Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) (11 page)

T
he drive was long and silent except for when Ray called to give Brittany an update. Her mom did indeed have a heart attack, but is alert and in a room. Brittany takes a deep breath and interlocks her fingers with mine while we ride an elevator up to the correct floor.

“She’s okay,” I remind her.

“I know, but I need to see her.”

Brittany pulls me the moment the elevator doors open and drags me down the hallway to room 903. She leaves my side and rushes to her mother, already crying. “I’m sorry. Are you okay? When do you go home?”

“I’m okay, Brittany,” she reassures. Even I can tell she looks exhausted, though. “Can you give us a minute?” she asks, looking at Ray and then me. We leave the room with a nod.

Ray closes the door and proceeds to glare at me. I’m reminded that Jane was the only one who persuaded Brittany to give me another chance. “Why are you here?” he gruffly asks.

“She was freaking out; I didn’t want her to drive like that all this way.”

“So you were with her?”

“She was at my house.”

He frowns. “Jane and I decided that we want her to go back home. We don’t really know much yet, and Brittany doesn’t need to be stuck here with us.”

“I’m not sure she’s going to want to leave.”

“Then we’ll have to convince her. She won’t be helpful here, and she doesn’t need to miss work to obsess over her mother.”

I agree, but Brittany is not going to be happy. “Is Jane really okay?”

“We don’t know much at this point,” he admits. “She napped earlier, but she wanted to be awake for Brittany.”

“What? Mom, no!” we hear Brittany say from the other side of the door.

“That’s my cue,” Ray grumbles.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure whether I should follow him. Deciding it’s a family moment, I walk the short distance to the waiting room. Not five minutes later, Brittany is storming my way.

“Let’s go,” she snaps.

“Everything okay?”

She ignores my question and heads toward the elevator. Her knuckles are white as she squeezes her wrist. She keeps shifting her weight. I can’t help but wonder when she’s going to break and if it’ll be in tears or anger. She huffs as the doors slide open to the parking garage. We find my car and are soon on the road for a long drive back.

Brittany neither cries or shouts her frustrations. She leans her head against the window and falls asleep. I’m not considering that a good response. Anything would’ve been better than shutting down. I’m glad we’re going home, though. I don’t like leaving Lily all night. It’ll be easier after this weekend when a fence and doggie door will be installed.

Four hours later, it’s five in the morning and we’re finally home.

“Brittany, we’re here.”

She easily awakes. “Thanks. I’m going to head home.”

“Are you okay?” I ask as she reaches for the door handle.

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Just because my mom would rather have me four hours away if she dies doesn’t mean I’m not fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” Before I can utter a word, she gets out and quickly gets into her own car.

I’m too tired and sleepy to chase after her. I’ll be lucky to get an hour of sleep before I have to turn around, wake up, and get ready for work. Lily is waiting by the door, eager to go outside. Once she’s done her business, I’m able to fall into bed.

Sleep is much needed these days. Ever since I’ve been able to maintain a regular sleep pattern, my anxiety and depression always come out to play when it’s interrupted. I’m not surprised in the least when I wake up that short hour later, feeling on edge. My heart seems to beat a little faster, my breath comes out a little shorter, and I feel like I’m coiled tightly, waiting to spring at any moment.

It’s been a while since I’ve had an off or bad day. That’s the worst thing about being better: I’m always wondering when it’ll end. Lately, I’ve been too distracted by what’s happening, or not happening, with Brittany. Maybe if I ignore it and keep going as if nothing is wrong, it’ll go away faster? Unlikely, but one can hope.

“You look like shit,” Ben says when I walk into my office. He’s a co-worker of mine.

“Why are you sitting behind my desk?”

“You have something in common with my first client of the day.”

“Which is?” I ask as he stands and moves out of my way.

“You’re both late. Everything all right with you?” He sits in the chair across from my desk.

“I have my own therapist, you know. I don’t need you stealing her job,” I grumble as I look through the files on my desk.

“I like to think of myself as your interim therapist for when you’re in between appointments. The position is otherwise known as being your friend. Are we going to have lunch today? You can finally tell me about that pretty girl you insisted on talking to at the Mexican restaurant yesterday but refused to tell me about. Wouldn’t mind learning about her friend either.” Ben grins and I shake my head at him. “Is that a no?”

Jennifer, the receptionist, pokes her head into my office. “Your first appointment is here, Ben.”

“Thank god,” I mutter.

“I’m hurt. We’re taking our lunch together so I can pull the stick out of your ass.” He stands and leaves.

“Your first appointment canceled, Trace,” Jennifer says. “You have some time to recoup from whatever happened last night.”

“Do I look that bad?”

She gives me a half smile. “A little. Your next appointment is in an hour.”

“Thanks.” She leaves and I sigh.

