by Amie Gibbons
I caught sight of AB in the back of the room at the bar as my old coworkers walked up the stairs. I nodded at them as they took their seats at the long table.
They set out their name tags and I introduced them quickly before Gavin gave me the thumbs up and I nodded, scurrying off the stage so they could get going on time.
Grant started speaking, and I hurried down the side of the room, joining AB at the bar.
“You okay?” I asked as the bartender handed her a lemon drop martini. She shook her head, taking a long sip.
“I’m not supposed to be dealing with my anxiety with alcohol,” she whispered, taking another sip, “but right now, I don’t give a fuck. What is he doing here!”
“In Nashville, or the conference?” I asked.
“Both?” She shrugged and took another long sip. “I can not believe he had the nerve… No, no.” She held up a finger. “I can’t even finish that sentence because I can completely believe he has the nerve to show up at my event.”
She took another long drag. “I mean, he knew I was involved in this, right? He had to. I can’t…” She paused with her glass halfway to her lips, eyes flying wide as she looked at something behind me.
I turned, and sure enough, Thomas was walking down the aisle splitting the room.
“Careful what you wish for,” AB whispered.
She was already halfway to the lobby door when I turned back to her.
“And she’s running again,” Thomas snapped when he reached me. “You’re the psychic, what the fuck is her problem?”
I looked up at him. “I told you. PTSD. She’s right, you really don’t listen.”
I turned and walked toward the door.
Thomas followed.
I sighed.
AB had said she wished he was here.
Ohhhh, that’s what the careful what you wish for comment was about.
I wasn’t slow today. No, not at all.
We hit the lobby. AB was nowhere in sight.
I’d bet my entire profit from this conference she was hidin’ in the bathroom.
“She doesn’t have PTSD,” Thomas snapped, keeping his voice low and looking around.
I snorted. “You’re the psychiatrist. You tell me what her symptoms look like, cuz she’s got a therapist who says different, and the treatments are working.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms, glaring down at me. “Then why is she hiding in the fucking bathroom?”
I looked over at the hallway with the bathroom and back at him. “How do you know that’s where she is?”
He tossed his hands up dramatically. “Because that’s always where she ran to back in med school. I’d show up, and she’d run to the bathroom.”
“Yeah, kinda like someone who’s afraid of something.”
“You say that like it’s my fault. I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to!”
I held up my hands. “Thomas, she’s traumatized. Whether it’s more her or your fault doesn’t really matter. What does matter is you’re more focused on placing blame than fixing things. She’s broken. You did it. Whether you meant to or not.”
“She broke herself!” He pointed past me at the bathroom.
Why was I bothering to fight with him?
He wasn’t my problem.
But… AB deserved to have someone stand up for her with him.
“And she’s taking it out on me,” he continued, ticking points off on his fingers. “She was keeping me from things, blocking me from my friends, keeping other people like you from liking me, even though we got along great when we first me. My friends haven’t invited me out with the group once since I moved back weeks ago! She just keeps this damn feud going to punish me. She never-”
“Thomas!” I slashed my hands in front of me. “Dear Lord, do you ever shut up? And that’s comin’ from me!”
He glared.
I rolled my eyes. “You were that kid growing up, weren’t you? Never had to become a man. Never had to face consequences. You’re forty years old, and still runnin’ around like you’re sixteen and don’t know any better.
“You’re forty! It’s time to know better. So, there are your consequences. You weren’t invited even when she wasn’t there. You were being left out by the group in general because you wouldn’t make things right with her.
“You took back your apology. Remember? I was there. I can’t believe she ever spoke to you again after that.
“You did something wrong. You hurt someone.
“So, you were being punished. And maybe you still are, I don’t know. Because maybe, just maybe, you’ll actually learn from your mistakes if the punishment is bad enough. Maybe you’ll change.
“Or maybe you’re just going to keep blaming everyone else, sayin’ they’re being mean to you, and keep on not accepting responsibility for your own actions. And people are gonna keep on leaving you.
“It’s your choice. You can change or not. But I’m not your friend, and I’m not gonna be, because in a choice between you and her, I pick her. Every time.”
I stabbed my finger up at him.
“Now, I don’t know what’s going on with your friends, but I can tell you it’s not AB. She didn’t even know you were back in town until you popped up right then.”
His mouth dropped open.
“You didn’t know that,” I said. “Okay. Then someone in your circle knew and you assumed they told her, and nobody has. But if you’re being left out, it’s not on her say so. So stop blaming her.”
I blew out a long breath.
“I am a therapist, I know projecting when I hear it, Ariana,” he said, jaw set hard enough to break teeth as he glared at me.
I snorted. “And yet, you don’t know PTSD when you see it. I’m having some serious doubts about your qualifications to do this presentation. You sure I shouldn’t just expand my old team’s talk?”
Okay, that was me getting bratty.
