Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  “Britt, what are you doing to yourself?”

  Oh, god. No. Not that soft, caring voice. Is Trace invading my dreams now too? “Why is he here?” I blubber.

  Dream Trace tries to take my bottle, but my hands tighten around it. “Your mom called Will’s office to get my number. She was worried you might do something stupid; glad to see you aren’t.” He starts pacing, but it’s hard to follow him.

  Rage burns through my veins. “Go to hell. I don’t want you here! God, get out of my head. I hate you!” Without thinking twice, I sit up and throw the bottle at him. It’s disappointing when it misses. You’d think I’d have better aim.

  “What the fuck?”

  “You ruined me! I loved you, and you abandoned me! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I fall backward, tired. “I just want it to stop,” I whisper, rolling over to face the back of the couch, and close my eyes. I want it all to end.

  I groan as I rouse awake. My head is pounding, my chest and cheek feel sticky, and I fear too much movement may cause me to vomit.

  “Good. You’re awake.”

  Screaming, I jump upright to see Trace in one of my chairs. “What the fuck are you doing here? How’d you get in?” Before he can answer, I run to the trash can in the kitchen since it’s the closest and throw up. He tries to hold my hair, but I blindly push him away.

  “Door wasn’t locked. What do you remember about last night?”

  “Nothing. Why are you here?” I ask, wiping my mouth on my arm. He follows me into the bathroom where I quickly brush my teeth.

  “You called your mom last night and freaked her the hell out, so she called Will’s office repeatedly until she could speak to him to get my cell number. She couldn’t get up with Rebecca and she wanted someone to check on you.”

  “Well, get the hell out.” I’m in no mood to deal with him while dealing with a hangover from hell.

  “Why are you drinking anyway? You know mixing that with your meds is a bad idea.”

  “I’m not taking my meds!” I blurt out. I’m unbelievably sick of him lecturing me. I’m pissed at myself, at him, at my mom, and at Rebecca. Luckily for Trace, he’s here to get the brunt of my anger. “Go home! I don’t want you here. I don’t want to work this out with you. I don’t want you to tell me I’m making all the wrong decisions, Trace! I am this close to my breaking point and I’ll be damned if you’re going to watch me fall apart. You didn’t care to stick around for that last year, and I don’t need you here for it this go round.

  “The best thing you can do for me is to get as far away from me as possible and stay out of my life. How many times do I need to say it? I HATE YOU! I couldn’t pick up the pieces without you, and I can’t do it with you either, apparently. You’re making everything worse.” I don’t even care about the tears pouring down my face. “Just go away and let me do a piss-poor job of taking care of myself.”

  Trace stares at me and I can’t tell if he’s shocked, stunned, or pissed. He’s definitely seeing me in a new light now, I bet. He’ll be glad to get rid of his crazy ex-girlfriend. “Okay,” he finally says, nodding to himself. He turns and starts walking to the door, leaving me stunned with a mixture of disappointment and relief. But then, he swivels on his heels and stalks toward me with such purpose that I back up until my hips hit the counter.

  His hazel eyes are stormy and darker than normal, but he gently grabs my chin and tilts my head back to look at him. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not abandoning you again. I’m not giving up on us. Go ahead; break. Fall apart. We’ll put the pieces together afterward. I don’t care what you do or what you say, I’m not letting this go or giving up. You love me as much as you hate me. I want you. I love you. And not even my Britt being depressed and angry is going to push me away.”

  I hold my breath, waiting for something to clue me in on what the hell I’m supposed to do with that. His thumb brushes over my lower lip and I launch myself at him. Why are we even talking? Sex would feel better. I snake my arms around his neck, holding him close while my tongue delves into his mouth. Trace kisses me back. I reach between us to unbutton his pants, but he pulls away, taking steps backward and away from me while shaking his head.

  What is he doing?

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” Her tone kills me. It’s as complicated as she is. Hurt. Disappointment. Anger.

  “All you’ve done is tell me that you hate me—”

  “And we’ve had sex since then,” she points out, keeping her voice calm now.

  “Yeah. Maybe we shouldn’t have,” I carefully admit. “You’re using it to make yourself feel better and so you don’t have to think about what’s been said. I don’t want to have sex with the woman who hates me, not until you can tell me you love me again.”

  Her face hardens. “Get out.”

  It’s been a damn whirlwind of a morning. I nod and head home. Lily needs to be let out and I need to get ready for work. I’m worn out in every way possible. I didn’t sleep well in that uncomfortable chair of hers. All I could do was watch her take every breath and wonder how she got to this point. I feel guilty as hell.

  Maybe I’m not the complete or only cause, but I definitely play a part. If I could just get her better, then we can work on her issues with me. That seems like a difficult, if not impossible, task. I have to try, though.

  On the drive home, my phone rings.

  “Hey, Jane,” I answer the call from Brittany’s mother.

  “Hey. I was calling for an update. I tried calling Brittany, but she sent me to voicemail.”

  “Yeah, she’s probably pissed. She sure was pissed with me.”

  “Well,” she begins, her voice soft. “You did break her heart, Trace. It doesn’t matter to her right now that you’re trying to put it back together. All she can see and focus on is what you did.” She clears her throat. “So, how was she?”