Grabbing my phone, I text Brittany, asking for an update on her mother. She doesn’t text me back. Ben and I have lunch, where he forces me to spill the beans about Brittany and makes me promise to attempt to set him up with Melissa. I have enough trouble setting myself up with Brittany to worry about setting him up.

By the time the work day has come to a close, the only thing I want is to go home. I go to Brittany’s instead. I don’t like how she’s ignored me today and I need to check on her. Then, I’ll go home and take a long nap.

It takes six knocks before the door swings open. Her eyes are red, her cheeks are stained from tears, and she looks rumpled, causing me to wonder if she went to work today. She looks like she’s wound tight and ready to explode.

“What do you want, Trace?” she tries to snap at me, but her voice is broken.

“I’ve tried texting you and you can’t say you didn’t get them.” I nod down to where her phone is clutched in her hand.

She stares at me for a moment. I can practically see the debate in her head. Does she give me an inch by trusting me with her inevitable breakdown, or does she stay cold and detached because I haven’t earned her trust yet?

“How’s your mom?” I ask.

Her shoulders droop and a tear escapes. “She needs surgery and she doesn’t want me to come.” Brittany turns and starts pacing. I step inside and close the door behind me. “What the hell is wrong with them? I should be there! What if something happens? Even if it doesn’t, I still have the right to be there and they are all but banning me from the hospital! I can’t take this on top of everything else!” She whirls around to face me. “Mom loves you, apparently.” Brittany pokes me hard in the chest. “Talk to her, Trace. Change her mind. They’re so worried about not making me worse, that it’s all they’re doing! What’s so wrong about worrying about my mom? Nothing! That’s
normal
. This bullshit of keeping me away is not!”

I grab her shoulders. “I agree.”

“What?” She seems stunned that I would be on her side.

“She’s your mother and she’s having heart surgery. I don’t think they should keep you away from that. However, this,” I wipe away her tears, “is what they were trying to prevent. They don’t want you sitting in a hospital waiting room, obsessing over every second that passes while she’s in surgery.”

“So, what? It’s better that I mess up at work because I’m too busy worrying about her? What if she dies? My last in-person conversation with her left me pissed off because she kicked me out of town!”

“What about the last phone conversation?”

Brittany narrows her eyes at me. “It was fine, but I still want to be there!” More tears well in her eyes. “You know what sucks? I don’t even have the strength to disobey them and drive down there. How terrible is that? I can’t get over myself and my own problems to go see my mother anyway!” Her voice lowers and she doesn’t seem to be talking to me anymore. “Maybe they’re right to keep me here. Mom worrying over me can’t be good for her heart.”

“Hey, stop talking like that,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms for a hug. “This is what you need to do. Call your mom, talk to her, and tell her you’ll stay, if that’s what you want to do. Tell her you’ll go home this weekend to see her. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind that because she’ll be fine and recuperating after that. That fulfills their wish and gives you time to prepare for a weekend visit home.”

She nods against my chest and then tilts her head back to look at me. “I guess that’s the best we can come up with. Thanks for checking on me.”

“You answering a text would’ve been nice, too,” I lightly tease.

“And keep you from seeing my pretty face? That would be cruel of me, knowing how much you like to see it.” She manages to give me a small smile and I laugh. Then she surprises the hell out of me by lifting onto her toes to kiss me.

At first, it’s light and sweet as if it’s a thank you for stopping by kind of kiss. It can never be just a simple kiss, though. I lose my mind, holding her closer as her arms wind around my neck. Wanting nothing more than to indulge in this woman, I keep kissing her. Slowly. Treasuring the moment and the feel as if it could be lost in any second. Every gasp of air, I take from her. Take. Take. Take. I’ll take whatever she wants to give me. This, being able to hold her, to kiss her, to have her kiss me like I’m the very thing she needs to survive in life, is what I’ve missed the most. Maybe because she’s the very thing I need in my life.

This past year, I learned I could be content in a life where she wasn’t present. However, contentedness is not a way to live. I want to be bursting with happiness. I want to smile stupidly at seemingly nothing because I’m thinking of her. I want to wake up every morning, happier than I thought possible, all because she’s mine. We aren’t quite there yet, unfortunately.

Our kiss goes to hell when I force myself to pull away. Brittany’s hands were getting dangerously close to the button of my pants. Who knew I had so much fucking self-control? Brittany looks more disappointed and hurt than I’d like, but I’m going to stand my ground on the no sex thing.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper.

“Of course not.” She takes a step back. “You should go.” And just like that, I’m the Trace who broke her heart and not the one trying to put it back together.

I
t shouldn’t bother me so much that Trace pulls away when things start heating up, but it does. When I’m thinking clearly, I understand why. But I’m not thinking clearly and the only thing I want is to forget every single problem on my plate.

There’s Trace.

There’s my sick mom who doesn’t want me there.

There’s the fact that I can’t force myself to drive to the hospital anyway.