I return my attention to the dumbasses in the savanna and manage to forget how badly I blew things with Danika for an hour. Well, not forget, but push it to the back of my mind long enough to have a few laughs at the expense of these suckers.
Actually, disappearing into the African wilderness sounds pretty awesome right about now, though I doubt it’s handicapped accessible.
My phone vibrates, signaling an incoming text message. I grab it and prepare to be bombarded by more questions from Skye I have no intention of answering. But, it isn’t Skye. It’s Gabe.
What the hell? He couldn’t just come across the damn hall?
> Dr. Anna Cochran (504) 205-1289 <
< What? Who is that? >
> She’s a shrink. She helped me. Call her. <
A shrink? Since when does Gabe see a shrink?
We’ve been best friends basically our entire lives, and I’ve never once heard him mention going to therapy. Even after he was discharged, he never said anything to give any indication he was seeing someone, or that he needed to.
I always assumed Gabe told me everything. I guess because I never keep any secrets from him. It’s hard to keep secrets from the person I depend on for so many things, someone I’m closer to than my own actual brother.
But, a shrink?
I’ve never really believed in that shit. It’s for people who are weak, who can’t get their shit together, and that has never been me. After the accident, my doctors sent in a therapist to talk to me, and I practically barked him out of the room. I put what was left of my former life back together just fine on my own.
Still, the events of the other night run through my mind—the way Danika looked when she told me she loved me, when I didn’t respond.
Fuck!
I may have thought I had my shit together, but the last twenty-four hours certainly have me rethinking that belief.
< You really think she can help? >
> I do. <
I sigh and run my hand through Princess’ soft fur, the feel of the silky strands through my fingers soothing my frayed nerves. “It can’t hurt to try, right, girl?” She looks up, tilting her head to the side as if she actually understands what I am saying to her. “Yeah, that’s my thought, too.”
Staring at the litany of unanswered text messages and phone calls from Skye, another text comes through. I know I have to respond before she shows up, unannounced, on my doorstep.
< Skye, leave it alone. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. It’s almost midnight, go to sleep. >
The three little dots show up instantly.
> You’re fine, my ass! You better call me tomorrow morning or I will come down to the club. <
She will, and she won’t leave until she squeezes every last painful detail from me. She’s even more brutal in person than she is digitally.
< I promise. Goodnight. >
> Goodnight. Get ready to spill. <
I slip my phone into my pocket and look down at Princess, who is lying on her back with her tiny little paws in the air, begging for a belly rub. “It’s time for bed, girl. Let’s get you outside.”
After a quick pit-stop, I climb into bed, emotionally exhausted. The soul-crushing loneliness of an empty bed hits me immediately.
What if she never comes back? What if that was the last time I’ll have the woman I love in my bed?
My phone sits dark on the nightstand. I stare at it—for an inordinate amount of time—hoping, praying, she will call, or text…anything to tell me she’s thinking about me, and we aren’t over.
But, she won’t call, or text, because I’ve given her no indication we aren’t over. My action, or inaction, only confirmed to her that I didn’t want to fix whatever is wrong between us, and that can’t be further from the truth.
Grabbing my phone, I open the last message she sent me, right before she arrived at my place to head to the gallery opening.
> Be there in ten! Can’t wait to see you in a tux…and out of one ;) <
Fuck.
I take a deep, cleansing breath, and try to shake off the fear making my heart race just thinking about talking to her.
Suck it up, you fucking pussy!
I start typing, not even sure what I am going to write.
< I’m sorry. I know that in no way begins to make up for what happened last night, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m fucked up, Danika, in ways you can’t even imagine, ways I didn’t even realize until recently. It isn’t fair to you to put you through this. I need to figure my shit out, and I am going to try to do that. But I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be in a place to be with you again. I just need you to know that I’m trying, and that I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t, couldn’t, tell you the other night, but I need you to know that. >
Staring at what I wrote, my finger hovers over the green “Send” button. Once I send it, there’s no taking it back. Maybe it’s wrong to tell her I love her. It certainly isn’t the most romantic thing in the world to do it via text message, but I need her to know. I need her to understand this isn’t about her.