Page 24 of Wine & Whiskey: Everything for You
“Then, why were you scared?”
The last few months have been a kaleidoscope of emotions from the greatest heartbreak to almost indescribable happiness. Now, she’s caught somewhere in between. Nick sits outside the door, worrying and waiting. No man has ever made her feel more loved. Or overwhelmed by the immense feelings he stirs in her. Yet, not even he can save the tiny joy slipping away from them.
“The doctor thought my ex-boyfriend was the father of my baby. She mentioned a few things about him I knew would upset Nick. I was so flustered, I thought he would care more about being mad at Evan for what he did, rather than about my miscarriage.”
“Now that you’ve had some time to reflect on the situation, do you still believe that?”
“No more freaking out or running away. Just you and me, together.”His words, uttered in fear, yet infused with certainty, are a reminder of their commitment to each other. “No. He only cares about me. And, he’s scared for me, about my…panic attack.”
“Does he know what happened? The memories that were flooding your mind, as you described it?”
If it were up to him, he would hide her away from the rest of the world, protecting her from everyone and everything he fears could hurt her. Not realizing her own mind may be the enemy. “Yes. I was threatened a few months ago. Then, his cousin shot him and kidnapped me before killing himself.”
“That’s why you were in the hospital? Why Dr. Callahan asked me to speak with you?”
Heat warms her body as a shudder rolls up her spine. Her facade of courage begins to crumble at the direction of the questions. “Yes.”
“What emotions come to mind when you think about his cousin?”
Carter. She’d rather think about the surfing teenager than the man who let his jealousy destroy everything that used to mean something to him. Push away the thoughts of her friend turning on her to punish Nick. “Sad. Confused. Helpless. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Do you think it was your responsibility…?”
Her voice fades away as the memory of Nick crumpled on her bathroom floor flashes in her mind.
Red streaks across the white walls and gray swirl tile.
Creaking metal from the broken door straining against the bent hinges.
Pinched skin from his fingers yanking her down the hallway.
Her lungs full of the salty bitterness of Carter’s sweat, unbearable to breathe.
She bolts up from the sofa. “I can’t do this.”
Dr. Meyer tosses the file onto the table and stands across from her. “Look at me. We’re just talking. No one’s going to hurt you. Tell me what you’re remembering, and I promise I will help you get through it.”
She stares at the door, willing Nick’s presence on the other side to give her strength. Her whisper trembles in her own ears, “He held a gun to my head and forced me to go with him.”
The doctor’s face fills her view, pushing out all other distractions, giving her something to focus on as she tries to squelch the fear stealing her breath. “Let’s think about this for a minute. Describing the situation, the words shot, kidnapped…” Dr. Meyer touches the tip of each finger, ticking off the list. “Gun, and forced have come out. If this same incident happened to your friend or your sister, would you blame them? Would you question why they didn’t try to stop the person who was hurting them?”
The calmness of Dr. Meyer’s voice releases some of the tightness in her chest, cutting through the fuzziness with the clarity of realization. “No, of course not.”
“He betrayed you. You had faith in your relationship with him, and he broke it.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I thought I could trust him, and I was wrong. It makes me wonder who else can’t really be trusted. I don’t like feeling like that. I don’t want to be jaded or afraid.” She wipes away tears threatening to spill out. “I want to feel like I’m in charge of my own life and not being controlled by other people.”
Motioning toward the couch, Dr. Meyer takes her own seat, but doesn’t break their gaze. “Who’s controlling you?”
She sits down, wrapping her arms around one of the throw pillows. The silky fabric is cool on her fingers, a welcome relief from the sting of guilt warming her body from feeling ungrateful and spoiled. “My mom and Evan used to. Now, my manager tries to. I’m ready to make my own decisions, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Why not?”
Her fingers trail the trio of buttons lining the edge of the brown square. “I never have before. People won’t like it.”