  It doesn’t feel right to be tattling on Brittany, but I also think her mother deserves to know how she’s really doing. “She was angry and drunk last night, passing out soon after I got there, and she was angry and hungover this morning. Did you know she’s not taking her medication?”

  “No, I did not,” she says quietly before sighing. “I don’t know how to help her, Trace. She’s never been like this. I’ve tried telling her to see Dr. Gunner again, or Mrs. Potter, but she’s not having any of it. How do I help her when she doesn’t want help?”

  She’s not going to like my answer, because I don’t like it either. “We’re going to have to wait for her to hit rock bottom and hope that she’ll want the help once she gets there.”

  “I feared that,” she admits. “You’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you? I’m hoping we can come visit her soon.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be around.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” She seems sincere.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Sure.”

  I park my car in the driveway and ask, “She told me that you were the only one who thought she should give me another chance. Why?”

  “You’re a good man, Trace. You were good to my daughter, you made her happy, and you love her. She still loves you, and love shouldn’t go to waste. Ray and I broke up three times before we got our act together. Sometimes, we’re just not ready to be with the person we’re meant to be with. Knowing my daughter, she’s told you how much she hates you. They say there’s a fine line between love and hate, and eventually, I think she’ll cross over it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Thanks for checking on her for me. It’ll all work out. I’ll let ya go.”

  We hang up and I make my way inside. Thankfully, Lily didn’t make a mess while I was gone and I give her a few treats after I let her outside. I push all the thoughts about Brittany out of my head, so I can focus on my day of work ahead. That’s a pointless thing to do. When I don’t have a client in my office, she’s all I can think about.

  How many times will I have to he
ar her tell me she hates me before I get to hear her say she loves me? What is her rock bottom going to be like this time? Will she let me be around for it? How am I going to help her? Dozens and dozens of questions run through my mind and I don’t have answers for any of them.

  After work, I head home. Brittany won’t have to worry about me bothering her today. I plop into my recliner, pat my thigh twice for Lily to come sit with me, and recline back. My phone rings and I decide to answer. It’s Will. I haven’t talked to him in a while, and I need to.

  “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “I wish you had told me that Brittany was your emergency.”

  He’s quiet for a heartbeat. “So, you’ve talked to her.”

  “Yeah.” I go into everything that’s happened so far.

  “Wow. I hate to hear she’s so bad off. I was really hoping she was doing better. Sounds like even I underestimated her when I told you it would be hard to get her back. She’s really digging in her heels.”

  I scoff. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it. I deserve it, though. I feel like this is my fault.”

  “Did you tell her to stop taking her meds? Or to drink when she’s depressed? Or to stop seeing her therapist and psychiatrist? No. Being one of the catalysts doesn’t make it your fault. Brittany knows just as well as you do what it takes to survive with anxiety and depression. It isn’t your fault that she isn’t trying, and don’t let her try to convince you otherwise or I may just have to make a trip to Charlotte to kick your ass.”

  Laughing, I say, “Okay. I hear ya. Can you talk about you now?”

  He laughs and proceeds to tell me about how his wife is pregnant. They’ve been trying for years, so I’m glad it’s finally happening for them. They’ll be great parents. We talk for a bit more before hanging up for the night. It’s been a long twenty-four hours and after letting Lily out, I decide that going to bed early is the best idea I’ve had all day.

  Brittany: Need to cancel. Don’t feeling like going anywhere.

  Me: Be ready when I get there.

  She’s not canceling on me. She refuses to push herself to get out of the apartment, so I’ll do it for her. Honestly, I was worried that she would tell me that she wasn’t going on our date when I initially texted her the details yesterday. I let her have Wednesday and Thursday without me. She’s going out tonight.

  My goal is to hear her laugh. We’re going to dinner and then to see this famous ventriloquist. These tickets were not easy to get and I probably paid too much for them, but if I can hear my girl laugh, it’ll all be worth it. Brittany surprises me when she answers the door, all dressed and ready to go. I’ll ignore her frown for now.

  “How long are we going to be out?” she asks as we walk to my car. She has her arms folded over her chest so I can’t hold her hand.

  “For a bit.” Once we’re in my car, I ask, “Did you have a good day at work?”

  “Always do.”

  “Really?”

  She shoots a glare my way. “Don’t sound so surprised that something in this world gives me a little happiness. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I don’t like surprises, Trace.”

  “And I don’t like a bitchy date; we’ll both get over it.” That pisses her off, which doesn’t surprise me. She stares out the window for the rest of the drive. I guess silence is better than hearing her be snarky. I park and walk around to open the door for her. She’s not at the top of her game because I’m able to take hold of her hand. She glances down at them, but doesn’t pull away. “You look great, by the way,” I tell her.

  Brittany looks down at herself as if she doesn’t remember that she dressed herself in a denim skirt and red shirt that shows off her cleavage and figure. “Thanks,” she mutters.

  We head into the restaurant and are seated, our drink orders taken quickly. She surprises me when she engages in conversation first. I wasn’t sure what kind of date she’d be since she didn’t want to come.

