by Elle Aycart
Sky gulped. She wasn’t touching that one. She still hadn’t assimilated how ready she’d been to have sex with him without protection. No warning and no hesitation, when in her previous relationships she’d agonized over the decision for weeks. But love was a strong word. At this moment, with spring kicking her ass, she was feeling all sorts of things, not all of them clear to her. “Why did you stay?” she asked, trying to divert Megan’s attention.
Megan smiled. “Alec wouldn’t let me go. I came for a star shower, and without realizing it, I got hit by a meteorite that rocked my world.”
“That’s why you’re marrying him during a star shower?”
“Yes. Star showers are very important to Alec and me.”
There was a story behind that, Sky could tell, but she wasn’t getting into it.
“What’s your excuse?” Sky asked Shayna as she brought their teas. “For staying in this town, I mean. Did you fall madly in love too?”
“Ha! As if. I was born here. I was sentenced from day one. Imagine being a teenager and sneaking around in a place where almost every lawn is booby-trapped. Set foot in the wrong spot and suddenly you’ve got floodlights pointing at your face and sirens blaring. And I had Bob giving me away.”
“That’s how you learned all your ninja skills?” Megan asked. “By deactivating booby-traps?”
“You tell me. Wait,” Shayna said, addressing Sky. “What did you mean, did I fell madly in love too? Is that what’s happened to you? You’ve fallen in love?”
“I was talking about Megan,” Sky hurried to explain, opening her computer and powering it up. “Which is why I brought this. I have the video of Bridal Fashion Week last October.”
Megan and Shayna looked at each other and said nothing. Sky had the nagging feeling they were humoring her, but whatever.
“Those are designer dresses,” Megan said. “They cost a fortune. And they’re nowhere to be found around here anyway.”
“We can get ideas and customize an off-the-rack dress. This year, feathers are in fashion.”
Megan’s cringe spoke volumes. “I don’t want anything girly. I’d rather get married in my boots.”
“I know.” Sky moved the video forward. “Here’s a new designer whose gown is sexy and feminine and kickass all at once. Not traditional in the least. What do you think?”
Megan’s face lit with awe when she saw the tunica-and-shorts combination.
“The shoulders are bare, so your tattoo would peek out. Your pixie hair would look fantastic with that style. I know it’s a bit unconventional, but you guys are nothing if not unconventional.”
They perused dresses until Logan came to pick Sky up.
“You feel like going out with us tonight?” Megan asked. “Girls’ night out. A couple rounds of drinks and a couple rounds on the mechanical bull.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather have a quiet evening in.”
Megan gave her a smirk and a thumbs-up. “Okie-dokie. I’ll spread the word: your place is off limits. The note is still binding.”
Logan watched Sky sleep. It was Sunday. It looked like they would make it through the weekend without being disturbed. Although the way she was sleeping, not even the evacuation alarm would rouse her.
Aside from meeting with Megan and Shayna, Sky had been very low on energy. She’d spent almost all weekend dozing on the sofa, no makeup on, wearing sweatpants. Prada sweatpants, true, but sweatpants nevertheless.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he whispered against her lips.
She didn’t even stir.
He tightened his embrace. “Time to get up.”
She mumbled something, burrowing into him. Logan glanced at the bedside clock. She’d been out for almost twelve hours. They’d spent the whole evening on the sofa, watching the finale of some fashion show she’d been wanting to see, but she’d zonked out before it ended. Arnie was behaving strangely too. He seemed more reluctant than before to leave Sky’s side, poking at her and barking to get her attention.
“Come on, baby. The sun is already high in the sky.”
“Don’t care,” she muttered against his chest. “Just five more minutes.”
Five minutes became ten and fifteen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when he finally got her back to the land of the living.
“Nothing,” she said, rubbing her eyes and attempting a smile that pissed him off.
“What is it? Is it me? This town? You bored into a coma?”
