Page 92 of Tangled

“Yeah, you’re telling me. So, not only did Kane meet my ex, but he realized we had one very horrible connection from our pasts—a past that he has been trying to move forward from for years and I brought it back to him.”

And that’s the reality that hurts me the most. When Kane divulged the betrayal he’s been working so hard to overcome, I felt intense pride and adoration for him—of how strong of a man he was for mustering up the courage to move on—because he felt something deep inside saying that taking a risk with his heart again to pursuemewas worth it. And that risk turned out to be catastrophic when Trevor waltzed back into our lives less than forty-eight hours ago.

Now, I can’t even get him to talk to me. I know he’s hurting, I know he’s probably just as distraught as I am that our lives were so intertwined, yet we were miles apart from each other, but I don’t know how much longer I’m supposed to wait. How long will he make me wait? Is there even an appropriate time frame to move past something like this? What if he takes off and I never get to tell him about his child—our child?

“Drew, he won’t speak to me. I’ve tried calling and texting so many times, but Ineedto talk to him. Ineedto know if we’re okay…”

Drew lets out a long breathe and then pauses before he hits me with the truth. “I wish I could tell you how to make that happen, but Kane does things in his own time. Hell, it took three years and meeting you to convince him to finally open up his heart and mind to the idea of dating again. The man internalizes everything, Liv. I can’t imagine what’s going on in his head, but I know he’s a mess and probably just needs to sort it all out.”

“But I want him to sort it out withme. I need him to know that I had no idea that Trevor was T.J.. I’m terrified of what he must be thinking about me right now, if he wonders if this was some twisted way to hurt him again. Can you talk to him?”

“I tried calling him, but he won’t answer me either. Just give him some time. I know that must feel impossible. Hell, I can’t stand when Tammy won’t talk to me for a few hours. But Kane will come to you when he’s ready, that I’m sure of.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if he can’t move past this?” I whisper, afraid that if I speak my fear too loudly it will come true.

Drew just stares at me and swallows hard. “I… I don’t know, Olivia. I hope he’s the man I know he is and he can…”

I nod, accepting that I have no control in this situation—even though it is ripping my heart and mind to shreds—and then the bell rings, signaling the end of our prep period.

“Shit. Now I have to go teach like this,” I sniffle while wiping my face again and righting my pants and sweater as I stand.

“Just have the kids work independently today or in groups. Tell them you’re not feeling well. We’re human too, Olivia, and teachers are allowed to have bad days.”

“Thanks, Drew. If you do happen to speak to Kane, please tell him to call me or come see me.”

“I will,” he says before pulling me into a hug. I grab my coffee thermos and trudge down the hall and outside of the building, making my way back to my classroom. The chill of the wind bites my face, the cold borderline painful—but I welcome it. It’s a momentary reprieve from the pain in my chest that only Kane can help diminish. My hand rubs over my stomach, remembering that it’s not just me who will feel Kane’s absence if he can’t move past this. There’s a whole other person who will miss him too.

Chapter 39

Kane

My knee is bouncing up and down as I wait on the couch outside of Dr. Martinez’s office. I texted her last night and told her that I needed to see her—that it was an emergency. The only appointment she had available was at eleven Monday morning, so I called for a sub, emailed sub plans into the secretary at work, and waited on pins and needles for my scheduled time to arrive, hoping I would leave this meeting feeling less turmoil than I’ve felt for the past day and a half.

The walls of her office are grey with a few paintings scattered around—watercolor depictions of ponds and flowers, places of serenity and beauty. I suspect those pictures and the color of the walls are supposed to offer a calming effect to patients, but all they’re making me think of is Olivia and the grey cloud cast over our once serene relationship right now.

“Kane, come on in,” Dr. Martinez calls me, pulling me from my mindless perusal of the walls and the tormenting thoughts running through my mind, forcing me to stand and follow her into her room. She turns on the noise maker outside of the door to help with privacy, then shuts the door quietly and faces me as I settle into the dark grey couch. What’s with all of the grey in this place?

“So, I know you said this appointment was an emergency, Kane. I hope you’re alright. You’ve been doing so well,” she starts, grabbing her pad and pen and sitting snugly in her chair across from me. Her black hair streaked with greys falls around her face, a small clip pulling the bulk of it out of her dark brown eyes—those same eyes that took pity on me and helped change the man sitting before her.

“No, I’m not fucking alright,” I grit out as she arches an eyebrow in warning at me for my language. “Fuck, I’m sorry. But Doc, there’s no other word besidesfuckto describe the turmoil I’m feeling right now.”

She nods. “I can feel the anger coming off of you in waves, Kane, so do me a favor and try a few controlled breaths like we’ve practiced,” she prompts, rolling her hand in front of her to usher me to start.

I inhale for five seconds and then exhale for the same length of time. I do this repeatedly until I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders and neck and feel calm enough to speak.

In with the good, out with the bad.

Visuals of punching T.J. in the face still flash through my mind, but they’re more like fuzzy pictures now, rather than vivid lines and clear images I’ve been envisioning since I saw him the other night.

“Okay, that’s better. Now, tell me what happened.”

“I feel pathetic for being here,” I confess, the defeat I feel overwhelming me at the moment.

“Why?”

“Because my anxiety and rage is so bad right now that I had to call my therapist for an emergency meeting,” I fire off a little too harshly.

Dr. Martinez scolds me right away, throwing a stern gaze and finger in my direction. “Uh, uh… Kane, do not beat yourself up for being here. I wish half of my clients knew when to contact me like you do. You’ve learned the signs of an attack and when to listen to your mind and body. As a therapist, that’s exactly what I wish for my clients. It takes courage to admit when we need help, when the weight of the world feels too heavy for us to bare alone. You are not pathetic. You are stronger than most.”

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