Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“Yeah, those first couple of weeks were …”
Bad.
Confusing.
Hell, honestly.
Neither of the women were in a good place—mentally, mostly—to deal with an arson that had been believed to be connected to Delaney’s family. Callie, a social worker that Delaney and Gracen were familiar with, had offered to counsel the women should they need it.
Really, all Delaney wanted to do was forget it. All of it. Like it didn’t even happen at all. She stuffed the memories of that morning down deep until she was numb and didn’t even allow herself to think about the fire.
Unless she wasn’t given a choice.
Like today.
A second fire in the valley town in less than a couple of months practically right across the river from one another, with a plausible connection, put the Haus and its owners in the spotlight.
To the town.
Police.
Delaney eventually changed her number because as the story grew, and arrests happened within the ranks of her own estranged family for the fire, she started getting random calls from reporters. That stopped after she changed her number and moved out of town on the advice of law enforcement until the trial of her older male cousin, Bexley’s brother, and Levi—Delaney’s brother—had finished.
She’d gone home to testify.
And not been back.
“Did you listen at all when Callie talked about what to expect later?” Bexley asked. “The salon burning, and then you feeling like you weren’t safe to stay in town … that’s all really traumatic stuff, Delaney.”
“I handled it—”
“Yeah, pretty well,” her cousin interrupted, bobbing her dirty blonde bob. “You did, and nobody can take that from you, but if dealing with it just means you ran or hid from it and didn’t actually feel any of it, then—”
“Don’t tell me I didn’t feel anything when it felt like my whole world burned down that day,” Delaney said, snappish and sharp.
Meaner than she meant to be.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “I know you didn’t mean it like that.”
Bexley crossed her arms over her chest, crinkling the cartoon figures on her colorful scrubs. “Yeah, I didn’t.”
“I know, I’m just …”
Delaney struggled to find words. One of many struggles in her life lately. It sucked worse that she couldn’t even explain the war she constantly fought inside her head. Was this ever going to end?
“You’re just having a bad day,” Bexley said, so Delaney didn’t have to.
“A bad year, maybe.”
Bexley laughed lightly. “Well, it’s all the same. Feels like it sometimes, right?”
Delaney didn’t confirm the obvious when neither of them needed her to. The sad state of her situation spoke loud enough for itself.
“The panic attacks and whatnot,” Bexley edged carefully.
Delaney wished she could squeeze her eyes shut forever because of the building pressure starting to reach its peak inside her head. Migraines always followed her panic attacks. It never failed. “What about them?”
“It gets worse the closer you are to home, doesn’t it?”
Despite the pain, Delaney’s eyes flew wide to stare at the blank blue screen mounted on the wall. She’d turned the TV on when she got home just to get some other sound in the apartment other than her breathing and Bexley’s quiet movements, but she never even made it far enough to turn on the satellite.
That took too much energy, too.
“I don’t—”
“My bedroom is right next to yours,” Bexley said before Delaney could think up another lie. “I hear when you’re having bad nights. I listened as it got worse as the holidays came closer and you were supposed to go home to visit Gracen. I know these things, so why won’t you admit there’s a problem you’re not dealing with?”
Jesus.
Delaney’s nerves finally exploded. “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to do!”
Bexley didn’t flinch. “By gritting your teeth through it?”
“I’ll wait while you figure out something better for me to do, okay?”
She meant for it to sound sarcastic.
Bexley was unbothered. “I think you should call Callie Smith again. I bet there’s a reason this is happening and a way to help, if you’d be willing to try it.”
“Help what?”
Meds didn’t help. She tried the anti-anxiety prescription filled by her family doctor. The sleeping aids worked for a while, but she refused to gain a dependency, so that went out the window after a short period of time. The lack of sleep put her on edge even more, if that were possible, and certainly didn’t help with the random spells of waking nightmares at the worst possible times.
Once, over burnt toast.
What was left?
Delaney’s brain—her memories—were just broken.
That’s how it felt, anyway.
Bexley pushed up from the couch, but stood close to clasp onto Delaney’s jean-clad knee with a gentle, supportive squeeze. “Listen, don’t feel guilty about calling me today. I don’t care—I will always be there to help you. Like you helped me. I mean, this wouldn’t even have happened to you if you hadn’t stepped up for me, so you don’t get to feel bad about reaching out to me once in a while. Isn’t that what real family is supposed to do—wasn’t that what you told me?”