“It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Oh.” He’d heard that shit before. “The novelty wore off.”
He tried to stand but she stopped him. “Of course not, you idiot. I didn’t have to come here if I didn’t want to. I had other options, didn’t I?”
A hint of her usual fire was back in her tone. Thank God. “So what’s the problem? You’re down. You’re sleeping all the time. Talk to me.”
She took a long, deep breath and propped herself against the headboard. “I’m chronically depressed.”
“You’re what?” Sky was always joking and coming up with sharp remarks. Dressed to kill in every situation. Hair done. Perfect makeup. On the go right away in the morning. Never an idle second. If there ever was someone who was the opposite of depressed, it was Sky.
“Chronically depressed,” she repeated, fidgeting with the sheet. “Dysthymia is the clinical term. Remember what I told you about my mom? There’s a genetic predisposition to depression, and I’m afraid I inherited all the genes. My surroundings while I was growing up didn’t help either; dealing with a constantly ill family member was hard. Anxiety and fear were constant. Apparently chronic stress is another strong predisposing factor for depression. I’m two for two, doomed from the start.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you get treatment?” She was too young to have a chronic illness.
She shook her head. “Not for many years. I lived like that for so long, struggling from day to day, I somehow accepted the fog of depression as my normal functioning. I thought the sense of emptiness and despair was just the way things were supposed to be. I assumed it was part of my personality, that I was moody. Dysthymia can be mild from day to day. It’s the long term that’s brutal. The symptoms can go away for long periods, months even, but they always come back.” She looked up at him, offered another half-assed smile. “It really sounds worse than it is. I work hard at it, and I have it under control most of the time, but spring always knocks me for a loop. Go figure. The whole world is coming alive, and I can barely keep my head out of the oven.” God only knew what kind of shocked expression he had, because she hurried to add, “Kidding, kidding. I’m more the passive type. Sleep my life away and that sort of thing. That said, and even though people associate depression with winter, suicide rates do peak in the spring.”
That was true. He remembered it from his days in the pharmaceutical trade. Antidepressant sales doubled in April. “Are you on any medication?”
“I was for several years. When I got better, I tapered off gradually. I go back to them only when I’m having a particularly bad spell. I keep my head above water by sticking to my routine. I drag myself out of bed and force myself to ignore the way I feel and get on with my day. The alternative is too horrifying to even consider. I know where that road leads, and no way am I ending up in that hole. Still, some days are so hard. Like I weigh a ton. Getting out of bed is almost impossible. Arnie does a good job of bugging me until I do. I’m really sorry I was such a downer this weekend,” she said, looking uneasy.
“You don’t need to apologize. I do. I’ve been an ass. I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t. I don’t like talking about it. Most people don’t understand depression. Either they think you’re making shit up, or that you get off on stuffing yourself with pills. I’ve learned to ignore the sadness and irritability. I tell myself it’s my brain playing tricks on me, that I’m just being moody and overly self-conscious. It works—except in spring, whe
n it really becomes overpowering, especially the plummeting energy. Some people suffer from insomnia. I don’t. I could sleep all through March and April. But I’ve seen what happens when someone gives in to depression. They get lost in it. It swallows them.”
“Your mother,” he said quietly.
She nodded. “It grabbed hold of her and wouldn’t let go. She died in pajamas she never took off, her teeth rotted out of her head, wearing diapers. She’d barely turned sixty. I know every spring that the blues are coming, yet it always hits me like a brick wall. As if I’d forgotten how bad it can be.” She lowered her gaze. “I shouldn’t have come. I was going to cancel on our weekend, but you beat me to it by picking me up. I didn’t want you thinking I was blowing you off to go to Grand Rapids with Elias. The truth is, I’m not great company in this condition.”
He tipped her face up. “Don’t be stupid. You’re great company.”
