It showed deep blue water, smooth and tranquil, flush against an expanse of fine white sand. A few palm trees graced the foreground, slightly blurred against the backdrop of mountainous terrain along the horizon. Cindy didn’t know where the picture had been taken—there were a hundred different locations the photographer could have chosen. But it reminded her so much of the small private beach at the resort on St. Thomas. She’d only been there a week but every time she needed to focus on a happy memory, that was what she thought about. It didn’t make sense, not when the darkness had been lurking at the edges of her world even then.
But even the darkness couldn’t detract from the happiness she felt thinking about that week. Warm sun beating down on her. Sand, both hot and cold, against the soles of her feet. Calm breezes caressing her skin, washing away the heat of the day.
She closed her eyes, breathed in, smelling the scents of coconut in the sunscreen she and Ethan had used. Smelling the scents of fresh fruit in the tropical drinks they shared: pineapple and lime and berry.
Smelling the warmth of Ethan’s skin as he held her. Remembering his touch. His taste. His laughter and his teasing.
She took another deep breath and forced her eyes open then blinked against the burning moisture. One week. Nothing more than one simple week…and yet it meant the world to her, more than she could ever explain or even understand.
“You always seem to focus on that picture. Is there a reason why?”
Cindy shrugged without looking at the doctor. “I just…it reminds me of something.”
“Like what?”
Should Cindy tell her? The question was so silly. Why shouldn’t she, when she had told her everything else?
No, not everything. She hadn’t mentioned Ethan at all. Why was that, she wondered?
“Maggie’s wedding. She got married in St. Thomas.”
“Sounds like fun. Happy memories, I take it?”
Cindy smiled this time, a real one despite the sadness she felt. “Yes. I stayed for a week after the wedding. I wasn’t going to but Ethan…” Her voice trailed off as she took in a breath of air. “Ethan talked me into staying. We—it was fun.”
“Ethan? I don’t think I’ve heard you mention him before. Who is he?”
“He’s just a…friend.”
“You don’t sound too sure of that.”
Cindy glanced over at the doctor, shrugged and went back to studying the picture. “We’re friends. I thought that maybe…well, things change, I guess.”
“Do you still talk to him?”
“Almost every day. He’s—he’s been great. Very supportive.”
“You don’t sound very excited about that.”
Cindy shrugged again. “I am. It’s just—I don’t like feeling…I don’t know. I think he’s spending too much time worrying about me and not enough time focusing on his game. I don’t want to be a distraction for him.”
“That almost sounds like he’s more than a friend.”
“No.” Cindy glanced over, noticed that Dr. McCormack was leaning forward now, a glint of interest in her eyes. She shook her head and looked away. “I thought maybe, after St. Thomas but…then this all happened and…we’re just friends.”
“Was this something he decided? Or was this your choice?”
“Me!” Cindy couldn’t keep the horror from her voice. “Just me. Ethan’s not like that. He wouldn’t just—it doesn’t matter. We can’t be anything more than friends. It’s not fair to him. He deserves someone…someone better.”
Dr. McCormack studied her for a few minutes. Cindy stiffened, already anticipating more questions about Ethan. Questions on how she felt, or why she thought the way she did. But she changed the subject—and Cindy almost wished she had asked about Ethan instead.
“Let’s talk about your anxiety. Tell me about your improvements. I know you’ve gone out a few times. Any more issues with crowds?”
“I still don’t like them. I get…I feel like I’m being boxed in. Too many people, too close. I can’t breathe, I get hot—” Cindy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t in a crowd now, she was in an office. With plenty of space. Nobody around her. There was no reason for her heart to pound in her chest or for her palms to grow sweaty.
Several more deep breaths then she opened her eyes. “Big crowds, no. Not yet.”
“But smaller ones are better?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Mostly. I mean, I don’t feel so closed in, so claustrophobic.”
“And physical contact. Has that improved?”
