by Ws Greer
Contents
Crash
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Cruise Control
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Repairs
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Check Engine Light
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Test Flights
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Hazard Lights
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Takeoff
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Maintenance
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Preview of The Fallout
Acknowledgments
More From WS Greer
First edition published by Kindle Direct Publishing 2020
Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by WS Greer
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design by Robin Harper/Wicked by Design
https://www.facebook.com/WickedByDesignRobinHarper
Interior Design and Formatting by Book Mode
Created with Vellum
Crash
Chapter One
~ Tessa ~
Have you ever felt like you were walking down a dark road? A road that doesn't feel like home. A road that is terrifying, and at the end of which you know there is nothing but impending doom. Have you ever felt like you were walking toward your end with every step you take? Well, that's how I’ve felt for far too long now, and today is the day the doom swallows me.
The office is beautifully decorated: hardwood floors, walnut wood furniture that meshes perfectly with the black and brown couch I find myself sitting on, and elegant art on the walls that isn't too distracting, but beautiful nonetheless. It’s a comforting setting, which I especially appreciate at this moment, because I need all the comfort I can get.
Across from me is a man I never thought I would have to sit in front of, but after struggling to solve the puzzle on our own the past six months, we’re here. His name is Dr. Malcolm Colson, and he’s a relationship therapist. We’ve been seeing him for four weeks now, and although Dr. Colson is brilliant, I don't think we’re making much progress. We’re moving, but it doesn't feel like it’s in the right direction. That’s not Dr. Colson’s fault, though, it’s ours.
Sitting on the couch next to me is my boyfriend of the last two years, Brandon Stills. Brandon is a gorgeous man. He’s just under six-feet tall, with short, perfectly manicured hair and a beard that’s neatly trimmed. His hair is dark brown while his eyes are light brown, and he holds the confidence of a man two feet taller than he is. Brandon is in decent shape, as he hits the gym regularly, and he attracts plenty of attention from women, even when he’s standing next to me. I always felt lucky to have him. Until I didn't.
Dr. Colson is a beautiful man in his own right. He’s probably six-feet tall himself, but he’s got a bit more to his frame than Brandon. Dr. Colson’s shoulders are broader, and his chest grabs my attention through the fabric of his button-up shirt. He’s probably two-hundred pounds to Brandon’s one-seventy, and his skin has that luscious golden brown you get when you have interracial parents. His green eyes are impossible to ignore, and the confidence he emits is like a fog that engulfs you when you get too close to him. It’s something I wish I could breathe in and use for myself, but since I can’t, I’ve found myself leaning on Dr. Colson for support when we come here. He’s been the best therapist I could ask for, and his skill is being put to the test.
I’m in the presence of two beautiful men, but I’ve never felt more uneasy and self-conscious. The air doesn't feel like it should. It’s thicker, like the weight of the tension in the room is mixing with the oxygen and making it harder to breathe in. The comfortable couch doesn't feel as cozy as it did four weeks ago, and I feel as though I’ve run out of positive words to add to the conversation. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of him. I’m just so very tired of it all.
“You see, this is what I’m talking about,” Brandon says. His words pull me out of my daze and roughly drag me back into the conversation I no longer want any part of. “See? She just goes to some happy place inside her head, and it’s like I’m talking to myself. She doesn't want to listen to me. Jesus.”
I look up and see Dr. Colson staring at me, his green eyes captivating me. He doesn't look angry, but then again he never does. He looks like he’s trying to read me. It’s like I’m an open book, but I’m written in a language he hasn't learned yet, so he’s thumbing through the pages looking for words he recognizes so he can piece them together to make a complete sentence.
I’ve been fascinated by Dr. Colson’s ability to pay close attention to us. He listens better than any man I’ve ever met, and he uses the information to give us sound advice that I believe could work if we were two people who were still invested in working it out, which I’m not sure we are anymore. Dr. Colson has earned my trust and respect. I only wish Brandon would shut the fuck up so Dr. Colson could earn his.
“Okay, you're frustrated, Brandon,” Dr. Colson says, his voice low and commanding. “And I like that you're communicating today, instead of holding it all in. However, your communication can’t be powered by assumptions. I don't think Tessa doesn't want to listen to you. I think what's more likely is that your main concern is talking and getting your point across, rather than reading your girlfriend’s body language and nonverbal clues. From what I’m seeing—and please correct me if I’m wrong, Tessa—Tessa is shutting down. She looks drained. Brandon, have you asked Tessa how she feels about all of this?”
