Or maybe she sensed that his feelings had grown, and hers hadn’t quite caught up. Maybe she just needed more time. He wouldn’t push her. He could wait. She was worth waiting for.
“Brady?”
He blinked away the thoughts and began telling April about his business. About how he’d started it and how it had grown. How God had blessed his efforts. He left out the inheritance from his grandma—April’s mother—and the way it had afforded him his much-needed garage. Granny hadn’t left April anything, and he didn’t see the need to rub her nose in it.
By the time he hugged her good-bye, he’d almost put his worries about Hope to the back of his mind.
“Where are you going, little man?”
Sam had followed Hope into the kitchen, his hands and knees working quickly. He reached for the slice of peach peel that had fallen onto the floor.
“Oh, no, you don’t. That’s yucky.”
As she scooped him off the floor, his face wrinkled up in his pre-cry expression.
She slid a bit of juicy peach between his lips. “There you go. How’s that? A lot better than that ol’ peel.”
He immediately forgot his disappointment, vocalizing his approval of the sweet flavor.
Once he swallowed, she held up another bit. “Want more?”
He opened his mouth like a baby birdie, and Hope accommodated. She glanced at the clock. Brady would be home soon. He’d met his mom for breakfast, and for some reason that made Hope nervous.
She was feeling nervous a lot lately. The nightmare she’d had Monday night hadn’t been her last. Fortunately she’d not awakened Brady again. But she’d awakened herself and lay in the dark, sweat drying on her brow. Her heart pounding like a bass drum. Thinking about her fear. Her life. Her future. Watching Brady sleep peacefully, his chest rising and falling.
She told herself the nightmares weren’t real. But her fear was real enough. Brought on by a terrible event that had left her with major scars. The fear always dissipated with the morning light, but it never went completely away.
Sam complained, reaching for the next bit of peach, and she fed it to him automatically.
Her heart suddenly began to race, and her breaths grew short. An overwhelming sense of terror swept over her.
Oh, no. Please, God, no. Not this again.
She hadn’t had a panic attack in years, but she knew this feeling. It bloomed inside, spreading into the tips of her fingers, making them tingle. She was helpless against the rising tide of panic. Against the complete loss of control. She tried to slow her breathing, but it seemed impossible to keep up with her body’s demands.
Sam reached for more peach and nearly toppled from her arms. She grabbed a slice, placed it in his mouth, then set him down on the living room floor before she dropped him.
She was shaking with terror. It felt as if someone else were inside her body, looking out her eyes. Needing an outlet for the nervous energy building inside, she paced the living room floor, making quick work of the space. Waiting, waiting for it to pass.
You’re fine. You’re not in any danger. It only feels like it. This will pass. Soon you’ll feel normal again. The coping skills came right back to her.
Coping skills. What a joke. This didn’t feel like coping. It felt as though she were fighting for her life and losing. And she was already dreading the next attack. There’d be another one coming, she knew.
A long moment later—it felt like an hour—her heart rate began to slow. Her breathing followed suit.
A choking noise drew her attention, and she turned to see Sam staring at her, wide-eyed. His face was red, his mouth open in a silent scream.
“Oh, dear God!” Hope rushed to him. He wasn’t coughing or crying. He was choking!
“Sam!” She set him on her lap, facing away. She only knew how to do the Heimlich maneuver on adults. But she clasped her hands together and used her fists to thrust in and up.
Please, God!
She thrust twice, three times. Was she doing it too hard? Or not hard enough? The fourth time something came up. Sammy made a garbled sound, then began to scream.
Thank you, God! She turned him around and pulled him against her. He clung to her, wailing. Her eyes fell on the piece of fruit on the rug. It was much too big for him. She’d given him a slice she hadn’t finished cutting. What had she been thinking?
Her heart was out of control again, but the panic attack had subsided. The terror she was feeling now was based in reality. Sammy had been unable to breathe, and it was all her fault.
