Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (36 page)

            “What do you mean?” I raised my voice in question, frustrated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

            “Everyone has it. One catastrophic thing—that one string of bad news that rocks you to your core and drops you to your knees. The call that whenever you get it, your world crumbles around you and you can’t come back from it, no matter what you try.” He suddenly rose from his chair and came across to sit next to me on the couch. Man to man, on my same level. “You had your thing. Your breaking point happened…and you
didn’t
break. You are so much stronger than you realize.”

            “But it’s not enough,” I warned, discouraged by my ever present guilt.

            “It
is
enough!” he shouted. “You just have to be aware and always protect your weakness. Don’t let your guard down for a second. Don’t get complacent and comfortable for even a moment, or you could slip again.”

            “And by slip, you mean I could hurt her again,” I muttered, the words coming out as a realization.

            “Exactly.”

            While I knew he was right, I didn’t like feeling weak and vulnerable. He interrupted my thoughts by teasing, “I can almost smell how fast those gears are turning in your head.”

            My mouth turned up at the corners and I tried to appear calm even though I didn’t feel settled at all.

            “Say what you’re thinking. Let’s talk it out,” he requested.

            “So we just don’t sleep in the same bed?” I asked, ashamed.

            “Maybe not at first. You have to figure that all out.”

            “But that’s what
you’re
supposed to help me do,” I snapped.

            “And we will. We’ll continue to work together in therapy and with EMDR and eventually the nightmares will turn in to dreams and the dreams will turn into minor episodes of restlessness. You will eventually teach your body how to cope with the bad memories.”

            I nodded in understanding, but it still didn’t seem like enough to convince me.

            “Drew, you know that you’ll always need to be in therapy, right?” I looked up, somber at the acknowledgement. “Maybe not every single week, or even every single month. But to some degree, you’ll always be a work in progress, in constant varying degrees of ‘functioning-on-all-cylinders’ to ‘in-repair.’”

            “How will I know when I need a tune-up?” I inquired, running with the car analogy.

            “You’ll learn to recognize when you need me.”

            “I’m nervous about triggers, like when we have issues,” I bemoaned, garnering a furrowed brow from him in response. “Like an argument or something. How can I trust my temper?”

            “You’ve never had a short temper with her in the past. I don’t foresee it being a problem in the future.”           

            Exhaling a long, drawn out breath, I composed myself as best I could. “I just don’t want to turn into my father. I want to be the best man possible for her. She deserves nothing less.”

            “I agree. And my invitation still stands for her to attend therapy with you anytime either of you want or feel it necessary.”

            “Really? Even after I was so rude to you about it before?” The way I reacted out of anger before was mortifying.

            “Of course! I insist on it, actually. She needs to be in on your therapy so she understands the full scope of what she’s dealing with too. She may even find it helpful to have some individual therapy of her own.” I let a slight roll of my eyes out and he noticed. “She went through a trauma too, you know.”

            He was right. 

            “I’ll talk to her about it. I’m sure she’d be willing to try.”

            “She will. She loves you. She has loved you through all of this. You need to have some reassurance in that,” he encouraged, patting my knee, and rose to return to his chair but didn’t sit down. “Wanna end this session with a game of foosball?” he invited.

            “You sure you wanna lose again?” I teased, laughing and walking over to play a quick round, feeling a lot more relaxed and inspired than I had when I walked in.

Chapter Forty-Five

BREE

            It was quite normal for my dad to get into a mood here and there. Running a gym was stressful enough, but since we returned from the Middle East, the phone was ringing off the hook and media and press were just showing up out of nowhere. He could only handle so much. Chris Gibson lived in a completely different state, so while he was excellent at his job and fielded a lot of the pandemonium from a distance, he wasn’t around twenty-four-seven for the little instances and inconveniences that arose. That’s where I came in to play, whether I liked it or not.

            ESPN’s
SportsCenter
wanted to do an exclusive interview with Drew in a few weeks, and while I thought that was exciting, Chris wasn’t so eager. He said that a lot more was involved in arranging such a big thing than just a phone call. He took over the details and assured me he would get back to me and we would take it from there. Drew was always so nonchalant and go-with-the-flow about stuff. It amazed me how he could remain so humble and normal when his entire world was exploding with fame and fortune at his fingertips. He wasn’t interested in any of it.

            According to trend and habit, it was expected for Dad to be cranky and moody. Liam had done something around the house to piss him off over the weekend, Tony was off for a couple days for some anniversary trip with his wife, and I wasn’t paying him enough attention. When I heard the knock on my office door, my eyes rolled, knowing that I was about to get bitched at for something I had nothing to do with.

            “Yes!” I yelled to the closed door.

            My father entered, his shoulders pulled back and his face looking…not grouchy, surprisingly. He sat across from me and leaned back into his chair, relaxed.

            “What’s up?” I questioned, bracing myself for the attitude I was sure was just lurking under the surface.

            “Nothing’s
up
,” he retorted, face wrinkling into a look of sarcastic offense. “Can’t I just come hang out with my favorite daughter?”

            I smiled at his smug and witty attempt. “You never want to hang out,” I argued. “And I’m your only daughter.” I went back to typing the email I’d been working on before he came in.

            “Whatcha workin’ on?” he asked, a pestering tone to his voice.

            “Dad! What do you need?”

            His brows rose and eyes became wide, insulted. I sighed and pulled my fingers away from the keyboard to give him my full attention.

            “Sorry. I’m responding to the over thirty emails I have sitting in our inbox requesting interviews with Drew. Radio stations, news channels—local and even national—newspapers, online bloggers, the list goes on and on.” The annoyance in my voice was obvious.   

            “What are you telling them?”

