Page 128 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

“Don’t be his disease, Jer.”

He hums deep in his throat. “Damn, that’s a good line. I said that?”

“You know you did.” I laugh. “And you were right. Lovin’ someone fully doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It just means you do it anyway, even with the fear, because they deserve all your pieces.” I swallow, dropping the buttery popcorn from my hands, my appetite suddenly disappearing. “So if you can’t give him every piece of you, then love him enough to let him go so he can find someone who will.”

It’s strange, switching places with Jeremy. Being the one who gives the advice instead of the one who needs to take it. I guess reflection makes you see your mistakes in a different light.

And maybe that’s the difference between success and failure—whether you acknowledge your mistakes and learn from them, or choose to bury yourself in the debris of their destruction.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He heaves a deep breath down the line. “Shit, I don’t wanna talk about me anymore, it’s depressing. Tell me why I was gearing up for you to come out here but I still don’t see that sweet ass anywhere in Cali?”

I sigh. “Runnin’ away ain’t gonna solve my issues, Jer.”

He chuckles. “Finally you admit it.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you weren’t the one to say it.”

“Becca, I learned a long time ago that telling you something and having you really hear it are two totally different things. If you want to run away from your problems, there’s nothing I can say to make you stop. There never has been… Plus, maybe I was willing to be a little bit selfish this time, wanting to have you close again.”

My chest twinges when I think about how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. “I’ll still come out and visit sometime. Just after I’m done tryin’ to turn over a new leaf and all that.” I hesitate, before spouting out the thing I’ve been dying to get off my chest. “I got this number from Lee’s man. This… therapist guy. Apparently, he’s the best.”

“A therapist? Jesus, Becca. I never thought I’d see the day.”

I cringe, throwing another kernel of popcorn in my mouth. “Yeah, well… I figure if he can fix Chase, he can do somethin’ with lil’ ol’ me. He’s in Nashville, though, so I don’t know if it’s gonna work out.”

“Don’t you hate him?”

“Who, Chase?” I stop mid-chew, thinking about what my feelings actually are toward Chase these days. “Hate’s a strong word. I don’t necessarily trust him. That’s probably more ‘cause of me than him, though.” I purse my lips.

I’ve always believed that if you give a man long enough, they’ll live to let you down. Watching Chase with Lee over the years only cemented my belief that he was just like Papa. But I don’t think that’s the truth. I think Chase has a good soul, he’s just been lost on how to show it.

I’m not sure Papa even has one, or if he does, he sold it for his sins a long time ago.

“Are you gonna set up an appointment?” Jeremy asks.

Honestly, I don’t want to. I’m scared that if I start to dig up my issues, I’ll end up ripping them out and nothing will be left.

Who am I if I’m not who raised me?

But I know I can’t keep living this way. Not if I want to be healthy. Happy. Free of these demons that keep me chained to my folks and living in purgatory, blaming my decisions on other people with no way of knowing how to stop.

So yeah, I’ll call him.

But it’s the next morning before I actually get the nerve.

It’s freeing not being at church on a Sunday. Still, there’s an anxiety that trickles through my veins, making me feel like God may smite me down for missing service as much as I have.

I haven’t been back since the revelation with my momma, but neither of my folks has so much as picked up the phone since. I expect they will soon. Small-town folk love to talk, and my absence won’t go unnoticed for much longer.

I find it hard to care.

There’s a cup of coffee growing cold in front of me while I sit at my dining table. My phone is in my hand, thumb poised over the green button as I stare at the ugly owl Lee bought me as a gag gift. I put it on the top shelf of my kitchen cabinet, swearing I would cherish it forever. But now, I can feel its wooden, buggy eyes staring at me. Judging me for not being able to make a damn phone call.

With a deep breath, I press call. It only rings twice before a voice comes over the line. “This is Dr. Andalor.”

“Hi. Is this… is this Doc? I was given this number from a friend and I’d like to make an appointment, I think?” I squeeze my eyes shut. Stupid.

“I believe I may be the Doc you’re looking for. May I know who I’m speaking with?”

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