Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
“What?”
“She buys that for friends and guests—you know, like your mom who likes wine. And she’s okay with me sipping it at times because, I mean . . .” I got quiet, shrugging. “You know, this last year sucked major baggage.”
Clint got quiet, and I moved around the kitchen.
We’d need plates.
Paper towels.
A pizza cutter.
An oven mitt to pull the pan out.
What else?
I could feel Clint watching me. This time, I felt the heaviness, the concern. I’d brought up the last year. We didn’t talk about that. My mom and I referenced it, but there’d been no in-depth discussion.
I couldn’t even think about it now.
But I couldn’t stop because I had already started. Now that was all I was thinking about.
And the pressure was building. The heaviness.
I was crumbling.
Dad . . .
Oh God.
Dad.
“Hey.”
I didn’t . . . What was I doing?
Getting ready for the pizza. I had to do that.
“Ramsay.” Clint was behind me.
I couldn’t deal.
I was crumbling.
My dad . . .
“Stop,” I told him.
Clint’s arms circled around me, and he pulled me back. He held me tight, almost bent over me at the same time. His forehead resting on my shoulder.
“No—”
His arms tightened. “Shhh. Just stop, Rams. Stop.”
My knees crumpled. I was going down.
Clint guided my fall, lowering me to the floor and sitting with me. I scooted away from him, flattening myself against one of the cupboards. If I could’ve opened it, crawled in, and hid forever, I would’ve. If I could’ve gone to sleep and never woken up? Yes, please. Here. Right now.
“Rams.” Clint’s voice was strained. “You’re fucking bawling.”
I was? I touched my cheek. I was.
Clint was sitting across from me, his knees up, his arms hanging over them, and his face lowered. He was pale. Worried.
I did that to him. “I’m sorry,” I rasped.
He flinched. “That’s what happens to you?” Forget strained. His voice dipped to being hoarse.
My neck was stiff, but I managed a jerky nod. “Yeah.”
He swore under his breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his hands balled into fists. He smoothed them out, but it was in a rough motion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I closed my eyes. I’m sorry. That phrase haunted me.
I swallowed over a knot. “It’s kinda a lot, you know?”
“I figured. I mean, we all wondered. We knew how much you loved Cedra, and then you moved here. Had to be bad.”
“Yeah,” I whispered.
The panic attack was lifting. This was the time when I felt drunk. All my senses were jumbled together. I’d slur my speech. Clint had seen me in a panic attack before, but that was when I was little. I’d gotten better, knew how to recognize them, knew how to prevent them, and then . . . last year happened. Now they were back with a vengeance.
“You wanna talk about it?” He clasped his hands together and let them hang over his knees. “You can think of me like a captive therapist. If you want to, you know, talk about what happened. And all. You know.” His Adam’s apple moved up and down again before he glanced away. He was blinking a bunch.
“Captive?”
“Yeah.” He looked back and smirked. This time, he relaxed, his head resting against the counter behind him, and he stretched out one of his legs. His hands lowered to his lap, but they were still clasped together. “You’re making pizza. No high school guy is leaving when he’s getting pizza.” He gave a slow grin as he watched me, and when he saw my lip quiver in a laugh, the rest of the tension left him. His other leg stretched out, touching mine. “I’m still hoping we’ll light into that wine. Wine and pizza? I’m thinking cousin sleepover.”
“Wine and pizza? And you’ll let me unburden all my trauma on you?”
He rolled his shoulders. “Well, I figure the more wine in me, the better my therapist skills will be. So there’s that.”
I barked out a laugh.
Another was right behind it.
And a third.
I couldn’t stop laughing, and after a bit, I stopped trying. I hadn’t laughed in so long.
Clint laughed with me. “Not sure what’s so funny about me drinking wine, but I’m rolling with you. See how good my skills are? I’m meeting my client where they are.”
That made me laugh harder. “You’re such a dumbass,” I breathed out, my sides hurting. A good hurting, though, and finally, the last of my panic easing away. “And I love your dumb ass.”
He chuckled. “Look at that. Therapist be damned. Next panic attack, we’re booting up some Leslie Jones.”
That sent me laughing all over again, and soon Clint had his phone out and we were listening to a comedian playlist.
After the first set, the pizza was done.
Clint didn’t pause the show, just raised his phone up. He remained on the floor.
I brought the pizza down. The wine and two giant plastic cups came down too. It was that kind of night.