“This is the sleepy phase. Next, I get snappy and moody. I’ll be fine. I just need to get my endorphin level up and hold on for a month or so. Over the years, I’ve tried all sort of things to weather the storm. Yoga doesn’t work. Neither do meditation or Pilates. Meditation put me to sleep in a second, and in Pilates they kept telling me to move muscles I didn’t have. Or if I had them, I had no clue how to find them. It irritated the living crap out of me. I tried spinning once, but my legs trembled so frigging badly after it, I couldn’t climb the stairs. Neither Arnie nor I could afford that. Zumba helped. When I could drag myself out of bed, that is.”
“No Zumba classes in NoName, but I might know a way to get your endorphins running,” he suggested, tracing the valley between her breasts.
“I’m not up for sex. I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression on Friday. I’m too tired, and I need to gather enough energy to go to work tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to be up for anything. You only have to relax and enjoy.”
“You going to treat my spring blues with orgasms?”
“Why not? Have you tried that method?”
“Not for long enough to be certain of its effectiveness. You’re not so young anymore, though. I don’t think you—”
He pulled at her ankles until she was no longer propped on the headboard but sprawled on the mattress. Then he rolled over her. “So there’s the snappiness you were talking about.”
This time her smile was genuine. He felt ten feet tall. “Just saying that keeping me high on sex might be too big a job for an old man.”
“Shut up and open your legs.”
Chapter 15
Sky tried very hard to continue sleeping, but something was bugging her, tickling her face, poking at her shoulder. She swatted at it, but that didn’t help. “Arnie, stop.”
The chuckle that followed was even more annoying. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Sky opened her eyes to find Logan lying by her side, his head propped on his hand, looking amused as hell. “Logan?”
“Time to get up.”
What on earth? She was still half sleep, but she could swear today was Monday. Squinting at the morning light, she looked around. Yes, she was in Paris, in her bed. She clearly remembered Logan dropping her off and leaving.
Crap. Mrs. Rantala. She sat up as if propelled by a spring. “What are you doing here? Mrs. Rantala—”
“Under control. I’ve been told as long as I stay on top of the blankets and you stay under them, we’re good. Oh, and the door must remain open, of course.” He lowered his voice. “She worries about your virtue. Quite the zealot, your landlady.”
No shit. She plopped back down. “Doesn’t she know there are plenty of things we can do with blankets between us?”
“Do not awaken her imagination. She’s happy the way she is—although I don’t get it. Rantala is a Finnish name. Her ancestors invented the mixed sauna.”
Sky checked her watch. Eight frigging o’clock. “What do you want?”
“Let’s go out for breakfast. I’ve got a sudden hankering for pancakes.”
Right. She turned her back on him and covered her head with the blanket. “Not hungry. Go away. I don’t have class until the afternoon.” She was staying in bed until then.
He yanked the covers away. “Don’t care. Up.”
“Why?” There was nothing for her to do. And no energy to do it with.
“Because I say so. I won’t stop bugging you until you do.”
“Arnie. Attack,” she ordered. The dog looked at her and yawned.
Traitor.
“Cerberus is on my side. Get moving. We’re wasting morning light.”
“Jesus frigging Christ, don’t you have anything else to do than irritate the living shit out of me? I don’t know, process soiled diapers? Save the planet? Run an emergency drill with your neighbors?” She tried not to sound snappy, but she failed miserably.
“Nope.”
Of course not. Just her luck.
She changed tactics and softened her tone. “Logan, be reasonable. It’s eight o’clock in the morning.”
“You be reasonable. Either you get up, or I start demonstrating to everybody listening all that can be done with a blanket between us.”
Fine. He was not going to be reasonable. And she couldn’t afford her landlady kicking Arnie and her to the curb. Huffing, she got out of bed and dragged herself to the bathroom. She would have stomped, but she couldn’t gather enough energy for that. It was a pity there was no bathtub in there; otherwise she would have locked herself in and gone back to sleep. Maybe she could zonk out standing in the shower. She bet she could. The floor would do, too.
