Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (27 page)

Hopefully that's enough history because I'm ready for this to be over. It's time to start the reassurance aspect. “I'm in a better place right now. I've started seeing a psychiatrist and a therapist, so I'm learning how to deal with it better than I was. Football was the main way I coped, and without that...” I trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud, that I can't deal with life.

“I missed too many days of school and that's why I was dropped this semester. I really like my job, too. I'll probably do this instead of going back in the fall. I'm sorry for worrying you guys, but you know as well as I do I'm not one to want to talk about anything. I thought it was time y'all knew though, and I don't want to keep the important things from you either.”

The silence is enough to make me start regretting telling them. I can't read their faces well enough to know exactly what they're thinking, other than they're thinking hard. Lucy, my sweet baby sister, speaks first.

“What do you need us to do to help?”

“I, uh.” Hell if I know.

Olivia speaks for me. “He needs support and understanding. The therapist is helping him with the rest, but if there's anything else, he'll tell you from now on. Right, Corey?” She gives me a pointed look.

“Right,” I nod. “I'll do my best to keep you updated and to talk to you.”

Jon, who is sitting on the other side of me, slaps my shoulder. “We've got your back.”

“Yeah, whatever you need, tell us,” Patrick tells me. “I don't know about them, but I'm pissed you didn't say something sooner. You know we'd do anything for you, and we could have been more helpful if we knew what the hell was going on. I'll forgive and forget for you because I get why you didn't.”

“Can we stop tip-toeing around stuff now? Does this mean we'll actually talk about things instead of pretending we don't have to?” Lucy inserts after him. “Like Mom and Dad,” she adds, more softly.

My head shakes before I can think twice about it. “Luce.” My voice is raspy as my throat suddenly aches. Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath to compose myself and my thoughts before I continue. “You can talk about them as much as you want.”

“Not without you acting like you are right now,” she interrupts with a gentle tone.

She's right. I freeze the moment she brings them up, because it's what I'm used to doing. It's too difficult to say how much I miss them or how I wish they could see how we turned out, or even how I wish they could see my grandparents again. It's the same with football. When things get hard, I want to shut up and pretend it doesn't exist. I do
not
want that for Lucy, Patrick, and Jon.

“Talk about them and whatever else you want, but,” I pause a moment, “old habits are hard to break. I need to work through my issues more before I can do that with you, okay? Give me time.” All I need is a little time to find a way to be the person they want me to be while managing to stay comfortable and not freak out.

Shouldn't be too hard.

Ha.

OLIVIA LEAVES FIRST thing Monday morning to go home. She hadn't decided on three or four days yet, but packed for four just in case. She was going to play it by ear. For some reason, she seemed nervous about it. At least, I thought so. After work, I decide to text her.

Me: How's your day been so far?

Olivia: Good! About to go out for dinner with family. Yours?

Me: Good. Have fun. Talk later. :)

With her gone, I don't have to do yoga. I kick back on the couch, text Lucy to make sure she had safe travels, and watch TV. It's a nice, relaxing night. My football is sitting on the end table. I start to pick it up, but decide against it. When did
the
football become
my
football? That can't be good.

“Think of the future children you may have.”

It should become my football with that logic. Don't I want to be able to do the same things my dad did with me? Doesn't even have to be my kids. Maybe it's Patrick's or Jon's or Lucy's kids one day way down the road. Reaching over, I pick up the football, turning it over in my hands as if I'm examining it. Olivia was right. I lost my ability to play, but I didn't lose my love for the game.

Still, I should take baby steps. Life is pretty good right now, maybe better than ever before. I don't want to jinx myself or mess this up. On that note, I place it back on the end table and go to bed early.

DURING MY LUNCH break, Olivia texts me.

Olivia: Think I'll stay four days. Think you can survive without me until then? Haha

Me: I'll manage. Glad you're having a good time.

Olivia: :) Do you miss me yet?

Me: Nope. Haha, things have been quiet, no talking going on. It's nice.

Olivia: You like talking more than you think. But I'm hurt that you don't miss me! :( I miss you. Only a little, though. I like being away from your grouchiness.

Me: I'll be extra grouchy for you when you get back then. :) I was kidding. I do miss you. Only a little, though. I like not doing yoga everyday.

Olivia: Liar! You love yoga. You love everything I get you to do. You'd be lost without me, might as well admit it haha.

Me: I would be lost without you, Olivia. No doubt. Gotta get back to work.

That bothers me all afternoon. Would I really be lost without her? She's been gone two days and I'm doing just fine. No freaking out, no lows, no problems. I can last two more days, right? Or maybe Olivia is the glue holding my broken pieces back together. I get lost in my tasks as we finish up this remodeling project this week. I'm excited about what may come next, but nervous at the same time.

All of this seems to spin out of control at a rapid pace. Without Olivia, I'm lost and on a downward spiral. I'm dependent on her like I was dependent on football. That can only lead to a disaster. Suddenly, the thought of going home alone seems daunting. She's not within arm's reach in case I fall apart. I'm on edge enough to feel like that is about to happen at any moment.

“Corey.” Hank's stern tone snaps me out of my head. “Time to go home. The work day is over.”

“Already?” It could be me imagining things, but my voice sounds squeaky. A quick glance shows that everyone else has left already. “Are you sure?” Dumb question, but I ask anyway.

His head tilts as his brows pull together. “Yes, I'm sure. Go home, boy.”

Only, I don't want to go home. I have no other options, though, so I pack up my things, stop to pick up food, and go home. Things are quieter, darker, and almost spooky. Plopping down onto the couch and turning on the TV, I pull out my chicken dinner and begin to eat. I'm psyching myself out. Have to be. That's the best explanation. The safest.

