Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (15 page)

            Once I was driving away from Sue’s, I suddenly felt the worst sharp cramp in my stomach. It was so bad that it made me hunch over a bit, like I’d just been sucker punched in the gut. I’d recently gotten off my period, so I knew it wasn’t menstrual cramps. Assuming it was just a whopper of a hunger pang, I figured lunch was in order. My mouth watered when I saw the sign for my favorite fast food joint up ahead. I paused to contemplate and felt like the drive-thru was probably safe if I kept my big sunglasses on. The pimple-faced teenager didn’t bat an eye at my appearance so I drove away, heading for my spot.

            At first it felt wrong to be driving to the north end of the beach, towards Drew. But Drew wasn’t there. This was my spot way before he came into my life or moved to Fernandina Beach. I just needed to think. I just needed to sit with my toes in the sand and eat a damn sandwich without people everywhere. I needed to hear the ca-cawing of seagulls and crashing of waves. I needed the salty breeze on my face and blowing my hair around. And dammit, I needed to be outside without worrying about people seeing my bruised face.

            Before I realized it, I snapped out of my trance and saw that I had parked in Drew’s driveway. A lone tear slipped down my cheek and I exhaled at the emotional overflow. The last time I parked in this driveway was the last time I’d seen Drew. The memories were in broken pieces, like slivers of images and flashbacks, but they were surprisingly vivid enough for me to remember the pain. I reached up and touched my upper cheek with my fingertips under the rim of my sunglasses, feeling the line under my left eye, and winced. Not because it physically hurt, but because the memory was too much for me in the moment. It was as if a loud, James Earl Jones-style voice was shouting for me to leave.
Turn back. Leave now!
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just needed to be close to him in some way, whatever way I could.

            I got out of my car with my lunch in tow and walked along the side of the house around to the back deck, shedding my shoes and climbing over a few dunes to get onto the smoother path to the beach. Sigh. My beach.

            I sat in the sand, leaning my head back to allow the sun to pummel its warmth onto me, and buried my feet. The feeling of peace that this place brought me was better than any drug. The instant slowing of my heartbeat, moments ago racing with adrenaline, was pure bliss. The unwinding of my tension and anxiety was as if someone had just cut right through the rubber band that had me ready to snap. I knew I couldn’t stay long, so I soaked it all up. I took in every sensation as I ate and listened and felt. And when I was finished, I thanked God for beckoning me to this place that I had always considered my church—my private little sanctuary where I could get free therapy and harmony. My spot.

            I took a moment to inventory the house on my walk back. The back deck looked empty and lonely, like it was summoning me. I couldn’t go there. Nothing screamed stalker more than visiting your boyfriend’s house uninvited, especially when he wasn’t there and had no knowledge of it. Nothing seemed more pathetic than sitting on the patio furniture and pretending that he was sitting across from you sharing a cup of coffee together like it was normal. It screamed
Single White Female
. It screamed breaking and entering. It screamed in-fucking-sane. And yet my feet found themselves climbing the steps one by one. None of the blinds were drawn; it looked like he’d left in a hurry. The cushions were stacked up on one end of the couch and a throw blanket lay in disarray across the cushions, like he’d just been lying down watching television. A mug was on the coffee table next to a small, empty plate. When I ventured to the right and peered into the glass separating me from his bedroom, I felt physical pain. Elephant sitting on your chest kind of shortness of breath. The sight was awful. His bed was completely bare down to the mattress. He obviously hadn’t slept in it since the night we were in it together. Right in the middle of it lay a picture frame. I couldn’t see the picture, but I knew by the frame that it was the beautiful black and white photo of his mother. I imagined him sitting on his bed in silent conversation with her image. What would he say to her? What would she say in return? I wondered how she would feel about me and about everything that happened.