I don't look over at him, but I hear Brandon let out an exasperated breath before speaking.
“I don't have to ask her anything,” Brandon says. “I can tell from the look on her face that she’s somewhere else in her head, and that’s fine with me, because I can go somewhere else in mine.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. When I do, both men in the room turn their eyes to me. I’ve been quiet throughout the entire session today, choosing instead to let Brandon get out whatever bullshit he wants to say. Maybe I’d feel compelled to speak up if I felt like Dr. Colson believed a single word slithering out of Brandon’s mouth, but I can tell he doesn't. He looks disinterested, which is the mirror reflection of how I feel.
However, everybody has a tipping point. Usually, when Brandon starts off on one of his long venting sessions, I just let him vent. My mother taught me not to say anything when I don't have anything positive to add to the conversation, but that is getting to be too much of a task, because not only am I tired, I’m fed up.
“Tessa, is there something you'd like to add?” Dr. Colson asks. Those green eyes of his glare at me, telling me that the therapist has given me an in, and that I should take advantage of the opportunity.
I turn to Brandon and shake my head. “That was a joke, right?”
Brandon frowns. “What?”
“What you just said about going somewhere else in your head,” I continue. “Brandon, you don't need to go somewhere else in your head, because you literally leave all the time. You're always out doing something else. That’s what brought us here in the first place. You don't touch me anymore, and that’s because you're always gone.”
“You're mad that I don't touch you?” Brandon tries to strike back. “That’s so dumb, Tessa. How do you expect me to touch you when I’m out trying to make something of myself? I’m out there trying to make it big, while you're content being a veterinary assistant, working at your father’s clinic. You might be okay with a normal, boring life, but I’m not. I’m out there trying to become somebody in this world.
“And if we’re being honest, when we do get to spend time together, you don't even seem happy to be with me. Maybe I’m physically distant, but you're mentally distant. It’s like you’re constantly thinking about whether or not you even want to be with me anymore. You're never satisfied. Like, when we have sex, you look dispassionate and detached. When I ask you what you want me to do, you tell me you don't know, but you act mad that I don't know either. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to satisfy you when you don't even know what you want?”
I steal a glance at Dr. Colson, who’s writing furiously on his yellow legal pad, and I’m dying to know what he thinks about all of this. When he’s done writing, though, he doesn't speak. Dr. Colson is all about open communication. He’s been harping on it from the moment we walked into his office, so when Brandon and I get into verbal spats, Dr. Colson seals his lips and picks up his pen, but he rarely interjects. He lets us work it out, unless he sees that we can't work it out on our own.
“Don't get mad at me for being driven, Tessa,” Brandon continues, annoyance walking hand in hand with his every word. “I don't have a family-owned business to attach myself to. My father doesn't have a clinic for me to work at. I have to make it on my own. Nobody handed my skills to me. I became a music producer on my own.”
“Oh, God. Here we go again,” I spit out with a huff.
“Oh, fuck you,” Brandon snaps. “Yes, I’m proud of the fact that I’m a music producer, and I’m proud of the fact that a band I produce and manage has booked a gig in D.C. this weekend. You can act like it’s no big deal all you want, but this band is about to go sing songs that I produced the music to, playing a gig that I booked for them. That’s a big deal to me, and it should be to you, too. You're just jealous that I’m about to become rich and famous, and you're going to be stuck working at Milton Animal Clinic under the shadow of your parents your entire fucking life, because I swear I’ll leave you behind if you don't shape up. That's right. If you don't figure yourself out really quickly, you're going to lose out on me.”
“God, you're a fucking asshole,” I blurt, as I snap my head toward Brandon. “Nobody gives a fuck about that band. American Armpits is the dumbest band name I've ever heard, and they'll never amount to anything more than they are now. Attach yourself to those losers at your own peril, Brandon.”
“Goddamn it, when did you become such a bitch?” Brandon barks.
“All right, all right, I think we need to reel it in,” Dr. Colson speaks up with his hand in the air like a boxing referee. “You guys know I’m all about communication, and I can appreciate both of you opening up, but we need to try to keep it civil. We have to express our emotions without reverting to name-calling or putting words into each other’s mouths. It’s okay to be emotional, but you have to keep it from becoming hostile. If you two can't do that, then this road we’re traveling on will become much more difficult to navigate. When you can't express yourselves without resorting to insults, and intentionally trying to bring each other down and hurt each other’s feelings, that's a sign of a much deeper issue. When all you have left for each other is contempt and outrage, you have to ask yourselves an essential question. Do you even like each other anymore?”