My chest reclaims a familiar heavy feeling when I take my pill and lie down for the night. There's one mantra repeating in my head as I slowly begin to doze off.

I'm strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

I'm strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

I'm strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

I
am
strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

IF IT'S POSSIBLE, I'm quieter than usual. I don't talk unless I have to, easily wrapped up and lost in my mind. The thing is, I'm not really thinking about anything in particular. I'm doing what Hank or Nate is telling me to do, numbly going through the motions of my day. Every other thought is a variation of wanting to go home, fall into my bed, and go back to sleep.

When I do finally make it home, I only get as far as the couch. It's like a switch has been flipped. I mean, what the hell am I even doing? Dad wanted me to be a pro football player, not a carpenter. I've failed him anyway. Not only because my football career is long gone, but because I've been a shitty brother to all of my siblings too. Everything is wrong and isn't as it should be. There's no way to fix it either. It's hopeless.

Life sucks.

Living has made me tired today.

With that statement, it seems as if everything slows down around me.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no.

I don't want to be in a low. As if I have a choice. If I did, I wouldn't feel like this. Does this mean I can't survive without Olivia? Is her being gone why I feel like this? No. It's about that time. That's all. Somehow, I need to find something to hold onto while I ride it out for however long it plans to stay. Or at least until Olivia gets back, and then I can hold onto her until I can pull myself out of this funk.

Standing up, I decide to go lie in my bed. My eyes catch sight of the damn football, making me stop next to the end table. This is all its fault. I pick it up and with a grunt, I hurl it at my door with a sudden flood of anger. A shriek quickly snaps me out of it. Olivia pokes her head around my door, which my football bounced off of moments before, narrowly missing hitting her.

“Corey? That's not exactly the welcome I was hoping for. Bad day?” she finishes as she steps inside.

Her presence dumbfounds me. “What are you doing here?” Have I lost track of what day it is?

“I decided to come home early.”

I breathe a sigh of relief at not having gone so far off the deep end like last time. “Sorry about the football. I'm glad to see you, I really am, but,” I point back to my room, “it's time for bed.”

She frowns, probably because it's only six thirty in the evening. I brace myself for her to pepper me with questions and push me already. She doesn't. Instead she says, “Can I join you?”

Don't think I tell her no, especially since it looks like we're not going to talk. Plus, I have missed her, so it'll be nice to have her around. She joins me in the bedroom. I let her borrow some of my clothes to sleep in, and soon, we're climbing into bed. We face one another, her head against my chest as I hold her to me, running my fingers up and down her spine. My eyes close, my breathing slows, but my mind keeps working. Why is she home early?

“Everything okay, Olivia?” I mumble, hating the fact I'm asking the very question I despise.

“No talking,” she replies quietly. A bad feeling punches me in the gut with her response. Ignoring it, I tighten my arms around her, deciding to embrace the opportunity to enjoy the silence with her. We're quiet for fifteen minutes and I'm almost asleep when she speaks again. “I missed you. A lot, not a little.” Olivia nuzzles her face against my chest.

“I missed you a lot too. And doing yoga.”

“Dinner, yoga, and
One Tree Hill
at my place tomorrow then?”

“Sounds good.”

She doesn't say anything else. Instead, we fall asleep.

AFTER ANOTHER DAY of going through the motions at work and feeling sluggish, my footsteps are heavy as I make my way up the stairs to our apartments. Standing outside of my door, though, is a guy with a similar build as mine. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, but he has shaggy brown hair where mine is short and black. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he's nervous.

“Can I help you?”

His head snaps towards me as I approach him. “Uh, I must have the wrong apartment.” His voice is gruff with surprise. “I'm looking for Olivia Bayne. Do you know which one of these is her place?”

A knot immediately forms in my stomach. “Maybe.” He tilts his head at me, studying me with eyes the same shade as mine. “Who are you?”

“Aaron Clemson.” The knot bursts and anxiety attacks my blood as it pumps twice as hard through my heart. “Do you know Olivia? I'm an old friend and I really need to see her.”

Gulping, I nod. “That's her apartment.” I point to the door across the hall and he chuckles at his mistake.

“Thanks.” Aaron crosses the hallway, but before he can knock, I ask him a question.

“Did you used to play football by any chance?” I swear, he has the look of a football player. One who doesn't play anymore, but still works out to keep in shape.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah. I quit in high school, though. Thanks for your help,” he dismisses me, knocking on her door.

I take my time sticking my key into my doorknob, wanting to see and hear Olivia's reaction. Is he why she came home early? Something might have happened with him while she was there.

The door opens while Olivia says, “Why are you knocking, Cor—” She cuts herself off at the sight of Aaron. “Aaron,” her voice softens. “What are you doing here?”

My keys jingle. I glance over my shoulder as I push my door open and see Olivia's eyes widen when she notices I'm out here too. My stomach turns into a massive black pit, fueling my anxiety as it sucks all the good from the past few months away. My door slams forcefully behind me with Aaron's answer, “You left like a bat out of hell yesterday. We need to talk.”

I wait on the other side for five seconds. When I hear Olivia's faint voice telling Aaron, “Come on in,” I realize I was waiting to see if she would follow me instead.

She didn't.

Now, she's in the same room as the guy who broke her heart in high school. With the guy who still gives her nightmares. The guy she apparently fucking saw yesterday and didn't bother to mention that last night or today. Aaron used to play football. So did I. Hell, from the neck down, we pretty much look like copies of one another. We both deal with depression. We're more alike than I thought.