            It was all too much. I abruptly turned to leave and headed down the stairs. But instead of turning and walking back to my car, my body propelled itself forward back to the water. You can’t go to the beach and not get your feet wet. I had forgotten to get my feet wet. Needing the calming effect of the ocean to wash away my crazy, I ran toward the tiny ripples of white foam churning up on the sandy shore. The water hit my feet and I breathed in and out slowly to settle my nerves. Wading in until it was halfway up my shins, something caught my attention to my left and I angled my head over to see it. It was a jellyfish floating along the shallow water. A little pink jellyfish about the size of my fist. The irony of the moment was louder than a freight train.

***

            It was unusual to enter my house in the middle of the day and hear the television on, but turning the corner and seeing Liam reclined on the sofa was even more shocking. He appeared to have a bag of frozen peas over his crotch.

            “What are you doing here? And what’s wrong with your junk?” I demanded, feeling slightly irritated but mostly protective of my potentially injured twin.

            He looked up, surprised to see me, and fended off my questioning with a typical wounded ego response. “Nothing.”

            “Why are you icing your balls then? Rough day at the gym?” I knew he worked out with Drew earlier this morning and the thought made me miss him fiercely.

            “It’s fine. I just caught a low blow. I’ll be okay,” he dismissed.

            “Caught a low blow how?” I asked, suspicious. The guys were always very careful not to hurt each other. “Drew hit you?”

            Liam picked up the bag of frozen vegetables, slammed down the foot rest of the recliner, and stomped off down the hall to his room. 

            “What is your problem?” I yelled after him.

            “I said, I’m fine!” he scolded before slamming his bedroom door.

            What the hell? Giving him a few minutes before I went after him, I pondered what his deal was. He was obviously irritated about something that happened earlier at training. I’d seen the guys train. There’s a certain level of respect for practice. You don’t intentionally throw below-the-belt blows at anyone on your team. Ever. But if it was accidental, why be so weird about it? His ego was more bruised than his groin, at my first impression.

            I lightly knocked on his door, asking if I could come in, but got no response. I slowly and calmly opened the door to see him lying on top of the covers, earbuds in and eyes closed.

            “Liam.” 

            He didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me.

            “Liam!” I repeated until his eyes opened.

            He yanked his earbuds out, the music blaring loud enough for me to clearly hear the words across the room. He sat up, inching his body back to a sitting position up against the headboard. “What? Can you just leave me alone?” he requested, but with chagrin, rolling his eyes in irritation.

            “I’m sorry, but no. What’s the matter? Why won’t you talk to me?” I pleaded. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

            “I told you I’d be fine.”

            “Okay. Well, why are you home? If you’re truly okay, then why aren’t you at the gym?”

            His posture and attitude faltered and he brought his hand up to begin biting his fingernail in either nervousness or an attempt to ignore me.

            “Liam, what happened?” I asked, pressing a little further. “You know you can talk to me.” I had a good feeling that he and Drew had a spat and things got out of hand, but I wanted to play dumb so he would tell me and confirm.

            He hesitated, blowing out a frustrated breath, and answered me as if he were being forced to. “Tony brought me home after training in Jacksonville. He said I needed to ‘ice my nuts and get over myself’ and he wouldn’t let me go into work today.”

            I chuckled slightly, hearing the exact statement coming out of Tony’s mouth as if he were in the room. Liam didn’t appreciate me enjoying the moment at his expense, but he didn’t ask me to leave. Yet.

            “And why exactly do you need to get over yourself? What did you do?”

            He refused to look at me. Refused to answer me.

            “Liam? What did you do?” This was becoming exhausting.

            He sat there stewing for a minute or two and then out of the blue confessed his crime, the words coming out in a hurry. “I got Drew into an arm-bar and wouldn’t let go when he said to.”

            “What? Why would you do that? Did you hurt him?” I interrogated, instantly seething at the thought of Drew suffering a potentially career-ending injury at the hands of my pissed off brother.

            “I didn’t hurt him. I’m the one icing my balls,” he defended. “He could’ve tapped but he wouldn’t.”