“What’s wrong?” Brady was rushing into the house.
She hadn’t even heard him pull up. Sam was wailing in her ear, and she was crying, she realized, as Brady swept his son into his arms.
“Hope? What’s wrong? What happened?”
She stood on shaky legs, moving to cover the piece of peach on the rug. “He’s fine. He . . . he choked. On a piece of peach. I did the Heimlich maneuver, and it came back up. It just happened. Oh my gosh.”
Hope ran a hand over her heated cheeks, the close call making her break out into a cold sweat.
Brady looked his son over. “Are you all right, buddy?”
Sammy’s wails had slowed to a mere cry. He clung to Brady for life.
Hope brushed the back of the baby’s head. I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. “He wasn’t breathing. Not at all. His face turned all red, and he just looked at me like . . . We should get him checked just to be sure he’s okay.”
“All right.”
Brady reached out to her, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Are you okay? You look really shaken.”
The dampness at the back of her neck sent a chill down her spine. “It was . . . It was terrifying.”
He pulled Hope into a hug. His warm breath feathered her skin. “But he’s going to be all right. Thanks to you.”
Yeah, she thought, closing her eyes against Brady’s shoulder. Thanks to me.
chapter thirty-three
The following Saturday found Hope at the Rusty Nail with the full group. The table was rowdier than usual, having wedding stories to rehash and celebrating Hope’s job, which was starting in just two days.
Brady was up at the bar getting them refills, Sam resting against his shoulder. She watched Brady a minute, admiring the straight line of his shoulders and the firm curves of his biceps. He wore fatherhood like a second skin. She was sure going to miss him while she was in Atlanta.
Her eyes drifted across the restaurant to Zoe and Cruz on the dance floor, fresh from their honeymoon, looking flush with love and happiness. They danced now in the middle of the throng, staring at each other like the lovebirds they were.
As she watched, little claws of envy scratched at her from the inside. They made it look so easy, love and marriage. So simple. Zoe wasn’t having nightmares and panic attacks. She wasn’t scared to death of losing everything she had. But then, she was blissfully unaware of the devastating pain such a loss could bring. Hope could claim no such ignorance.
She forced the thoughts away, fearing another panic attack. She’d had three more this week, and out of desperation she’d made an emergency appointment with a colleague in Ellijay yesterday. Brianna was a friend and a psychiatrist she met with occasionally for lunch.
Hope had unloaded on her in the quiet of her office, and in the end, Brianna had given her a prescription for Zoloft. But it would take a few weeks for the medication to be fully effective. So far she’d only experienced the side effects. Drowsiness and nausea. She’d slept last night, whether she’d wanted to or not, and of course, the nightmare had followed.
She hadn’t told Brady about any of it, and she felt guilty about that. But how would she explain what was happening to her? Even despite her education on the matters of mental health, she couldn’t help but feel a little crazy. What if he thought she was off her rocker? He hadn’t exactly signed on for this.
She counseled people, for pity’s sake. She was supposed to have her own life under
control.
Physician, heal thyself.
She rolled her eyes. Well . . . she supposed that’s what the drugs were for. If only they’d start working. Preferably before Brady noticed something was terribly wrong with his wife. Or before she had a panic attack on the air. Or before she put Sam in harm’s way again . . .
She looked around at the table full of friends, all talking and having a good time, somehow feeling isolated from them. Her gaze roamed back to Zoe and Cruz on the dance floor. She wished she could talk to her friend. Zoe had been there when Aaron died. She understood the deep hole Hope had clawed her way out of.
But she was also Brady’s sister. Hope wasn’t sure Zoe could be objective about this, and anyway, it wouldn’t be fair to put her in the middle. No, she’d work through this on her own. The medication would kick in eventually, and she’d be fine. They’d all be fine. In the meantime, she had a job to mentally prepare for.
