all. I wonder if Sierra’s asked her about us.
Chapter 9
Addison
I hop in Brantley’s truck. He leans across the console to kiss me, but I’m too distracted by the fact that the air in the cab isn’t cold enough. Not when I’m this anxious.
It’s been almost a week since the concert, and he’s finally apologized for how he acted. It took a few days for him to understand my feelings and where I was coming from, but now things are good. He offered to make it up to me by taking me out to a movie.
There’s a little hole-in-the-wall theater in the town south of us. We’ll probably be the only ones there, being that the movie is at three o’clock on a Wednesday.
I reach for the air controller and turn it up before I even get situated in my seat. I make sure it’s full blast and turn the vents so that the air is blowing in my face.
“Anxious?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, closing my eyes and focusing on the feel of the air.
I tell myself we’re just seeing a movie. I’ll be back home in two hours and then I can get a shower, eat something, and relax. Focusing on what comes after, as if it’s the reward fordoing something that made me anxious. No matter how small that reward is, it usually helps me get through the waves. If I just fix my mind on that end goal, I can get through just about anything. Not all the time, but sometimes.
“Sorry,” Brantley says, backing down the driveway. For a split second I think I might actually throw up when the reality sets in that I’ll be gone for a while. Why is this anxiety so much worse than the last time we went to a movie?
Maybe it’s just that I don’t really have the desire to see this particular movie? It’s not something I’d choose on my own, like a rom-com. It’s a total guy movie—action-packed with blood, guns, and cursing every other sentence. It’s not that I hate those types of movies, I just grew up in a house fueled by testosterone that I rarely get the chance to escape.
We pass Ella walking up the lane, and it’s enough to snap my mind away from going over the edge. Brantley doesn’t stop, he just waves and I do the same. I bet she’s going to the Big House to hang out. Darn it, I’d rather be doing that than this.
I sit back in my seat and soak in the feeling of my nerves settling and nausea subsiding. I never know how long it’ll last.
“Brr,” Brantley says. “You’re gonna freeze me to death.” He laughs, reaching for the dial that turns down the air. And just like that, the urge to gag ramps back up.
“Put on a sweatshirt!” I snap, reaching to turn the dial back up again. I can barely bend forward, the position makes my throat feel closed.
“Geez, why are you angry?”
I close my eyes and let out a slow breath. So frustrated that I have to explain this to him. As if we hadn’t been together long enough? The last thing I want to do when I’m having an anxiety attack is talk someone through what’s happening. Itjust makes it worse.
“I’m so anxious and you’re messing with the air!” I say in one breath. “I need the air or I’ll throw up, Brantley!” I clench my teeth.
“Okay,” he grumbles, as if it’s such a bother for him. As if I’m not the one fighting for my life right now.
We drive in silence for the next five minutes. My nausea doesn’t fully go away, but it has subsided enough that I can talk now.
I look at him, but he doesn’t even bat an eye at me. He just sits there, driving, as if I’m forcing his hand to go down the road to watch some stupid movie. “You know that’s how it is sometimes. Why do we have to argue about it?”
“Because it’s August, Addison, and I didn’t exactly think I’d need a sweatshirt.”
“I told you this morning I was anxious.”
“So? I didn’t know you’d still be anxious by now. It’s two o’clock.”
