Anything but Broken

by Joelle Knox

  Too much. It’s too much, and I remember this feeling. Not the usual twist of nerves I’ve been coating in liquor and avoidance, but the full-on heart-pounding, oxygen-stealing misery of an anxiety attack.

  I had the first one five months after Cait died. In the middle of English class, with my teacher’s voice droning into a distant buzz as she read from the final pages of The Awakening. As her voice described Edna’s choice to walk into the water, to swim until her strength gave out. My chest constricted along with the room, my breath coming faster and faster until I was hyperventilating.

  Everyone assumed the reminder of my sister’s accident had triggered the attack. And I let them assume, because I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what Cait had done. Not my teacher, not my school counselor, not the therapist they sent me to. I gave them the lies my mother had crafted for me and got the help she wanted for me in return—none.

  Maybe it’s time to try again. This time, with the truth.

  Just the thought helps. Worry still wraps around me, but I can manage this. I can be strong for as long as I need to be.

  Sadie comes through the automatic door, looking rumpled and worried, but not distraught. Maybe even a little annoyed. “He’s awake,” she says immediately, and the wave of relief that sweeps over us all is a tangible thing.

  Not him. Thank you, God, not him.

  “But he’s being a stubborn ass,” Sadie continues. “He doesn’t want to stay for a CAT scan.”

  Mary rises and steadies herself with one hand on Gibb’s shoulder. “He what?”

  “He wants to sign himself out right now and go home.”

  “He will not.” Indignation squares Mary’s shoulders, and she looks a thousand years younger already. “I’ll handle this.”

  She sweeps through the doors, and Gibb’s lips quirk up. “We’d better get comfortable. Sean’s having a CAT scan.”

  I can’t return his smile, not yet. “Does that mean they still think there’s something wrong?”

  “Hey.” Gibb crouches down in front of me. “Evie was right about the safety equipment. He still had his helmet on when we got him out of the car, so the doctors are probably just covering their asses.”

  I nod, and the room stays steady this time. I can’t say I’m calm, but I’m functioning, and that’s more than I thought I could manage. The only real question left is the one I don’t want to ask, because Gibb won’t sugarcoat the truth to make me feel better.

  But I have to, even if it hurts. “Should I stay? Does he want to see me?”

  Gibb doesn’t answer for so long that my heart tries to break in half. He’s watching me, judging me, and when he finally speaks, it feels like another test. “Does it matter?”

  Yes, I want to say. Yes, it matters. It matters for him, because if this is my fault, he shouldn’t have to see me out here, shouldn’t have to face me.

  But if it was that easy, Gibb wouldn’t be asking.

  And that knot of fear lodged in my chest isn’t all about what Sean wants. It’s the same fear that’s haunted me all along. I can pretend I kept back the truth about Cait to protect him, I can wallow in the pain of carrying that secret alone and curse myself for the weakness that made me share it. There’s truth in both.

  They’re still built on lies.

  I don’t have the right to decide the shape of Sean’s pain. I don’t have the right to take away his choices because I think I know what they’d be—what they should be. My mother spent her whole life trying to control the people she was supposed to love, and in the end we all hurt more because of it.

  Sean has the right to face me. To ask me to stay or to tell me to go. I’m not sparing either of us by running away, just giving up on him before he has a chance to decide.

  “No,” I tell Gibb softly. “No, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  24

  »» sean ««

  My fire suit is in ribbons, cut to pieces by the emergency room staff. It’ll only cost me a few hundred bucks to get another one, but it’s the symbolism of it that stings more than anything else. It was perfect when I got hold of it, brand new, and now it’s a shredded mess.

  One more checkmark on the list of things I’ve ruined.

  I guess I’m damn lucky they spared my clothes the same fate. My jeans are rumpled and smell like smoke, but I pull them on anyway and reach for my shirt and shoes. The suit is nothing, easily replaceable—unlike my car.