As if reading her mind, he called, “If you take too long, I’m coming in.”
“Can I take a pee or doesn’t the schedule allow it?”
“A fast one,” he said, his tone irritatingly smug.
She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and contained her hair in a ponytail. Sweatpants would have to do. “I’m up and dressed. Mission accomplished. You can go wait for me in the diner on the corner. Get a table for us. I’ll join you shortly.”
He snorted. “Right. Try again. I want you in proper clothes, the ones that require fuck-me heels. Not sweatpants.”
This guy was not going to leave her in peace. Sighing, she grabbed a dress and marched back into the bathroom.
She hadn’t taken two steps out of it again when Logan pointed at her. “You. Back in. Your makeup sucks.”
Probably because she wasn’t wearing any? “I thought you didn’t care about that.”
He was standing with his feet apart, arms crossed over his bulging chest. “Full makeup. Hair too. The whole nine yards. Move it.”
For the love of Christ. “Arnie. Help. Intruder. Bite.”
The dog jumped out of the bed and went to sit by Logan’s side, looking at her all self-righteously.
“This is unbelievable,” she muttered.
“And get the Brazilian ass,” Logan added.
“Are you kidding me? You said I didn’t need it.”
“You don’t.” He motioned to her neckline. “Don’t forget the boob contour.”
Oh. My. God. “Who cares about my boobs? It’s too chilly to go anywhere without a coat.”
“I do.”
“Fine.” She turned to her dog. “You’ll pay for this, mister. Come to me next time you need someone to carry you upstairs. See how much I care.”
Arnie didn’t even blink, as if the whole thing didn’t concern him.
“She’s cranky in the morning, isn’t she?” she heard Logan ask. Arnie whimpered in response. “And snappy.” Another whimper.
By now she was totally awake. She might as well do as he asked, or she was going to be walking in and out of the bathroom the whole day.
She took off her dress and stared in the mirror. She was feeling like crap. Looking like crap on top of that wasn’t going to improve her disposition. Her whole body weighed a ton, but she forced her arms to move and reached for the foundation.
Her grandmother had alwa
ys told Sky’s mom that concentrating on the bright side would cure depression. That if one thought positively enough, one would simply snap out of it. It was a myth. An urban legend. One couldn’t snap out of chronic depression any more than one could will oneself out of chronic asthma. That said, staying in the hole, rolling in the mud, and feeling sorry for oneself didn’t make things better. The other way around.
Her mother had had good runs. Periods of time when she could “snap out of it.” She dressed nicely and went to work and engaged in her life. She was happy and satisfied—or so they had thought. It never lasted, and with every fall, the climb back up was more difficult. More steep. More draining. Physical illnesses followed. As the years went by, those good runs became shorter and farther between, until the fog of depression was so thick, its claws so deep, Mom had been unable to free herself. Or maybe she could have, but she was so tired of fighting that war of attrition, she gave up.
Giving up was not an option. That sentence was engraved in Sky’s mind. The image of her dead mother on the floor while the paramedics tried to revive her was burned on Sky’s retinas.
With a sigh, Sky began primping. The whole nine yards, as Logan had demanded.
People who didn’t have to struggle day in day out had no clue how hard it was to find the will to do basic stuff. Get up. Get dressed. Brush your hair. Those were major victories. Never mind how pointless these endeavors seemed, how much she didn’t want to do them—she knew from experience that doing them improved her emotional state. Made her day more bearable. Nothing was gained by staying in bed, sleeping her life away. And yet, every morning she had the same struggle. Most days she won, but in spring it was touch and go. Which pissed her off, because she knew what she had to do; she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Happy now? Do I pass inspection?” she asked after she’d dolled up from head to toe.
Logan gave her a once-over. Twirled a finger for her to turn around. She obliged him. “Now you’re ready for breakfast,” he said, closing the distance and kissing her softly on the lips.