            “Jesus, Liam. How could you be so reckless? Do you understand how risky that was? You deserved to be kicked in the balls.” I couldn’t remember the last time I was so mad at him.

            “He didn’t kick me, he punched me. Hammer-fisted me actually. It hurt like hell,” he sputtered. “I guess I did deserve it, though.” He blushed, finally actually appearing to feel bad about it.

            My heart ached for Liam. He had to be so confused about all of this. I came around and plopped myself down on the bed beside him, nudging him to make some room for me, and rested my head on his shoulder. We sat like that for a few minutes before he spoke, telling me how awful he felt about it all now, but then he explained in his own way how mad he was at the time, seeing Drew and picturing my face all black and blue. I just listened, holding his hand and consoling him. I resisted the urge to pry further about Drew. I wanted to know how he looked, how he was doing, if he asked about me. The separation was slowly killing me, but it wasn’t something I needed to share with Liam. He needed no further burden. We had a true heart to heart about understanding and forgiveness and it was obvious that while Liam was struggling with it all, he was trying his hardest. After reassuring him, Liam apologized. I told him that the person he should really be apologizing to is Drew and he shrugged but eventually agreed.

Chapter Twenty

DREW

            Sitting in my truck, waiting and watching the clock minutes change slower than the second coming of God was agonizing. I was still reeling from the ridiculous sparring session less than an hour ago. Although I felt stupid for just hanging out in the parking lot of my therapist’s office, I had nowhere else to go and needed to try and decompress.

            I was startled when I heard a rap on my truck window and looked up to see the doc smiling back at me. He stepped back as I opened my door, and appeared to be just arriving.

            “You waiting on me?” he asked lightheartedly. “You’re a few minutes early.”

            “Yeah, sorry. I just got finished with training a little early and didn’t have enough time to go all the way ho—I mean, back to Mick’s.”

            “Oh, that’s no problem. Come on in. We can get started,” he offered.

            I stepped out onto the pavement and reached over to change my t-shirt. The least I could do was leave my sweat-soaked post-workout shirt behind.

            Dr. Greiner meandered around flipping light switches and turning on his computer, leaving me standing still, wondering what I should do. It was clear that he probably didn’t intend on coming in this early and had made a special exception for me. Feeling appreciative but guilty at the same time, I asked if there was anything I could do to help him. He curtly refused and encouraged me to take a seat wherever I was most comfortable. He grabbed my file and came over to his therapist chair with his notebook, taking a seat and crossing his legs.

            “So. Where do we start, Doc?” I blurted out nervously.

            He grinned in a way that was meant to be comforting, but I was the farthest thing from comfortable. He set the file folder on top of the small end table on his right side and placed his hands back on his lap, giving me his undivided attention. “Why don’t we begin with yesterday? I’d like you to tell me about it. What happened? What brought about your call, your need to speak to me so urgently?” His brows were slightly creased in the center but his expression was otherwise accepting and patient.

            I took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry about that. Honestly, I am. I’m just…I’m not doing well. And you said I could call…”

            “Drew, take a breath. I’m not upset with you. Not at all. I’m glad that you called. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I just want to understand why. Something happened, no? And you felt out of control?”

            “Yes. It’s hard to explain. I couldn’t breathe. She sent me a letter and I started freaking out because I’ll get into trouble with Pat. And she’ll get in trouble. We’re not supposed to talk to each other right now. So I didn’t even want to open it. But then I did and now…well, now I don’t know what to think.” I rambled on and on, trying to recount the night’s events, but it hit me that I didn’t really know if I could trust him not to reveal the secret to Mick or Pat. “Wait, Doc, you aren’t going to tell anyone what I share in here right? I mean, isn’t that against the law or something?”

            “I am bound legally and ethically to not repeat anything that we talk about in our sessions with anyone else, unless you give me permission. It’s called physician-patient privilege or doctor-patient confidentiality. Please don’t be concerned about any of that. What you say to me in here stays in here,” he reassured. “So relax a little and just talk to me. Please consider me a friend. You can trust me.”