            “The same thing I always do, that every interview request must be granted and arranged by his agent. Then I give them Chris’s contact info and move on, only to find ten more the next day.”

            “Our guy is popular these days,” he joked, popping his knuckles as he sat. I detected an air of nervousness about him, which was a bit weird.

            “Anyway, did you have something that you wanted to talk to me about? Seriously. I have a ton of work to do.”

            “I’m so sorry I’m bothering you,” he quipped, defeated. “I just wanted to tell you that Drew called me this morning saying that he wasn’t feeling very well. He stayed home from training this morning, so he must really be sick.”

            “Hmmm. He didn’t text me or anything,” I murmured.

            “Yeah, I don’t know what his deal is. I just thought maybe you’d want to go over there later today and check on him or something.”

            He tried to act casual but it was almost too casual. It was rather odd, my dad condoning—suggesting—that I go see Drew. He
never
encouraged me to be with him or go see him. But he’d been acting a little peculiar the last few days, so I chalked it up to that.

            “Okay,” I agreed.

            He rose to leave but hesitated before opening the door, turning to speak to me again. “I want you to know…” I looked up, genuinely interested. “I’m okay with it—with you and Drew.”

            I was so startled by his statement of acceptance that I could do nothing but stare in amazement, completely caught off guard.

            “He’s a good guy,” he admitted. “And he’s put in a lot of work with his therapy.” I nodded in agreement, waiting for him to finish, too afraid to interrupt. “As mad as I was, I know it wasn’t his fault.” His voice dropped and was deep and steady. “He loves you…and I know you love him…so, if he’s what you want, I’ll support you.”

            “Wow,” I breathed. “Th-thank you, Dad,” I replied, trying not to allow the heaviness of the situation get to me.

            “Well, don’t get all dramatic,” he ranted. “I just wanted to tell you…to give you my blessing so you didn’t have to sneak around and hide anymore,” he accused, chuckling. “I’m not an idiot, ya know?”

            I let my lips curve into a smile and got up to give him a hug. He squeezed me back and walked out of the office, clearing his throat as he left as if to shake off the emotion.

            I worked for a few more hours, finally able to put a significant dent in the stacks of work that had been piling up for the last two weeks. An overseas trip and whirlwind victory on an international stage certainly was enough to turn your world upside down. As I drove home, my stomach rumbled. I had no idea what I was going to throw together. When I turned the corner onto our street and our driveway came into view, my dad’s car wasn’t there. I walked into the house, calling their names and no one answered. They’d left the gym hours before and didn’t say anything about going anywhere. If those jerks went to get dinner without telling me, I was going to kill them!

            Feeling too lazy to cook, I scrounged up a banana and a granola bar. I texted Drew again and he still wasn’t replying. I was so caught up in my busy day and just figured he was sleeping, but now I was getting legitimately worried. It was starting to get dark and I figured I should drive over and make him some soup or something. Plus, I couldn’t wait to tell him about my earlier conversation with Dad and getting the green light of approval.

            When I parked behind his SUV in the driveway, I saw the inside lights on. I walked up to the door, knocking lightly, but no one came to answer it. I tried the knob and it was open, so I slowly walked inside, calling Drew’s name to announce myself. He came around the corner from the kitchen and I couldn’t remember him ever looking better. He was wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the bottom and the top two buttons open at the neck, the fabric hugging every curve of his muscular body. His dark jeans fit his long legs to perfection and his feet were bare as he walked towards me with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

            He lifted me up into a hug and spun me around in a full circle as he laid a soft peck onto my lips. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted when he pulled his face back a few inches.

            “What’s going on? I thought you were sick,” I charged, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my frumpy tank dress that hung over my body like a Mumu and no makeup. 

            “I feel all better now,” he declared. “Are you hungry? I made you your favorite.”

            It did smell good, the aroma of food lingering throughout the house. “Oh yeah? What’s my favorite?”

            He clenched his closed fist to his heart in a dramatic display to suggest that my words had just wounded him, even making a groaned sound effect. I laughed at his playfulness and saw that two plates were set, framed by silverware and white wine already poured for me. When I saw what was on top of the griddle, I chuckled.

            “I see that the Grilled Cheese Master has made an appearance.”

            “He has indeed,” he boasted, lifting his chin.

            “My favorite, huh?” I teased, having a seat on the barstool.

            “Well, isn’t it?” he returned in a mocking tone.

            “I’m sorry I didn’t dress up more for our little dinner date here,” I offered. “I
thought
you were home sick…faker!”

            “Sometimes you just need a day off,” he insisted as he flipped the sandwiches over to brown on the other side. “You won’t tell my boss, will you?” he jested, throwing me a sexy wink.

            “Your secret’s safe with me.”

            We ate our sandwiches seated closely next each other at the bar, our knees touching and our hands coming together off and on between bites. He was attentive, flirty, and coy and I relished the attention and quality time that we’d been lacking. Just as I was about to tell him about talking with my dad earlier in the day, he grabbed my left hand.

            “What’s all over your fingers?” I asked, feeling the skin on his hands and fingertips rougher than usual.

            “Oh!” he suddenly shouted, making me jump. “I have a surprise for you.” He quickly got up from his barstool and went into the back of the kitchen to the pantry.

            “Close your eyes,” he requested, and I did as I was told, my heart fluttering at his thoughtfulness. I heard him set something down on the counter that sounded heavy as it came into contact with the surface but I resisted the urge to open my eyes until he gave me permission. I instantly knew what was in front of me however, because of the smell. “You can open them,” he whispered.

            I peeled my eyelids open to reveal the most beautiful arrangement of white lilies. I brought my nose closer to inhale the sweet scent of my favorite flowers, feeling so special.

            “How did you know?” I questioned, unable to stop smiling.