The next evening, Brady walked Hope out to her car, carrying her bag in one hand and toting Sam in the other. He couldn’t believe the day had arrived. She was officially leaving for her new job.
Hope opened the passenger door, taking her duffel bag and dropping it in the seat. She was all set. He’d gassed up her car yesterday, changed the oil, and made sure the tire pressure was optimal.
Man, he was going to miss her. Friday already seemed like a month away. He’d get a lot of work done, of course. And he’d made plans to meet his mother at the park with Sam tomorrow evening. Best he just stayed busy.
He let his eyes drift over Hope’s womanly curves and felt the urge to pull her into his arms and drag her back into the house. He loved the way she sank into his embrace at night. The way she clung to him. The way she looked at him in the darkness, her eyes saying things her lips never did.
He’d nearly told her he loved her at least a dozen times this week. But he sensed she still wasn’t ready for the words. While they had those close, intimate moments like he’d never experienced before, they also had other moments. Moments when she didn’t quite meet his eyes. Moments when she pulled away from his embrace too quickly. When she made a joke or became flippant rather than let the mood grow too serious.
Her gaze met his now, the waning sunlight making her eyes vivid green, giving her skin a rosy glow. Before he could sink too deeply into those twin pools of heaven, her eyes cut to Sam, and she reached for him.
Then there was that—the way she used Sammy as a shield whenever Brady got too close or too serious. Or maybe he was just imagining that.
But he wasn’t imagining the stacks of her clothing still in the spare-room drawers. Or the row of dresses still hanging in the spare-room closet. He hadn’t brought it up. She’d move into his room when she felt comfortable with the idea. He didn’t want to rush her.
But now she was leaving for the week, and he couldn’t help but wish there wasn’t already a distance between them that had nothing to do with miles.
She was giving Sammy a dozen kisses, all over his cheeks and neck. The baby grabbed onto her hair with both hands, giving a belly laugh.
“Gonna miss you, sugar. Be good for your daddy.” After nuzzling the baby’s cheek, she drew back, covered a great big yawn. “I’d better get on the road and make it an early night.”
He thought of teasing her about keeping her up too late last night. They’d always been that way, teasing and flirting, even when they’d only been friends. But she never brought up their lovemaking in the light of day, so he held back the comment.
She handed Sam over and leaned in, brushing Brady’s lips with a sweet kiss. “I got his bag packed up for Ruby. It’s on the table. And there are a couple meals in the freezer if you don’t feel like cooking. Oh! I forgot the Tylenol and teething gel. You’d better add that to the bag just in case.”
“We’ll be fine. It wasn’t that long ago I was a bachelor, you know.” He put his arm around her, threading his fingers through her hair. Inhaling the scent of her and wondering if he’d find it on her pillow. “I’ll miss you.”
“Me too.” She pulled away too soon, gave him a final peck, and made her way around the car. “Take care.”
“Good luck tomorrow. You’re going to do great.”
“Thanks.” She flashed him a smile before getting into the car.
“Call me after the show?”
“It’ll be late,” she warned.
“I’ll be up listening. Say bye-bye to Mommy,” he said to Sam.
The baby did a backward wave—his new trick.
Hope laughed, waving back. “Bye-bye, sweet thing. See you soon.” Then she was in the car and starting the engine.
As the little red Civic made its way down the drive, an emptiness swept through him. And somewhere deep inside, that old familiar ache kicked up.
Sammy was still waving even as Hope reached the road, his brows pulled together. “Ma-ma-ma-ma!”
“She’ll be back, little buddy. She’ll be back.” Brady wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to reassure.
chapter thirty-four
Hope’s first shift at her new job was almost over. She’d had some preshow jitters, but they’d disappeared quickly as she’d gotten back into the swing of things. She’d been anticipating her call-in show—the last segment of the night. And the hour was flying by.
She adjusted her headphones—they’d given her a headache—and leaned into the mic, pressing the call button.
