Page 336 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
In the quiet of myself, all their predictions of my life hit me hard—marriage, moving in, babies, leaving everything behind.
I built my life, my routine, and my career.
Can I really step away from it all for him? For a Wilde?
The idea of sharing a space, every day, forever, sounds so permanent, too fast.
I love him.
I always have.
But giving up the independence I’ve fought so hard to obtain?
The Hive that is all mine. The nights I spend with my sisters, the quiet mornings with just myself and my coffee. Am I ready to share this with him? Am I prepared to trust him?
That’s what it all comes down to—this trust between us.
He lied to me. He ghosted me. He hid behind fear, hurting me along the way. What if he does it again? Like the night of the big game. Like the last ten plus years.
I can barely catch my breath.
I bend forward, my hands grasping my knees. Breath scrapes at the top of my throat. It’s too tight. Not enough air.
I stare at the ground. Blurred gravel. A crushed cigarette.
Am I dizzy?
Or just scared?
The tent behind me buzzes with laughter, music, stomping line-dancing boots, while my heart thunders, my body trembles, and the blood rushing in my ears is deafening.
Then I feel a hand on my back, and I shoot up without thinking.
My elbow cracks against something solid.
57: FACING FEARS
HART
––––––––
A FLASH OF white shoots through my skull.
My hand flies up on instinct, clutching the bridge of my nose.
“Shit—” I stagger back, stunned more by the shock than the pain.
She turns fast, wide-eyed and pale, her chest still heaving like she hasn’t come back down from whatever has her in a panic.
That’s when my nose doesn’t hurt anymore.
“Hey, hey, I’m right here.” I’m reaching for her. “Are you okay? Just breathe with me.”
Her breathing is off, quick and shallow, as if she’s bracing against something only she can see.
She steps back.
That single step says everything.