“Do you mean do I take off screaming or cower in fear?”
Dr. McCormack chuckled, the sound startling Cindy. “I think I see some of the old you pushing through.”
Cindy frowned, not understanding what she meant at first. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise at the answer she had given: a little upbeat, maybe even a little snarky. When was the last time she had spoken like that?
Her relief was short-lived, though. It was only one comment—one during a grueling five months, a time period where too many moments were permanently lost to the darkness that had become part of her world. The brief words didn’t matter, not really.
If the doctor noticed the sudden change, the doubt and disappearing relief—and Cindy was certain she did—she didn’t say anything. At least, not about that. Her gaze focused on Cindy, making her wonder what she saw.
Making her wonder if she really wanted to know what she thought.
“So the anxiety has decreased?”
“A little. Maybe. I—” Cindy swallowed and looked away. “I maybe had a small breakdown two weeks ago. When I went to that small party I told you about. I just…I kind of freaked out and broke down and started crying and—well, Ethan held me during it and I didn’t freak out. Does that mean I’m getting better? Probably not.”
Cindy glanced over, waiting for the doctor to say anything. She simply nodded, silently encouraging Cindy to continue. But continue with what? She didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know what the woman wanted.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. Forcing herself to open up. “I just—I don’t know what to believe. And every time I think I’m improving, every time I think the depression is going away, all this doubt comes creeping in. And I think…I think part of me is almost afraid of getting better, you know? Because what if I get better and it happens again? What if I’m moving along, thinking everything is fine, then all of a sudden the depression slams into me? I don’t think—I don’t want that to happen again, I don’t want to go back there. And I think part of me thinks it might be better to just stay where I am now so that doesn’t happen.”
Cindy paused, actually feeling the silence in the room. Feeling Dr. McCormack’s patience and silent encouragement. So she kept going, letting everything out. Hopes. Fears—especially her fears. Fears of not trusting herself, fears of not getting better, fears of getting better than losing everything once more. Fears of being broken for the rest of her life. Fears of being like her father. Talking, more talking. Talking nonstop until her voice turned hoarse and her throat dried out.
She finally stopped, looked up to see Dr. McCormack holding a bottle of water out to her. Cindy accepted it, unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. Her hands shook but she felt…better. Cleansed, almost.
Or was it just her imagination again?
“I think we’re making definite progress. Your fears are normal, Cindy, along with the doubt you’re feeling. And you’re not bi-polar, we’ve already established that. You’re not like your father.” She paused, her head tilted to the side as she studied Cindy. “I think I want to try something different this week with your journaling exercises. And, if you’re willing to try, I have something else I want you to do.”
Cindy nodded, wondering if she should give in to the spurt of hope she felt—or if she should push it away like she usually did. Dr. McCormack watched her for a few long seconds then offered her another gentle smile. Encouraging, reassuring.
Some of the encouragement dimmed as Cindy left the office. The journaling assignment should be easy enough. At least, she thought it would be. But the other one?
Cindy hesitated in the hallway as a chill ran over her. Excitement…or fear? Anxiety…or anticipation?
She didn’t know. And she couldn’t push away the doubt that followed her out the door.
Chapter Fifteen
Ethan pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, hesitating, not ready to get out of the car just yet. He ran his hands along his legs, the worn denim soft under his palms. He was nervous, and he had no idea why.
He snorted. That was a lie: he knew exactly why. He was just having trouble understanding it.
Cindy had called him a few hours ago, sounding…better. Not quite the way she used to but not as quiet, either. Not as sad or lost. She had asked him about the games, listened as he talked about the losses on the road. She had even laughed when he told her about the pranks Derek had pulled on Brad and Corbin.
And then she had grown quiet and he wondered if maybe he’d lost the connection. Or if maybe she had slipped back into that zone he sometimes noticed her in, like she was in her own world, her mind far away, reliving something.
Or maybe just escaping something.
