Page 48 of Trial Run

“That’s not what this is—”

“No one finds out what’s going on.” He stood and folded his arms over his chest, tone steely.

“Of course not. I only want to help you. We’re friends first, not just coworkers. You know that.”

Vanessa rose from her chair and approached him. She opened her arms and folded him into an awkward hug, which he tried to return, but his spine remained stiff with tension.

They broke apart, and he cleared his throat. “I’m headed back upstairs. I have a client in twenty.”

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I can’t imagine how hard this past month has been for you. I wish you had family here, someone to help you out.”

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “There is someone who’s helped me. Helped me a lot more than the medication, if I’m honest. We’re dating.”

Where this sudden urge to tell Vanessa about his personal life had come from, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the atmosphere in her pink and red office, all plastered in hearts.

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is better than Valentine’s Day. Tell me about her.”

“She’s a single mom. She accidentally delivered flowers to my house, and I had a panic attack right in front of her. That’s how we met. The least romantic meeting of all time.”

“Hmm.” Vanessa folded her arms over her chest, considering him.

“She’s different from anyone I’ve known. I want things to work out with her. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Yesterday, I almost had another panic attack, sitting with her on my patio. She’s had a hard time in the past, and she deserves someone who can take care of her, but how can I do that if I’m not well? What if I never get better, or I get better and then it happens again?”

“Ben. Would you tell any of your patients they can’t be in a relationship, just because they have anxiety?”

“Of course not.”

“You know what’s wrong. You’re taking steps to get better. In fact, it seems like she’s the difference.”

“She is. She makes me want to get better.”

“I wish you could see your face when you talk about her. So soft, when you’re normally all closed off. Sorry. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Vanessa tapped a finger on her chin. “I’m having a theory.”

“Oh, no.”

“No, hear me out a minute. You’re normally all closed off because you like to be in control of everything. But from the very start, you let yourself drop your control around her. Or you had to, in a way. Your anxiety forced you to do that. She’s seen you not be in control, not be in charge of everything for once. And maybe that’s what you needed. To have to show your real self to another person.”

“I—” Ben snapped his mouth shut. Vanessa was far, far too good at her job. “You could be right about that. Possibly.”

She patted his arm. “I’m always right about love.” Then she frowned. “Except my own love life. There, I couldn’t tell you what went wrong.”

* * *

That night after work, Ben put on his running clothes—athletic shorts and a thermal long-sleeve top. The spring air would still be chilly in the evening this time of year. He laced up his running shoes, the same brand he’d worn for years. This particular pair had no dirt from outside on the soles.

He would put on the same clothes to run on his treadmill, but that wasn’t his plan tonight. He was going outside. The itchy feeling was back under his skin, like he needed to move, to get fresh air. He’d been trapped in the cage of his house for too long.

At the front door, he didn’t let himself hesitate. He grabbed his keys, stepped out the door, and shut it behind him. On the porch, he did a couple of warm-up stretches, careful to keep his gaze down. The less he looked around, the better.

One sprint around the block would take three and a half minutes, if his treadmill times were comparable to an outdoor run. In three and a half minutes, how much could go wrong? He’d sat on the patio for longer than that at this point.

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