Page 11 of Trapped and Tackled

Funk. I wince, absently rubbing along my collarbone where Craig’s nails bit into my skin. Where the tightness of his hold on my throat left bruises. “What is it?”

“The Clarke Country Club Debutante Ball!” Mom squeals.

Oh, gosh. My mouth drops open. “Mom! That’s an actual event,” I hiss. It’s one my mother participated in years ago, when she was seventeen years old. Since then, she’s faithfully served on the organizing committee. But when she asked Lincoln and me to participate in the debutante ball, we both respectfully declined.

It was too…serious for me then. And now, with my life in shambles, I’m even less qualified to participate in an event of that magnitude. Even as a member of the planning committee. Even as a volunteer.

“I know.” Her smile softens. “I had dinner with Marylee Picolin last night and she told me that Claire Tipton?—”

“The Claire Tipton,” I repeat, emphasizing Tipton. The Tipton family has hosted and organized the event for as long as I can remember.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed and reaches for my hand. “Claire is expecting her first baby and was just put on bedrest. She’s in no shape to oversee the event and needs her mom and sisters to help her over the next few months. As a result, the organizing committee is taking on new members. And here you are—with a wealth of New York City experience under your belt.”

“It was one year,” I remind her.

“Plus a year of interning.” She holds up two fingers. “It could be a great opportunity for you, Len. You’d network with so many of the town’s families. And with weddings becoming more and more popular in Tennessee…”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Do you really think I have anything to offer?”

Mom’s eyebrows tug together and her smile slips. “Of course I do. The question is why you don’t? Leni, you are talented, creative, and compassionate. There’s nothing you can’t do.” Spoken like a true mother.

I arch an eyebrow.

“The committee’s been planning for months. Now, it’s more about final details and execution.” Mom taps my hip. “Come on, get up. We’re meeting the ladies at the country club in an hour.”

“You agreed that I’d join?!” I gasp.

Mom tilts her head, studying me. Then, she stands. “A year ago, you would have jumped at the chance.”

Disappointment swirls in my stomach as my fingers clench the hem of my sheet. Mom’s right. A year ago, I would already be in the shower, mentally creating a vision board for the event. Table decor and flower arrangements. Table layouts and a menu.

But…the debutante ball is a big deal. What if I suggest an idea and it flops? What if I disappoint the Tiptons? What if?—

“What’s going on, Len?” Mom’s tone is softer. Her eyes…worried.

Guilt expands in my chest, traveling up my throat until I feel sick. The last thing I want is to worry my mom. To disappoint her.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, swinging my legs to the side of my bed. “I’ll shower and get ready to go.”

I stand and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. I dash into the bathroom, slamming into the vanity as soon as the door is closed behind me.

Black dots flicker in the periphery of my vision and the taste of adrenaline floods my mouth.

Bracing my arms on the ledge of the vanity, I suck in deep breaths. The edge of a panic attack shimmers around me as my heart rate skyrockets.

I hold the ledge of the vanity tightly, forcing myself to get a grip on reality.

Everything is fine. I’m fine.

I’m not going to fail at this. I’m not a failure.

“Leni.” Mom knocks on the bathroom door.

Shit. I meet my wild, unfocused eyes in the mirror and wince. Working a swallow, I turn and flip on the showerhead. The running water soothes me as much as it drowns out the sound of my ragged breathing.

What if I ruin the ball? What if I have no ideas? What was Mom thinking?

“Yes?” I heave over the sink.

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