I’m working from home today, his message read. Angus will be waiting out front to give you a ride to work.
My stomach cramped again with dread. It had been a tremendously difficult week for both of us. I could understand why he’d just given up. But that understanding was wrapped in a gut-gnawing fear so cold and insidious that goose bumps swept up my arms.
My fingers shook as I texted him back: Will I see you tonight?
There was a long pause, long enough that I was about to demand a yes or no answer when he sent: Don’t count on it. I have my appt with Dr. Petersen and a lot of work to do.
My grip tightened on my phone. It took me three attempts before I was able to type: I want to see you.
For the longest time, my phone sat silently. I was reaching for my landline in a near panic when he replied: I’ll see what I can do.
Oh God . . . Tears made it hard for me to see the letters. He was done. I knew it deep down in my heart. Don’t run. I’m not.
It seemed like forever before he replied: You should.
I debated calling in sick after that, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I had been down that road too many times. I knew I could so easily fall back into old self-destructive habits to dull pain. It would kill me to lose Gideon, but I’d be dead anyway if I lost myself.
I had to hang on. Get through. Get by. One step at a time.
And so I climbed into the back of the Bentley when I was supposed to, and while Angus’s grim face only made me worry more, I locked it down and slid into the autopilot mode of self-preservation that would get me through the hours ahead.
My day passed in a blur. I worked hard and focused on my job, using it to keep me from going crazy, but my heart wasn’t in it. I spent my lunch hour running an errand, unable to tolerate the thought of eating or making small talk. After my shift was over, I almost blew off going to my Krav Maga class, but I stuck it out and gave a similar amount of focus to the drills as I’d given to my work. I had to keep moving forward, even if I was heading in a direction I couldn’t bear to go.
“Better,” Parker said, during a break. “You’re still off, but you’re better than last night.”
I nodded and wiped the sweat from my face with a towel. I’d started Parker’s classes solely as a more intense alternative to my usual gym visits, but last night had shown me that personal safety was more than just a convenient side benefit.
The tribal tattoos that banded his biceps flexed as he lifted a water bottle to his lips. Because he was left-handed, his simple gold wedding band caught the light and my eye. I was reminded of the promise ring on my right hand and I looked down at it. I remembered when Gideon had given it to me and how he’d said that the diamond-crusted Xs wrapping around the roped gold were representative of him “holding on” to me. I wondered if he still thought that way; if he still thought it was worth it to try. God knew I did.
“Ready?” Parker asked, tossing his empty bottle in the recycle bin.
“Bring it.”
He grinned. “There she is.”
Parker still worked me over, but it wasn’t from lack of trying on my part. I was in it every step of the way, venting my frustration with good, healthy exercise. The few victories I managed to earn spurred my determination to fight for my rocky relationship, too. I was willing to put in the time and effort to be there for Gideon, to be a better and stronger person so we could get through our issues. And I was going to tell him that, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
When my hour was over, I cleaned up and waved good-bye to my classmates and then shoved at the push bar of the exit door and stepped out into the still-warm evening air. Clancy had already brought the car around to the door and was leaning against the fender in a pose that only a moron would think was casual. Despite the heat, he wore a jacket, which concealed his sidearm.