Page 88 of I Blame the Alcohol

Can’t wait.

Lou smiles, pointing to a store down the road, “Lacey would love that garden shop. I’ll have to keep it in mind as an activity we could do next year.”

Following her finger, I spy the greenhouse doubling as a boutique next to an equally adorable coffee shop. Rival status aside, Silverwood has the kind of charm that makes you want to spend your days walking downtown and getting lost in the mom-and-pop shops you only find in towns this small.

If I wasn’t a loyal Tiger, I would be seriously tempted to spend more time here.

“That’s a great idea.” I take a deep breath and finally unbuckle my seatbelt, “Okay, I am going in now.”

“You got this!” Lou gives me a reassuring smile as I make a move to open the door. Just before pulling the handle, I pause and glance back at her.

“Do you think you could wait ten minutes before leaving? Just in case this doesn’t work out and I come running out screaming.”

Lou nods, “Of course. I wasn’t planning on leaving until I was sure you weren’t going to make a break for it.”

“Thank you.” Before I can give it any more thought, I yank on the handle and hurl myself from the car. Forcing myself to keep walking all the way to the door, I knock before the doubt has a chance to creep in.

The door swings open and white-blonde hair assaults my vision. I blink as a guy my age comes to a halt upon seeing me, the shock crossing his face a mirror image to the one crossing my own.

“Stella O’Brien.” He gives me a cool nod, locking me in a penetrating gaze.

“Skylar Vin.” Otherwise known as the younger brother of the psychopath who injured Cody last semester. The lacrosse bully that is Vector Vin.

Skylar shifts, drawing my attention to the massive sketchbook tucked under one arm. I consider making a crack about trauma being artistic inspiration but decide to keep my mouth shut. Even though we’ve been attending the same lacrosse games for years, Skylar and I have never hit it off.

To be honest, something abouthimseems a bit off, but then again, it could just be the bad image Vector projects over them both.

“A little far from home, aren’t you?” Besides the white-blonde hair, there aren’t many similarities between the Vin brothers. Where Vector is all brawn and bulk, Skylar is lean and slender. And while Vector’s nasally voice wouldn’t win him any singing competitions, Skylar’s smooth undertones gives him radio host potential.

I shrug, “It’s always good to broaden one’s horizons.”

Not a trace of a smile is cracked by my response, Skylar simply goes back to studying me. I study him right back, refusing to be intimidated by his older brother’s reputation. My gaze dances between his blue and brown irises, the opposing colours making each of them stand out in a strange but beautiful way.

“Stella?” A friendly looking woman peeks over Skylar’s shoulder, her proximity making him hunch out of the way. With a wave, she gestures for me to come in, “Please, make yourself at home. Skylar was just leaving.”

I give Skylar a tight smile as he ambles past me, but he ducks his head, avoiding my gaze and yanking up the hood of his Sabers sweater.

Weird.

Turning my attention back to the matter at hand, I tentatively step through the doorway as my new therapist chatters cheerfully, “My name is Karen, and I am here to help any way I can. What that will look like will be up to you.”

She leads me through a small office, passing what looks to be her workstation, and heads towards a large sitting room. Karen gestures for me to take a seat on the beige couch lining the far wall while she makes herself comfortable on the chair directly across from me.

A vintage clock ticks on the wall, the insistent chiming keeping in time with the nervous tapping of my foot. I force myself to stop, wishing I had thought ahead to bring a water bottle or something to occupy my hands with.

The wooden table sitting between us catches my attention and I notice for the first time the bright yellow box of tissues sitting upon it.

Casually adjusting her floral dress, Karen nods towards them, “You’ve noticed our sunshine tissues. Each one has a different message written on it, something uplifting to help when these sessions get difficult.” She smiles kindly at me, “All patients are welcome to help themselves. Sometimes these sessions can be overwhelming.”

I try not to let my horror show as I contemplate reading a snot-covered pocket card in front of a stranger. I can’t tell if that is better or worse than the simple act of crying.

“Thanks, but I can assure you those will not be necessary.”

Karen nods thoughtfully, “Of course. They are there just in case.” She grabs a pen from the cupholder beside her and clicks it, “Shall we get started then?”

“Sure.”

Karen makes herself comfortable and gives me a warm smile, “Did you book this appointment, or did someone do it for you?”

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