  I swallow a groan just thinking about the damage. The chances of being able to salvage anything from the wreckage are slim. We’ll need a whole new car before next season—before Gibb’s season, and the thought that I may have blown his chances to get back on the track makes me want to throw up.

  And it would’ve been his season, no doubt, because if tonight has taught me one thing, it’s that I don’t need to be on the racetrack. Not until I get my shit figured out.

  Sadie stands beside the bed, one hand planted squarely on a stack of papers on the rolling table. “It’s not irrational, that’s all I’m saying. You were unconscious for a while.”

  “No way.” My voice is still gravelly, but it’s strong enough now to make my point. “I stayed for the CAT scan. I’ve let them poke and prod and stab me, and I’m done. I’m not staying overnight.”

  “They call it observation for a reason—”

  “Someone can watch me at home.” I ditch the hospital gown and drag my shirt over my head. “I need a shower, and I need to brush my fucking teeth. My tongue tastes like a barbecue grill.”

  “Fine.” She lifts her hand from the discharge papers, clicks a pen, and holds it out to me. “You can come to my place. We’ll pull out the couch.”

  “Home, Sadie. My home.” Gibb can drive me. Hell, he’ll probably sit up all night to stare at me if I let him. There’s no way he isn’t thinking this is his fault, though that’s ridiculous.

  A blown-out tire. Nothing remarkable about it—it failed because parts fail, even in the best-maintained cars. And it happened at the worst possible time. If I’d been coming down the straightaway, I could have slowed down instead of losing control. If I hadn’t been pushing so hard to beat Mason—

  “Hannah’s here,” Sadie says gently.

  My fingers clench around the pen, around the flashy, stylized plastic cheerfully advertising some new drug. “Yeah?”

  “She wasn’t at the race, that’s all. I thought maybe…”

  Instead of answering her unspoken question, I scribble my signature on the forms, acknowledging that I’m skipping the hospital against medical advice. I was desperate to get outside, to get some fresh air. To get away from the sounds and scents that remind me of losing my father.

  Now, I need to see Hannah. This place holds worse memories for her, and with the way we left things, I have to let her know that I’m okay.

  That I’m going to be okay.

  The rest of my family is still in the waiting room, with Grady and Joe on either side of our mother. Gibb’s sitting across from them, rigidly unmoving. Evie’s slumped against him, sleeping with her head on his shoulder.

  Hannah’s leaning against Evie, but she isn’t asleep. Her eyes meet mine the second I step through the doors, and she straightens slowly. “Sean.”

  “Hi.” It’s stupid, I know, but it’s all I can think of. Her eyes are red, swollen, but she’s staring at me like I’m some kind of goddamn miracle. “Hey.”

  She moves so slowly. Skittish, approaching me like she’s ready to bolt if I frown. She stops within arm’s reach but doesn’t touch me. “You’re all right?”

  “Yeah. They’re letting me go home. Kind of.”

  Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t push. She doesn’t say anything until the silence has gotten awkward. “I’m glad.”

  “Yeah.” It isn’t enough, but it’s all I can manage. There’s so much to say, but not here and not now, with my whole damn family watching and my head still aching. “Gibb, can you give me a ride?”

  “Sure. Your place or mine, an
ywhere you want to go.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my mom bite her lip to hold back a protest. I know what she really wants is to drag me home, into my childhood bedroom, and shove lemonade and chicken soup at me for the next week.

  But I’m a grown damn man, and I have things I need to do.

  My brothers slap me on the back and shoulder, like they have to touch me to make sure I’m really here, and my mom hugs me before backing off with a pointed look. “I’ll come by tomorrow,” she promises. “I’ll bring lunch.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Hannah is still watching, motionless. Her face is blank, but she can’t hide the pain in her eyes. It drags at me, slicing deep.

  So I bend down and kiss her cheek, lowering my voice so that my words are just for her. “I’ll call you.”

  “Take care,” she replies just as softly.