  “Was Lily okay after you were gone Tuesday night?”

  “Yeah. She was needy once I got home for work, but she did fine.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  I nod. “Whatcha thinking of ordering?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “It all looks the same. You order for me.”

  We’re quiet as I mull over the menu, trying to figure out what to order for both of us. Once we’ve placed our orders, I ask about her job. Brittany perks up a little and ends up talking for most of our meal about it. I can tell she truly enjoys it and I’m so happy for that. She needs something that can help push her to keep going and something that makes her happy.

  “You’re not taking me home?” Brittany asks as we head downtown.

  “No. Our date wasn’t dinner.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Think you can handle a few more hours with me?” While I don’t want to take her home, I definitely don’t want to push her too much either.

  She quirks a half smile and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Trace, I can handle that.”

  I can’t help but grin. I love the little moments when she’s the Brittany I knew, when she’s a bit fiery instead of bitchy, when she’s let her guard down. Those are going to be the moments that keep me going when she’s dead-set against me, being stubborn, and pissed off.

  She doesn’t ask any questions as we park and then walk toward and into the building. I show an attendant our tickets and Brittany moves closer to me as the crowd converges to squeeze through a set of double doors to go to our seats. Just like at the concert last year, I move her in front of me, resting my hands on her hips to guide her.

  “Right here,” I tell her. “Seats eighteen and nineteen.”

  We awkwardly squeeze through the row and pass the people already in their seats until we’re in our own.

  “A ventriloquist?” Brittany questions.

  “Yeah. He’s hilarious; I’ve seen him a few times on TV.”

  “I’ll take your word on it for now.” I laugh. “This is a big place,” she adds, glancing around.

  “He’s famous and good at what he does.”

  We sit quietly, taking in the place and the people until the show starts. It takes the guy less than a minute to crack a joke that has the entire place erupting in laughter. Damn. I’ve seriously missed hearing her laugh. This may just be the best idea I’ve had in a long while. Ten minutes in, and we’re both relaxed, laughing, and it’s almost like the past year was never spent apart.

  Unfortunately, the night has to end. Brittany seems fine as we leave the show, but I know the exact moment the tiredness of a night out hits her. She slumps in her seat, rests her head against the window, and closes her eyes. A small sigh leaves her.

  “It won’t take long to get you home,” I say softly.

  “Thanks for making me come.”

  I smile at how she worded it. “Any time. Think you’ll want to go out with me again?”

  “Eventually. Maybe. Don’t push it.”

  I laugh, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. “I love you, Britt.” I don’t even have to look to know she tenses. I hate, hate, hate her reaction. The night was going so well and in one breath, I’ve tainted it. And that is my fault. It’s hard to know when to hold back and when to push and be honest with her.

  When we get to her apartment complex, I park. Before I can get out of the car, she rushes to say, “You don’t have to walk me up.”

  “Okay.”

  She glances at me with a sad smile. “Thanks.”

  Leaning over the console, I gently kiss her cheek. “Good night, Brittany.”

  “Night, Trace,” she mutters before making a break for it.

  “Wanna go out with me for lunch?”

  I turn my head away from my computer and over to where my co-worker, Melissa, is leaning against my desk. She’s a legit work friend. We share some personal things about our lives in order to vent, but we don’t know each other’s deepest darkest s
ecrets either. We both started working around the same time, which is what helped us bond. I rarely turn down a lunch invite.

  “Sure. Let me wrap up this email,” I answer.

  “Great. I’ll grab my things and come back.”

  By the time she does just that, I’ve sent my email and have gathered my purse. We mostly talk about work on the way to our favorite Mexican restaurant. After placing our drink orders, Melissa folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head.

  “Something is off with you. What’s going on?”

  I shrug. “Nothing.”

  “Something with Quinn?” she guesses, not letting the issue go. She has a bad habit of that.

  “He broke up with me not too long ago, so no, but um.” I take a deep breath. “My ex-boyfriend who broke up with me last year wants to get back together again.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Well, are you going to?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve agreed that he can take me out on dates, but we and our past are complicated. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know if I can forgive him for hurting me before. We really don’t need to talk about it more.” Melissa doesn’t know about my anxiety or depression, and I’d rather not discuss it over lunch, or at all for that matter.

  “Are you sure? You know I’m a good wall to bounce things off of.”

  I smile. “I know. Thank you for offering. How are things with your love life?”

  She groans. “It really shouldn’t be this hard to find a man.”

  “What happened to the guy from two weeks ago?”

  “He was a dud. I’m sorry, but my standards are higher than a fast food restaurant where he wanted to order off the dollar menu.” I laugh and she playfully glares at me for doing so. But then her eyes widen and she leans in. “Like, why can’t I land a hunk like him?”

  I glance over my shoulder to see that the hunk of a man she’s talking about is Trace. My shoulders sag and I quickly turn around before he can see me. “That’s my ex-boyfriend, Trace,” I whisper.

  “What? Seriously? You’re fighting that? If he came crawling back to me, I’d be crawling up him. He’s like a tree trunk, he’s so tall and wide.”