Page 48 of Show Me How to Heal
“Anything.”
Moritz sighed. “You’ll have to do one thing or the other, Luki. The USA is far away, but it’s not out of this world. It’s a matter of time until someone finds you, until someone fuckingGooglesyou.”
“My realtor already has,” I whispered. “But he promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. Apparently, he’s best friends with a former football player — American football, that is — who relocated here. So he knows what the media can be like.”
“You do realize that a celebrity living in your smalltown means it’s even more likely for someone to recognize you?”
“Mhmm.” I didn’t say anything else. I just let out a huge sigh and closed my eyes. My fairytale fantasy of starting over was slowly turning into a wicked nightmare.
“Think about what I said,” Moritz said after a while. “You’ll have to choose one option sooner or later. Don’t risk someone getting ahead of you by waiting too long. And Luki?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to think about getting a therapist — or getting back in contact with yours.”
In theory, I had a therapist. But due to me moving to the other side of the world, I’d fallen out of touch. I’d have to think about it. Finding someone new meant having to tell them about me. Who I was. Another one in the know. Another risk.
My chest tightened, constricting my lungs. I couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t get enough air in my lungs.
“Yeah,” I croaked, desperately trying not to let Moritz know I was close to having a panic attack. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
I ended the call as my vision started to swim. I curled into a ball, trying to get my breathing under control. Everything was okay. Everything was fine. I didn’t have to call a therapist if I didn’t want to. No one could force me to do anything. No one knew where I was. I was completely anonymous here.
A strangled half-laugh, half-sob left my lips.
Yeah. Who was I trying to kid?
LUKAS RICHTER: WHAT IS HIS MANAGER TRYING TO HIDE? CEASE AND DESIST LETTERS ARE BEING SENT TO NEWSOUTLETS – WHY?
Chapter 12
Zayne
I sat alone in my shop, Luke’s present lying on the counter, while I watched him pull out of his parking spot like he was being chased by wild bears. Grizzlies, mind you, not cute little black bears. I didn’t know how to feel about his departure — or our conversation beforehand for that matter.
He didn’t want his face on social media. Okay, I could live with that. Had I hoped he might join me on my channel sometimes? Yeah. Was I a bit disappointed he wouldn’t? Maybe. But it was okay. He had every right not to want that. I knew people who hated social media.
Hell, I’d had people in my marketing classes in college that were absolute social media wizards, knowing the ins and outs of how to make a page successful — without having any personal accounts.
It was just the way he said it and the look in his eyes… he’d been terrified — and that was before he’d basically run out on me.
I sighed and shook my head.
The day had been wild. The soft opening had been incredibly successful, almost all my friends had been there to celebrate with me. My regular farmers market customers had come. Hell, even Corey had managed to be back right on time.
Everyone loved the design, and my new product lines had sold reasonably well. The overall sales were a lot higher than expected. I should be through the roof. Yet here I was, moping, because my favorite employee slash friend with benefits slash maybe relationship didn’t want to celebrate with my friends in the bar. Oh, and because Addy, despite his promises and a kindly worded invitation I’d sent yesterday via text, hadn’t shown up.
I tried remembering Luke’s words about not being able to help someone who didn’t want help, but it was hard. I just wanted him here. I wanted my friend back.
And on that note, I needed to hurry up because my friends, the ones who had, in fact, shown up today, were waiting for me.
I took the gift in hand, shaking it. There was a dull thumping. The package wasn’t heavy. About a foot long, half a foot in width and height. The wrapping paper was… yeah, he’d put in the effort to wrap it. It was thoughtful. Did I like pink and rose colored wrapping paper with roses printed all over them that looked like something even my grandma would consider outdated? Not particularly, but he’d wrapped it. And I sincerely hoped he’d bought the paper on short notice to be able to hand me a proper present. I really, really hoped this paper wasn’t the kind he just had lying around in his home — especially since he’d just moved across continents. If that were the kind of style his home was done in, I definitely needed to reevaluate our relationship.
But since the paper was incredibly hideous, I didn’t feel bad about ripping it off in one go, blinking in confusion about what was inside. A shoebox.
I furrowed my brows.
Well, maybe he’d stuffed my gift into the shoebox so wrapping would be easier?