His gut twisted with the stabbing pain the thought brought. He hated seeing her like that, wished there was something he could do to help, some way to help her through it.
Wished that simply pulling her into his arms and holding her would fix everything. But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.
It didn’t matter anyway, not this time. He hadn’t lost the connection, and he hadn’t lost her. At least, not in that sense. She had taken a deep breath, deep enough he could hear it over the phone, then asked if he could stop by. The request was almost whispered, the words uttered quickly, as if she was afraid she might not get them out if she didn’t hurry. But he still heard the shyness in her voice, the hesitation.
He didn’t say the words he wanted to say: that he’d do anything for her, anything she asked. Instead, he just simply asked her what time she wanted him to come by.
And now he was here, wondering what prompted the invitation, wondering if something was wrong. Worrying that maybe something had happened.
And he wouldn’t find out if he didn’t get his ass out of the car and get moving.
He took a deep breath and opened the door, swung his legs to the side and climbed out. He was ready to walk around the car, to head up the sidewalk when the front door of the tidy split-level opened and Cindy stepped out. Ethan stopped, his breath leaving him in a rush, making him feel like he’d just taken a fist to the gut.
She looked…different. But different in a good way. Instead of the baggy jeans and bulky sweatshirts he had grown used to seeing her in, she was dressed in a pair of black leggings and tall black boots. Her coat hung open over a gray sweater that came past her hips. She was still too thin but not as bad as before. Was it his imagination, or did he actually see some color in her face?
He hesitated, watching her as she walked toward him. No, it wasn’t his imagination: she wasn’t as pale as before. Or maybe it was nothing more than the hint of makeup she was wearing. It didn’t matter, because she looked better, healthier, than she had the last time he’d seen her, right before their road trip.
He leaned back on his heels and jammed his hands into his pockets, forcing himself to stay where he was instead of running toward her and grabbing her in a large hug. Yeah, because that would go over real well. It would probably send her scampering back into the house.
Which was the last thing he wanted.
But he didn’t hide his grin. He couldn’t, not when she looked so good. She stopped at the end of the sidewalk and adjusted the worn backpack on her shoulder. Green eyes, wide and a little hesitant, met his. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth then looked away, her chest rising and falling with a deep breath.
“You look great.”
Her eyes darted back to his and Ethan worried that maybe he had sounded too enthusiastic. He shifted, took a step toward her, then stopped. “I mean it. You look good. It’s, uh, been a good week?”
“Yeah. I think.”
“One day at a time, right?”
Cindy nodded then adjusted the backpack again. She glanced over her shoulder then looked toward his car. “Do you mind…I mean, is it okay if we go to your place instead? I just…I think I need to get out of here for a few hours. If not, that’s—”
“Yeah, that’s cool. We can do that. Sure.” He moved forward as she got closer and took the backpack from her. Was it his imagination, or had she stiffened just the tiniest bit when his hand accidentally grazed her neck? No, it was probably his imagination because she looked up and gave him a small smile.
It was the sweetest thing he’d seen in months, if not longer. He hesitated, wondering if he looked as stunned as he felt. How could just a small smile have the power to send him reeling like that? To send his pulse soaring? To cause the blood to rush from his head?
And maybe he did look like an idiot because now Cindy was staring up at him, a frown creasing the delicate features of her face. He started to step back, afraid that maybe he was standing too close to her, but then stopped as she raised her hand. Her fingers trembled, just the tiniest bit, as she reached for him. Then she brushed the tip of one finger against his face, just under his eye.
Her touch wavered before she finally dropped her hand, the frown still in place. “What happened?”
Ethan reached up, touched the small bandage he had completely forgotten about, then tried to smile. “Nothing. Just a scuffle on the ice.”
“A scuffle? That looks like it came from more than a scuffle. Does it hurt?”
No, not at all. But he couldn’t get the words to come, was afraid to open his mouth for fear of what might come out.
