Page 88 of Quake

His face lights up. “You said you ‘loved’ those things. What’s changed?”

I have to fight the groan making its way up my throat. “I’ve been playing more recently, but not nearly as much as I used to. It was something Alex and I used to do together, mostly, and since he’s been gone, it just doesn’t feel as enjoyable.”

“Is that because that emotion you describe as dread comes creeping in?” he asks with a heavy nod, gaining me the confidence I need to tackle this topic.

“Yeah, I guess it just makes me think a lot about Alex and all the memories we shared and the ones we’ll never get to make,” I answer, but a frog is lodged in my throat. I don’t feel quite as sick talking about this as I’d expected to, but it definitely doesn’t feelgood.

“How about this, then? This week, I want you to play or sing whatever you want, and when you start to feel that dread creep in,I want you to just play past it. Maybe include your partner in the activity so you can start to develop new, happier memories. Then, when we meet next week, I want to discuss how it made you feel. If you think you can handle it, maybe jot down a few sentences about how you felt afterward so we can discuss it.”

“That sounds like…” I hesitate. “Like a lot,” I answer as panic threatens to seize me. I clench my eyes shut, dragging in a breath for four seconds, holding it for four, and breathing it out for four before opening my eyes. “But I’m willing to try.”1

Dr. Fasano’s lips curve into a smile. “That was very impressive, Gianni. The way you were able to sense your emotions trying to get the better of you, and then you were able to do something about it even with someone else watching. That was excellent,” he praises. “And giving it a try is all I ask. Not every technique is going to work the same for everyone. If this doesn’t work for you, we’ll just try something new. Give it a shot, and if it proves to be too much, we’ll reconsider what you might be ready for next week. Don’t hesitate to call my office if you feel you need to speak with me sooner, okay?”

We finish up our conversation and end the call after scheduling another appointment right before my follow-up with Dr. Slader next week so it doesn’t interfere too much with my soccer schedule.

Speaking of which, I have a game in a few hours that I need to get ready for.

1. Welcome to the Black Parade – My Chemical Romance

Chapter fifty

Lark

Saturday, May 3, 2025

“I’m hungry,” I whine as we head back to our apartment building.

Gianni places his hand on my lower back, grinning at me as he turns me around to walk in the opposite direction. “Let’s get lunch then.”

“Ooh, I know just the place! It’s close, and they’re dog-friendly as long as we’re out on the patio,” I tell him, and a little squeal passes my lips.

His bright eyes crinkle at the corners as he extends his arm in front of us. “Lead the way,ma petite rouge.”

A few minutes later, we’re standing outside of the Rusty Dog Saloon,which has nothing to do with any of the above. It doesn’t even have a Western theme, but they have the best live performers.

The hostess seats us at one of the metal tables along the sidewalk, the dark-green umbrella guarding our eyes from the sun.

Pickles and Tiny lie down under the table as Gianni and I take our seats across from one another.

After we order our food, I relax into the seat, letting the warm sun’s rays soak into my skin.

“What’s that smile for?” Gianni asks with a lilt in his voice.

“Oh, nothing,” I tease. “I’m just with a really hot guy at one of my favorite burger spots on a beautiful day, and I’m enjoying it.”

“You think I’m really hot?” he asks with a wink. He chuckles, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, for sure.The hottest,” I assure him, always wanting to feed his ego when I have the chance.

“Well, you, little red, are the most magnificent, gorgeous, breathtakingly stunning person to ever live. And you have a really fantastic ass.” He smiles brightly, and his white teeth glimmer in the sun.

My heart stammers. No one has ever said anything remotely that kind to me. It was almostpoetic?

“Gi, do you write music?” I ask, my brow lifting in question as I nibble on my bottom lip, waiting for the inevitable blush to climb up his neck.

His eyes cast downward, and his cheeks pinken, supplying the answer without speaking the words.

“You do! I knew it!” I shout, my smile beaming at him.

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