Leaving the squishy yard for the gravel drive has my bare feet aching as I walk over tiny rocks that are digging into the soles of my feet. I come to a vehicle covered in a tan car tarp. I plant my hands on the trunk and gulp humid lungful after lungful of air, fully hyperventilating by now.
You know you’re the actual worst, right? Practicality directs her remark at Anxiety who I agree is definitely the actual worst part of me.
“You’re having an anxiety attack,” he says in a way that is neither question nor statement.
I don’t bother denying it. The cold sweat on my brow and the hyperventilating is pretty telling. “Breathe, baby. You’re okay, Rae. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re in control,” he coaches like a true pro and it breaks my heart that he knows about these things. Who has been there for his meltdowns? Anyone? He consoles me, touching me gently, talking softly in my ear for several minutes. He waits patiently for me to gain control again. I wipe my face and take a deep cleansing breath feeling suddenly exhausted. That’s one of the worst parts of anxiety attacks. Aside from the pounding heart that convinces me I’m dying once it’s over I am left completely ragged. Bone-tired exhaustion sweeps in like twilight.
“Why are you trying to run? Where are you going to go? Why won’t you just talk to me? Look at yourself. You’re a goddamn mess, Rae.”
“Sylas,” I warn balling two fists into the tarp under my hands.
“Why?” he asks and very simply but my defenses are locked in place. He can ask questions until he’s blue in the face and I’d give him nothing. He started this ball rolling all those years ago when he deceived me, betrayed me. “Why this? Why did things fall apart back then?”
“Sy, I don’t want to rehash things that happ—”
“I’m not trying to poke old wounds but don’t you think I deserve an explanation? I figure, hell, five minutes ago I was deep inside of you watching you fall apart with me and just that quick,” he snaps his fingers crisply, “you’re already shutting me out and I know you said you don’t want to talk about old shit but fuck it. You’re already walking away so I may as well ask, right? I deserve to know.”
I narrow my eyes at him then motion my chin toward his chest where the Marine Corps tattoo he got is inked. “You could start there,” I clip, turning away from him. My eyes catch on a red bumper peeking out from beneath the tarp concealing the car. I glance at him and pull the tarp back further. Sy groans and rubs his fingers into his temples.
“My car,” I mumble, glancing back at him completely dumfounded. I walk along the side of my old Mustang, pulling the cover off as I go. I stare mindlessly at the car for a long moment before looking back to Sylas. He has his hands propped low on his hips. He’s grimacing with his head tilted to the side. “Why do you have my car, Sylas?”
“First of all, it’s my car now. I bought it from your dad when he stopped driving the delivery trucks at work,” he says coolly as he plucks the tarp from my hand and begins folding it neatly.
“Why in the world… would Daddy… sell my car to you?” I stutter in disbelief. “And since when does he not drive the delivery trucks?” I wrack my brain for a moment searching for a memory of mom telling me this news. Perhaps I had not been paying attention or maybe I skimmed the text message containing this information.
Classic disinterested Raegan Potter, Self-Loathing snorts.
“Rae, he hasn’t driven a truck since he was diagnosed with diabetes two years ago. He’s insulin dependent. He lost his commercial driver’s license, so the company moved him to a dispatch position. He was able to keep a job, but he took a pay cut. He sold some stuff to help pay some bills,” he shrugs.
“Not possible.” I shake my head in denial. “Momma would tell me if Daddy was sick,” my accent seeps into my words much to Negativity and Self-Loathing’s horror.
“Would she?” Sylas counters tossing the folded tarp on the trunk of the car. “I’m not the only one you left in your dust, Rae,” he grumbles. I wince and turn away from him as tears collect in my eyes. I keep my back to him, my arms hugging my middle, too embarrassed to cry in front of him. Pea gravel crunches under his feet as he comes closer to me.
“Rae,” he says tugging my elbow, forcing me to face him. “They didn’t want to distract you from your big career. They made me promise not to tell you I bought the car. Apparently they know you hate me too but they don’t know why either,” he guffaws humorlessly. “And anyway, I didn’t want anyone else driving your car. We have some good memories in this baby, don’t we?” He waggles his eyebrows. “Come on, don’t be upset.” He says pulling me roughly to his chest.
How can I not be upset? My father is sick, and no one figured I would care enough to want to know. Sy said it’s because they didn’t want to bother me but I’m not an idiot. I can read between the lines. The things I have done, the way I have been in the name of self-preservation are not all things I am entirely proud of. Hurting my family even inadvertently—making them feel like they can’t talk to me or depend on me is high on my list of shame. Right beneath that on my list is my secret vilification of Sylas just so I can cope with my own ugly truth in my own twisted way while he’s here doing things to help my family. I am glad that he was here to help them.
“Sy, there’s plenty I hate but you aren’t one of them,” I declare firmly even through my exhaustion. “Thank you for being there for them,” I whisper with my forehead resting against the hard plains of his chest.
“Wanna pay me back?” he asks.
“What does that entail?”
“Stay here with me a while, agree to help me,” he states more than asks.
“I have to work,” I laugh humorlessly.
“When do you have to leave?” he asks with his lips in my hair.
Like, an hour ago, Regret rolls her eyes.
“Soon. I’ll probably catch a flight back tomorrow.” I yelp when Sylas tosses me over his shoulder again and tromps across the pea gravel then to the soggy yard. “Sy! Put me down!” I laugh breathlessly.
“Nope. After the little taste of heaven we shared you’re out of your gourd if you think I’m going to let you run back to the airport,” he says then swats my butt. “I’ll tie you to the headboard,” he promises darkly.
“Into kink now, Sylas?” I tease slapping his firm ass. He tips me back, setting me gently to my feet, our bodies firmly pressed together. My nose grazes against his on my way to my feet. His breath tickles against my cheek. We just stare at each other for a long moment. Maybe his mind is racing like mine. Maybe he’s memorizing me like I am memorizing him.
“You used to be my whole world then you vanished overnight. All these years… What do I have to do to convince you to stay a while longer? Just a while, and while you’re here, give me a little help on a project?” The edge of desperation in his voice breaks something inside me where I once had a heart—the same heart that loved him so much it destroyed me.
Do it! Do it! Do it! Optimism chants.
“What’s the project?”
“A fundraiser for my nonprofit. I have big plans for Buzzsaw Charted Fishing but they require that this event bring on some donors with deep pockets. You have connections. Your presence alone at the event will drum up publicity…” he trails off.