Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
She doesn’t answer, so I leave her a quick voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. I’ll be in New York another day or two. How long will you be staying in Liberty? Please let me know.” I pause and then add, “Love you.”
I skip lunch and head to my office.
Several hours later, my phone buzzes.
It’s Skye.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
“Sorry I missed your call,” Skye says. “I was…”
“You were what?”
“In a session. A therapy session.”
I raise my eyebrows. This is news. “Why didn’t you want to tell me that?”
“I don’t know. It’s personal, I guess.”
“You mean you were ashamed.”
“No, not really. I know I have no reason to be ashamed.”
I can’t help myself. “But it’s kind of a stigma, right? The great Skye Manning should be able to fix everything herself.”
She chuckles. “It’s scary sometimes, how well you know me.”
“I see a lot of myself in you.”
“Except, as you told me the other day, I’m not actually a master of control. Not like you are, anyway.”
“No, you’re not,” I say. “But that doesn’t make your need to be in charge any less valid.”
“I know.”
“Would it surprise you to know I’ve been to therapy?”
“Uh…yeah, actually. It would.” Disbelief is apparent in her tone.
I keep my therapy private, but not because I’m ashamed of it. I keep it private because I’m a private person. Just like I keep my alternate lifestyle private. My relationships private. It’s who I am.
“I have,” I tell her. “In fact, I have a standing monthly appointment with my therapist, just to check in.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t run a billion-dollar company if I’m not mentally healthy.”
She lets out a short laugh. “When you put it that way, it makes all sorts of sense.”
“When I put it that way? What other way is there to put it?”
“No other way,” she says. “Absolutely no other way. You’re right.”
“As usual.” I smirk, knowing full well she can’t see me through the phone.
And knowing full well that she knows I’m smirking.
“Did your session help you figure things out?” I ask.
“It helped a lot, actually. I can’t say I have all the answers, but at least now I’m asking the right questions.”
“Good. That’s good, Skye. I’m proud of you.”
“I’m flying back to Boston tonight,” she says.
Surprise hits me this time. Why would she return so soon? Isn’t she in Kansas to try to figure stuff out?
“Why?” I ask, more harshly than I mean to.
“I need a little distance from my parents. I found something out that has me disturbed.”
Curiosity spikes through me. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Not over the phone, but I can tell you that I think it has something to do with why I am the way I am.”
“Something related to the cornfield?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be home in a few days. We can talk then. Or whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Skye.”
“Bye, Braden.”
I gathered all my willpower not to pester her to tell me what she found out. I certainly could have, given how she pesters me about my childhood, my mother, and mostly about my past with Addison.
But I made a promise to her and to myself.
I told her she could tell me whenever she was ready.
I don’t break promises.
I’m giving her time to work stuff out, to be ready to talk about certain things.
A luxury she never afforded me.
I feel no resentment about it.
I love her. I need her.
But in the end, we must work out.
We must.
Because I need her. I can’t live without her.
And I always survive.
Chapter Twenty
After my workout and cold plunge Tuesday morning, I check my phone and find a new post on Skye’s Instagram.
Love my Susie Girl tinted moisture! Get your glow on! #sponsored #susiegirl #susieglow
Skye’s photo is a selfie—right out of the shower and dressed in a pink tank top, her hair still wet. Her lips are puckered as if she’s blowing a kiss to her audience. And yeah, her skin is actually glowing. I don’t think she’s wearing any other makeup.
I flash back to Addie’s posts for Bean There Done That. The woman despises the smell and taste of coffee, yet she takes all kinds of money from the company to advertise their drinks and she has no qualms about doing so.
Addie is fake, but Skye is the real thing. She’s not afraid to post a photo of herself after a bad day or a photo of herself with bedhead. Makes her all the more adorable.
God, I love that woman.
I need her to figure this shit out.
And in the meantime…
Maybe I have some shit to figure out as well. Maybe Skye had a point when she said I went to Kansas for myself.
My therapist is actually here in New York, which works well to maintain my privacy. My monthly appointment isn’t for another two weeks, but I’ve got a few hours this morning, so I call his office.