  I walk away, because that’s the only thing I have left to give her right now. It’s dark and still outside, with the kind of quiet that only happens in the middle of the night. Hell, I don’t even know what time it is. I’m exhausted, but adrenaline is humming through my veins too, keeping me wide awake.

  Gibb hauls open the passenger door to his truck. “You sure you’re good?”

  The last time I lied to Gibb, I climbed into a car and almost got myself killed. “No. That’s why you’re here.”

  He snorts, as if he’s not surprised. “Then let’s go back to my place. You can sack out in the recliner and I can keep an eye on you.”

  “Thanks.” The pounding in my head gets more enthusiastic when he cranks the engine, and it slips into overdrive when we start bouncing down the road. I close my eyes, then roll down the window in an effort not to puke.

  Eventually, it works. We drive in silence—blessed, uncomplicated silence, even though I know there are a million things Gibb must want to say.

  He waits until we’re out of town, headed toward the quiet plot of land that holds his father’s trailer. “I told Boone to haul what’s left of the car over to the garage.”

  I wince. “Sorry I wrecked it. We’ll build you another one before next season.”

  “I don’t give a shit,” Gibb grumbles. “I’m just glad you’re not wrecked.”

  “I’m tougher than that.” I hesitate, because it sounds like an excuse, like I’m trying to convince him this wasn’t his fault, even though it’s the truth. “Fucking tire.”

  Gibb glances at me. Just one look, but I know what he’s thinking.

  So I shake my head at him. “Shit breaks, Blair. Doesn’t matter how well they’re maintained, you know that. The way we run those cars, it’s a miracle they don’t fall apart.”

  “I guess. But maybe—” He flexes his hands and shakes his head. “I know I checked the tires. Won’t stop me from being pissed at myself.”

  “You checked. You always do. And I was out of control,” I tell him firmly. “Mason had the edge, and I should have backed off, but I couldn’t lose the race. Not after—” After I’d lost everything else. “I blew a tire, sure, but I still might have wrecked. I was reckless, ran it too hard, but all I could think was that I’d rather die than let him beat me. And that was dumb as shit.”

  Gibb hesitates. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you in the car to begin with.”

  “That was my call. I’m the one who fucked it up.” A shudder wracks me. “If I’d taken someone else out, or flipped my car up into the stands? Jesus Christ, man. I can’t do that shit.”

  “We both fucked up,” he says, voice firm. “And if Mason hadn’t gotten you out of the car…”

  It takes a few seconds for his words to register. “Did you say Mason?”

  Gibb makes a sharp noise—half laugh, half groan—as he makes the turn into his driveway. “You don’t remember? He climbed halfway into your burning car to haul your ass out. Now I can’t even think about punching him.”

  “He did not.”

  “I wouldn’t make that shit up.”

  I wasn’t expecting to owe Mason Shaw anything, ever, much less something like this. But I would have done the same thing for him, and that leaves us on common ground. “Maybe he’s not so bad, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” He parks the truck in front of his trailer.

  I’m still turning it over in my head when Gibb gets the front door unlocked, and I drop into the recliner in the corner as he flips on the lights. “He’s got my marker now, Gibb, whether I like it or not. Yours, too.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m sure he’ll waste it.” Gibb moves into the kitchen. “You need a drink? I’ve got Coke and water and milk that’s getting a little questionable.”

  “Coke’s good.”

  He grabs two cans and hands me one before sprawling on the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” I hold the can to the knot throbbing on the side of my head. “I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what to feel. I mean, I know what I do feel, but it’s seems...all wrong.”

  Gibb lifts one shoulder. “If it’s wrong, it’s wrong whether you say it or not. Hiding from it doesn’t do a damn thing.”

  It’s impossible to explain, because I can barely get it straight in my own head. “Cait lied to me. It wasn’t her fault, but she did. The bad part is that I let her.”

  “You let her?”

  “Come on, man. What did we call her? Crazy Cait.” Guilt burns my throat. “The stuff she did wasn’t about fun. You might not have realized that, but I did.”

