Like wisps from a windblown dandelion, one topic after another darted over my brain’s hills and valleys, making it difficult to focus on just one—until a major seedling started blowing by more than the others.
Still, I desperately tried to ignore it.
“Shit.” I sighed.
I had to think about what had happened at Clear Horizons, as well as before, and after.
Analyzing my behavior the day Abbigail had me carted off to that place had to be done. Yes, that place. Christ, I couldn’t even think of its name without getting chafed. My mind had been anything but clear that day, or even the few preceding it. All right, so maybe I hadn’t been sensible for a long while—but knowing I was considered that unstable and dangerous to the people around me, my very family and loved ones, was past the point of unsettling. Throughout the years—fine, my entire life—I’d struggled with staying in optimum mental health. The social stigma attached to being diagnosed with a mental health disorder hadn’t helped either. But I would never hurt another person. No. There’d always been just one target of my abuse.
Me.
If there were an award for self-doubt and self-recrimination, I’d win hands down. Year after year, I would be the top of the heap at hating myself and everything about me. Of course, to the outside world, I didn’t appear insecure or fragile. Those particular flaws were hidden by a mask that had been carefully constructed over the years. I had perfected the art of the sham. Fake it until you make it—and look good while doing so.
Next, the unnecessary apology. Also, a professional in that arena. Shamefully, I can admit to apologizing for apologizing. All while maintaining it was perfectly rational to do so. Routinely, people forgave me for things I haven’t even done. The trick was to believe the nonsense yourself, so the sell was authentic. I was convinced I was responsible for every adverse action and reaction within a five-mile radius at all times. Just a precious gift my mother bestowed upon me when I was very young. She adopted the awesome parenting style of guilt as guidance, and I always took the bait. After all, at that age, every child wants to please their parent. If that meant feeling bad for every wrong or bad thing that happened, often encouraged by her insults and misplaced anger, then that’s what I did! I was committed to the cause and excelled. Who could blame a girl for doing her best?
Identifying my flaws had never been a problem. Figuring out how to quit the bad habits afterward had been the real issue. That, and believing I was worth finding a solution in the first place. Throughout my life, I’d spent more money on therapist office visits than most people do on groceries. Yet there I was, freshly sprung from a mental health care facility like an ordinary convict.
Shit. I even failed at being crazy.
A click in the doorknob warned me Grant was back.
I was lying with my face turned away from the door, so I relaxed my breathing and slid my eyes shut, feigning sleep in hopes he’d peek in and leave. Not an easy feat, considering Grant Twombley seemed to shrink a room just by entering it. His imposing height, confident strength, and charismatic presence eclipsed everyone and everything else. Surely I wasn’t the only one who knew that about the man, though I was certainly the human benefiting—suffering?—from it as he came all the way into the cabin, moving closer by quiet steps.
With equal grace, he slid his full body onto the bed behind me.
Damn it!
My eyes popped open, and I was careful not to sharply inhale from the sudden shortage of oxygen in my blood.
There he went again, slicing every air molecule in half. That was only what he did to the atmosphere outside my body. Inside, I was roiling heat—and inescapable confusion.
Why was he back in here so fast?
According to the man himself, he had a ton of work piling up, yet I hadn’t seen him check his phone outside the calls he took from Sebastian and Abbi. Had he already finished with his professional obligations as well as his workout?
And right now, with him so achingly near, did I really care if he had?
I didn’t bother answering myself on that one either. I wanted to savor every millisecond of this moment instead.
Grant didn’t move any closer. Nor did he make a move to touch me.