“You’re on the air with Hope. Go ahead, Mary.”
“Hello . . . ?” a woman said after a brief pause.
“You’re on the air, Mary.”
“Hi, uh, thanks for taking my call, Hope.”
“You’re welcome. How can I help you tonight?”
Mary turned out to be a middle-aged woman who was frustrated with her workaholic husband. He didn’t seem to notice her anymore, and she wanted advice on how to get his attention.
Hope delved into their history a bit and offered some advice. A quick glance at the digital clock warned this was her last caller of the night, so she took her time, engaging in a subject she knew many women could relate to. Leo, the nighttime jock, entered the studio during the call, and she gave him a nod as he took the other seat.
“Thank you so much, Hope,” Mary said. “That was most helpful. I’m going to take your advice and run with it.”
“Glad I could help. Keep in touch, Mary.” Hope disconnected the call and queued up her show’s outro music. “And that’s it for tonight. Thanks for joining me in my first live broadcast of Living with Hope from WKPC. Join me, Hope Collins, again tomorrow night at ten, when the lines will be open for your calls. Leo the Lion is coming up next.”
She played the top of the hour ID and removed the headphones.
“Nice job,” Leo said. He was in his early twenties, just getting started—and thus stuck with the all-night shift. He had thick strawberry-blond hair and a wild beard that had prompted his radio name.
“I was listening on the way in,” he said. “That Carla sounded a little creepy.”
Hope unplugged her headphones. “Turns out there’s a fine line between pursuing and stalking.”
“No doubt. I think you helped her see that—very gently.” He settled in front of his computer and took a gulp from his travel mug—the engineers would probably have a fit if they drank from open containers around the expensive equipment.
By the time Hope emerged from the building, the adrenaline had dissipated, and she was wilting with fatigue. She crossed her arms against the October chill and made her way to the corner, then across the deserted street toward the parking lot. She was renting a garage apartment from the station’s news director. It was a one-room studio not far from the station, cheap and perfect for her needs.
Her mind was spinning, rehashing the call-in show. It was the part of her job that kept her coming back—that she might be helping people live happier, healthier lives. As strange as it felt to be living in a city, above someone’s garage, and as much as
she already missed Brady and Sam, it felt good to be doing her thing again.
A few minutes later she pulled into the short drive and followed the porch light she’d left on at the top of the staircase. The apartment’s stale air hit her as she entered. She was turning up the heat when her cell phone rang.
“How’s it feel to be Atlanta’s new favorite jock?” Brady asked.
She laughed. “I don’t know about that, but it felt pretty darn good to be back on the air again.”
“You’re amazing, Hope. The way you handled that Carla chick. And the advice you gave Mary . . . All of it. You’re so good at what you do.”
His kindness was like salve on a wound. “Thanks, Brady. That means a lot to me. Did you listen to my whole shift?”
“Yep, since three. Sammy too, since we got home from Zoe’s. Though I’ll admit he conked out before Living with Hope started—the little fuddy-dud.”
“Was he impressed?”
“He recognized your voice,” Brady said excitedly. “You should’ve seen his face when he heard you. He went all still, and his eyes got wide. He started looking around the living room for you.”
Her heart gave a punch. “Aw . . . That’s so sweet. Did he get upset when he couldn’t find me?”
“A little. I had to distract him with Cheerios. I want him to get used to hearing your voice on the radio, though.”
They talked for a few more minutes about his and Sam’s day, and on Hope’s third yawn Brady called it quits.
Hope disconnected the call and readied for bed. She thought she might fall asleep before her head hit the pillow. The bed was a little lumpy, but she had high hopes for a good night’s sleep since she hadn’t had any bad dreams last night.
And that’s when she realized . . . she hadn’t had a panic attack since she’d left Copper Creek yesterday. She rinsed her toothbrush and studied herself in the mirror. Was it possible the meds had kicked in so quickly? She didn’t think so.
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