I held up a hand. “That was me being snarky. If you think you’re ready, I really would like someone to address PTSD and the paranormal. But, Thomas, you have to at least acknowledge that’s what AB has. Whoever’s fault it is, that’s what’s wrong with her. I don’t know what that does between you two, but at the very least, you might be able to understand her behavior a little better for your own piece of mind.”
He looked down and away. “Is she thinking about pressing charges?”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
So that’s what he was worried about.
Well, if that didn’t speak volumes, I didn’t know what did.
“I don’t know,” I said.
He flinched, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I actually felt sorry for him.
“Thomas, I think she recognizes that you didn’t know how bad it was on her end, or how far gone she was, and she’s been going over this with her therapist to figure out if she needs to.”
“Needs to?” His head jerked up. “Wait, she’s in therapy?”
I slammed a hand to my mouth.
Oops.
Probably not something she wanted him to know.
Wait.
I dropped my hand.
“Didn’t I say something about that a minute ago?” I asked, forehead creasing. “I swear I said her therapist diagnosed her with PTSD.”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “You said something about a therapist disagreeing with me on the PTSD, I think. What do you mean, needs to?”
I sighed. AB should be the one saying all this.
“She said a few months ago that she would only press charges against you if she knew she needed to. Like, if she remembered something that said for sure you crossed the line and would need to be stopped. She doesn’t remember a lot of it though.”
He clenched his fists and his jaw worked.
“Look,” I said, “the statute of limitations runs out in less than a month, and she hasn’t done anything. Probably means she’s not going to.”
“Okay, great, but what if she does?”
he snapped. “Or she doesn’t, but she’s still telling people crap about me? Making them hate me? She poisons the well wherever we both are. What do I do to not be on her bad side?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Thomas, she hasn’t done anything for months, so I don’t… I can’t even… this is way more personal stuff than I wanted to get into today. I need to check on my friend. Go make sure your presentation is ready. Okay? Thank you.”
I turned and rushed for the hall before he could say anything else.
I hit the bathroom’s swinging door just a little too hard, and AB jerked up from where she’d been leaning on the counter.
“He’s not behind you, right?” she asked, eyes wide.
It took me a moment to realize they looked so big cuz her glasses were on the counter.
“No,” I said, shutting the door behind me and locking it.
She laughed, high and panicked, fiddling with the pearl pendant on her gold necklace resting just below her collarbone, hands shaking so hard I could see it from ten feet away.
I hadn’t even realized she was wearing a necklace.
Some detective I was lately.
“I did say I wished he was here,” she said as I walked up to her. “I… I wanted him here. I want to go talk to him. But I can’t. I can’t even think of being in the same room as him. I just can’t.
“I ran. I saw him, and I freaked. I was so surprised. I couldn’t deal with him. It wasn’t that I was scared and decided to run. I just ran. I couldn’t even be there. I couldn’t deal. I was so panicked that staying there wasn’t an option. I didn’t decide. I had no control. When he’s around, I… I’m helpless. I have no control.”
She slid on her glasses and looked me in the eye. “Ari, I’m a coward. I saw him, panicked, and ran. I’m not supposed to run. I’m supposed to stay. I’m supposed to be brave. How do you live with knowing you’re a coward?”
I reached forward and took her hand, pulling her to face me. “AB, listen to me. Are you listening to me?”
She nodded.
“Okay. I have seen you in arguments, and you stand up for yourself fine.” I snapped the fingers on my free hand. “I saw you deal with that bully at your work just last month. And I’ve seen you deal with crazy supernatural cases, and literally put your life on the line. You are not a coward.
“You didn’t run because you were afraid. You ran because you’re traumatized. It goes beyond fear. It bypasses your brain’s ability to reason, to think about what the risk is or what could happen, and decide to face the fear. That’s what PTSD is. Takes one to know one, remember? Remember me freezing earlier with the dropped tray? Same thing. You weren’t running because you were afraid. You ran because that’s how you react when triggered. It’s not cowardice. It’s a symptom of a sickness you’re getting treated. There’s a huge difference. Okay?”
She nodded, licking her lips. “Okay. Okay.”
I gave her a few more beats.
“So, should I make a joke about that E-something treatments not working, or say you’re doing better than you were cuz you didn’t feel as panicked as you used to?” I asked.
She laughed. “No. This… I know I’m doing better. I know it. I just needed to freak out and be a little dramatic. He surprised me. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He is not supposed to be here! Did he move back?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He was a temp professor. He’s an adjunct at Vandy now. And I’m guessing has his old job there too. I didn’t ask.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “He’s back at work? I haven’t even seen him around. I… I can’t deal with this. Nope, not going to deal with this. I’m just going to ignore him and be fine.”
She held up a finger. “I’m not going back in until he’s back in his seat though. So if he’s waiting out there…”
She shook her head hard.
Her empty glass stood alone on the long counter, and something about it looked so sad.