Afraid he’d ask if she wanted to kiss it and make it better. And wouldn’t that be the absolute worst thing he could say? So he just shrugged then stepped around Cindy and opened the door for her, waiting as she settled into the front seat. He handed her the backpack then hurried around to the driver’s side, backing out of the driveway a little too fast.
Afraid she might change her mind.
They didn’t talk much on the drive back to his place, but they didn’t need to. The silence was a comfortable one, filled with the soft sounds of country music floating from the speakers. Ethan glanced over at her every few minutes, watching without being obvious. She wasn’t fidgeting, not like she was the last time he’d seen her. She wasn’t twisting her hands in her lap and her gaze wasn’t bouncing from one thing to another to another. In fact, she almost seemed…serene. Calm.
He came to a stop at the light outside the complex where he lived then looked over, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I like your hair, by the way. I should have said something earlier.”
Cindy reached up with one hand and smoothed it over her sleek hair. It was just a little shorter now, the ends curled up in a loose carefree style instead of hanging straight and limp. He had no idea what kind of style it was but it looked good on her. Kind of loose, swinging when she moved her head. Almost…upbeat.
He bit back the snort. Upbeat? Hair wasn’t upbeat. What the hell was wrong with him?
Cindy finally lowered her hand and glanced over, giving him another small smile, this one almost shy. “Thanks. Maggie took me yesterday, said I needed a change. She was right.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Regret? Sorrow? Impatience? Ethan couldn’t tell. And then the light changed and he had to turn, had to pay attention to where he was driving until he pulled up in front of the building housing his condo.
It was an older place, not as big or fancy as a condo he could get downtown. But the complex was small, no more than ten buildings that housed three large units each, one on each floor. Originally an old apartment complex, the renovated white stone buildings were surrounded by mature trees
and backed up to a wooded park that had a jogging trail. It was quiet, peaceful. And the corner unit he owned was on the bottom, giving him the added benefit of more outside space.
Not that he was home that often.
He glanced over at Cindy and wondered what she thought of it. She’d been here before, of course, but he had never asked her opinion. Maybe it was too old for her, too outdated or not modern enough.
Maybe he should think about moving. There were plenty of options downtown. Maybe she’d prefer one of those sleek high-rises that overlooked the Inner Harbor. Not that he was going to ask her to move in or anything. But still, maybe he should give it some thought.
“I’ve always loved this place. It’s so peaceful here.”
And maybe he should just stop thinking stupid thoughts. Move? No, he didn’t want to move. And he was glad Cindy liked his place.
For whatever reason—reasons he probably shouldn’t even be thinking about.
He climbed out of the car and hurried around to the other side, but Cindy was already getting out. She tossed the backpack over her shoulder and gave him another shy smile as they headed toward his building. Then he was unlocking the door, holding it open for her as he palmed the switch to turn on the lights against the encroaching darkness.
Cindy stepped past him, into the living area. She dropped the backpack onto the overstuffed chair then stood there, looking around. Ethan gave the room a quick glance, making sure there weren’t any dirty dishes laying around. No, it was clean. He hadn’t been home for over a week and the cleaning service he used had been there just yesterday. Even he couldn’t make that big of a mess that fast.
Not that he ever did.
He turned to watch Cindy, saw the way she was still looking around, like this was the first time she’d seen the place. And he suddenly wondered what she thought of it. Too masculine? Too bare?
The furniture was comfortable, the sofa and loveseat and matching chair upholstered in a soft brown leather that reminded him of an old bomber jacket. And they were designed for lounging, not as show pieces. The tables were sturdy pieces, each made from reclaimed barn wood. A large flat screen television hung on the far wall, just above a gas fireplace. To the right of the fireplace was a narrow table that held knickknacks and pictures. His gaze landed on one and his breath froze in his lungs. Would Cindy notice it? What would she think if she saw it?
Face Off (The Baltimore Banners Book 10) Page 10