  “We were teenagers, Sean. What the hell could you have done with her parents pushing back against it?”

  “Nothing. But what kind of person gives up and walks away?”

  “A human one. A tired one.”

  The truth. The truth. “She called me the night before she died. I was sitting right by my phone. I saw who it was, and I didn’t feel like dealing with it.” I still have no idea what Cait wanted, what she needed to say or hear, because she didn’t leave a message. It felt like guilty avoidance at the time.

  Now that I know she killed herself, it feels more like walking away and letting someone die.

  Gibb doesn’t say anything at first. He rubs his thumb over the side of his Coke can and finally sighs. “You’ll never know. I hate those fucking words—I just had to say them to Hannah, too—but it’s true. If we want to blame ourselves bad enough for something, there’s always a way. But most of the time? We’ll never know.”

  It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, ancient history. All that’s left is for me to catch up, to somehow wrap my brain around this new reality.

  And around the new questions. Like how Hannah could possibly want me in her life when she knows what I do when things get hard. That I turn my back and close my eyes.

  That I run.

  25

  »» hannah ««

  By Sunday evening, Sean still hasn’t called.

  Gibb picks me up after dinner, and we drive to Douglasville. His usual meeting is in a church basement with cement block walls covered in scenes from the Bible colored in with childlike whimsy.

  Introducing myself makes my head swim. My ears buzz the whole time, and my heart races with panic and adrenaline as I break the final taboo. Telling the truth to total fucking strangers—it’s so surreal I can’t hear my own words as they tumble out of my mouth, so I tell them that, too.

  No one laughs. No one seems alarmed or uncomfortable. The meeting moves on, strangers telling their own stories—worse stories, heartbreaking stories—and my pounding pulse gradually eases. I feel like I put down a hundred pounds, like I’ll float up off my chair.

  I might even sleep tonight.

  Before we leave, I get a packet filled with information and encouragement. I also get a temporary sponsor, a thirty-seven-year-old brunette named Sally who promises there’s nothing I can say that will shock her. She puts her number in my phone and makes me promise that I’ll call her if I need her, day or night.

  It’s another little lifeline. Someo
ne to talk to who understands, someone who isn’t painfully entwined with Sean and the silence that’s breaking my heart. So I smile and thank her, and I clutch my phone as Gibb starts the drive back to Hurricane Creek.

  “Sally’s good,” he says after ten straight minutes of not talking. “She’s smart, and she’s seen some shit. Let her help you.”

  “I will.”

  Silence descends again, and I can tell he doesn’t want to break it. He’s in the middle of this, whether he wants to be or not—and I’m pretty sure the answer to that is not. In the messy explosion of me and Sean, Gibb’s so far on Sean’s side that my side might as well not exist.

  In a weird way, that’s the only thing keeping my hope alive. I’ve been clinging to it, telling myself there must still be a chance, or Gibb wouldn’t be wasting his time on me.

  After seeing him tonight, I might have to let go of that. Gibb can be rough and hard and sometimes flat-out mean, but there’s a steely sense of honor at his core. It’s practically chivalrous, though he’d probably scowl if I said so. He’s capable of helping me through this for no other reason than that it’s the right thing to do.

  There may not be hope for my heart, but Gibb still has my back.

  Evie’s waiting for us on the porch when Gibb rolls to a stop in front of her house. I’m surprised when he climbs out to walk me up the steps, but less so when he smiles up at Evie. “See? Brought her back in one piece.”

  She closes her book, keeping her finger between the pages to mark her place. “Never doubted it for a second, Blair.”

  “Sure you didn’t.” He leans against the railing and frowns when it creaks. For a second, he looks like he’s about to request a tool belt and a hammer, and I give Evie a sympathetic look. Carrying chairs down stairs was bad, but I’m not sure she’ll survive Gibb Blair going full-on handyman on her front porch.

  But she only rocks the porch swing with her foot and winks at me. “How was the meeting?”