Alone.
She turned her head, following my gaze down.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said after a moment. “There’s… something. I can feel something.” I creased my forehead. “Almost like a warning? Maybe? Last time I felt this way was when Carvi showed up in town looking for who killed Milo, and ready to kill Quil for it.”
“You think you need to call him?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”
I pulled out my phone and hit Quil’s name.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Of course,” I said as his voice played, “he’s probably not awake yet. We talked at ten, so I don’t know when he finally got to sleep.”
I left a quick voicemail for Quil, telling him I had a bad feeling and to call me back.
“I don’t think it’s him,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like it did back then. And when I heard his voice… I don’t know, I could feel this wasn’t about him. He’s not happy with the new king, and he’s pissed as hell that he isn’t here for this conference, and that he’s going to miss the full eclipse tomorrow, but he’s not in any danger or anything. He’s just crabby.”
AB nodded. “So maybe it’s something about the conference?”
“Oh, it better not be!” I snapped. “Not after all the work I put in.”
I focused on that and nothing popped up psychically.
“I don’t think it’s about the conference.” I shook my head. “Okay, let me check and make sure Thomas is back where he’s supposed to be. He’s on after my old team anyway. And I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go in.”
AB nodded.
###
Thomas wasn’t in the lobby when I checked, and AB and I rushed back into the room, stopping to grab drinks on the way.
Thomas got up to do his half hour presentation, and I’d never say it to AB, but…
He killed it.
He was a born public speaker, speaking smoothly, gesturing and lifting his voice when it fit, and he told quick snapshot stories of people affected by the paranormal that broke my heart. Then he got into what they could do when diagnosed with PTSD.
Again ironically, he went into how EMDR treatments, what AB was doing, worked and the success rates.
AB got up to get another drink as he was finishing up, and I followed her back.
I was starting to feel my mint julep.
And to see people’s powers as the alcohol amped up my psychic abilities.
Hey, as long as I wasn’t slurring or seeing alternate dimensions, I was probably okay.
“He’s good,” AB said. “Like, really good. No wonder he’s a professor now. And I sucked. Public speaking isn't my thing. I stumbled through my speech. Then he gets up, and it’s all beautiful and moving.”
“There's nothing more annoying than your sworn enemy being better at something than you are,” I said.
She made a face as she took a long sip of another one of her colorful martinis.
“I’ve almost had enough to drink to talk to him,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Or I shouldn’t be talking to him at all, let alone tipsy,” she said. “You’re right.”
I nodded.
“I can’t believe he’s doing a talk on PTSD.” She giggled, high and loud, and clamped a hand over her mouth as a few people in the back tables turned to look at us.
“Him of all people,” she whispered. “I mean… I can’t… I can’t… You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?”
Thomas finished up, and the room burst into more than just the polite clapping AB and my old team got.
The first fifteen-minute break was scheduled now, and people started getting up.
Thomas stared straight at us.
I met his eyes, focusing on him.
I could feel him urging me to keep AB there till he could get to us through the crowd.
His fear that that one mistake eight years ago was going to cost him his career, his good name, and his cha
nce at citizenship.
His desperate urge to talk to AB and convince her not to press charges.
Him trying to remember that night in more detail, trying to figure out why she was so convinced he’d crossed the line, and at what point it could’ve been so bad for her that it’d leave her traumatized.
Him wondering if she really was that damaged and wishing he could fix it.
Him thinking she was being a drama queen and just telling people she was traumatized to punish him.
“No,” I thought at him.
He jerked, and I smiled.
I was getting the hang of this mental stuff.
“You are not going to make her worse trying to convince her again that you did nothing wrong. Ain’t happenin’.”
His mouth fell open.
And the sad thing was, she wanted to talk to him as much as he wanted to talk to her.
Just for different reasons.
“Come on,” I said to AB, jerking my head.
She followed me out through the lobby. I led her past the front desk and down to the back hall where there was another bathroom.
I locked the door behind us and stared AB down over my glass of wine.
“I know,” she said. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
“Do you?” I asked. “Besides your birthday, when was the last time you heard from him?”
She sighed. “Christmas party.”
“Where you happened to run into him,” I said. “And besides that?”
“When we talked and were trying to work things out, and then I didn’t hear from him, because he quit and he didn’t tell me. He told Paul he was done trying, and Paul had to tell me.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Somebody cares, they call; that’s the rule. He said he was gonna call so you two could keep working on your issues and rebuild, and he didn’t.
“And then you had to hear through a mutual friend that he was done tryin’ to fix your friendship, and that you would figure it out when you didn’t hear from him.
“That’s not only a cruel and cowardly move, it’s also not ambiguous. That doesn’t leave room for debate. That’s an, ‘I don't care about you, or if I ever even see or speak to you again,’ and an, ‘I'm blowing you off forever.’
“And you literally had not heard anything from him in months. Like almost eight months.”