In the time that Dr. Colson was letting us argue while he jotted notes, he came up with his best and toughest question yet, and I don't know the answer. I don't know if it’s that I don't like Brandon anymore, or if it’s that I don't know myself well enough to like who I am.
Chapter Two
~ Tessa ~
The sound in the room is vacuumed out, and the cold silence left behind is blaring. The three of us sit awkwardly now. Dr. Colson’s eyes move back and forth between Brandon and me, never settling on either of us. No one speaks. Within the stillness is the answer, hanging there like a vine, dangling back and forth between all of us.
Brandon and I don't look at each other. The anger has risen too high now, and neither of us can see over it. It’s blocking our view of the things we hold dear about each other, and I don't know if there’s any more progress to be made today, but Dr. Colson isn't one to give up. He takes pride in his ability to bring people together, and give couples a fighting chance. I can tell he takes this as a challenge, and he’s determined to win. I’m just not sure if there is any victory to be had in this game Brandon and I are playing.
Dr. Colson lets out an exhausted sigh, before tossing his notepad onto the wooden desk between us.
“Okay,” he begins, his voice coming out as calmly as possible. “We have to remember why we’re here. You're not the first couple who has come in here and had arguments. That’s what therapy is for. You’re supposed to resolve issues that you're emotionally attached to. It’s stressful and difficult, but we get through it together.”
Brandon keeps his eyes trained on the hardwood floor, but I maintain eye contact with Dr. Colson as he goes on.
“No matter what, speaking up is always the best idea,” Dr. Colson lectures. “We have to use our words, but we also have to remember not to be disrespectful, because no one wants to engage in a conversation where they feel disrespected. I can see that today is an emotional day for both of you, but nonetheless, I’m proud of you. This is our fourth session together, and it’s the first time both of you have communicated openly. We’ve had days where only Tessa was able to open up, and days where only Brandon spoke, but you both communicated today, and that’s great. Even if it got a little testy, it’s always good when both parties can communicate.
“Now, I know I’ve floated a question that’s difficult to answer, but I think it’s important that we end today’s session as best we can. Sometimes, the best way might not be the easiest way. It might not be the way that makes you happiest right now either. The answer to the question, though, is a crucial step in how the three of us will proceed.
“Sometimes, when we love each other, we forget to like each other. We forget to enjoy each other’s company, and we forget what brought us together in the first place. There can be love deep inside, but if we don't like each other, it’s really hard to continue. So, I think both of you need to think deeply on this question and see what answer comes up. If you can't answer right here and now, that's fine, but let’s give it a try. Tessa, do you still like Brandon?”
My heart feels like it just got into a car wreck and went flying out the window, leaving me stunned inside the damaged vehicle, staring blankly at the destruction around me. I don't know how to answer because I feel like I can't even think right now.
How did it all come to this? Brandon and I were good two years ago. When we first met, we laughed all the time and wanted to spend every minute together. We had sex a lot, like most new couples do, and the sight of him walking into the room put a smile on my face.
I remember the good times like they were yesterday, and I don't even know when all of that stopped. I don't know when his pursuit of a music career became this overbearing thing that ran roughshod over our relationship. I don't know when his ego got so big and his perception of me became so ugly. I don't know when we started to resent each other. I don't know when I started questioning whether or not Brandon was even my type. I have no idea when all of this began, but I feel like it’s so far gone now, there’s no turning back. No
matter how much therapy we go through, we won't be able to spark the flame again.
Before I know what hit me, there are tears gliding down my face. I hate crying, but I do it so often these days, it’s the only thing in my life that feels familiar. The stream of tears doesn't stop, and Brandon exhales next to me, frustrated at the sight of his girlfriend weeping once again.
“Tessa,” Dr. Colson says to me. “Tears are always telling. They have a meaning behind them, so if you can, I’d like you to try to speak to that. What are you feeling right now?”
“I don't fucking know,” I snip, not at Dr. Colson, and not even at Brandon. Maybe I’m snipping at myself for being so unaware. I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts so I can speak coherently. “I’m just very confused. My whole life, I’ve gone along with things that I wasn't sure about. I always had people pushing me, telling me what to do, and it’s gone on for so long that I don't know what I like. I just feel confused all the time.”
“Oh, and that’s my fault?” Brandon explodes with raised arms.
“I didn't say it was your fault,” I fire back. “But you're here and it affects you, too. It has affected you. Maybe that’s why you allowed yourself to become so distant from me. Maybe you could sense that I’m unsure about us… that I’m unsure about what I want.”