Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  “Good to know.” I grin, causing her to roll her eyes.

  “You should go, Trace.”

  “I just have one question first.” She waits patiently for me to ask. “Nothing’s changed? Meaning what exactly? You’re still thinking or you’re still saying no?”

  “Still thinking.”

  “All right. If you need help deciding, call me.” I grin.

  Brittany laughs, and damn, I’ve missed her laugh. Without thinking, I bend to kiss her forehead. Her laugh abruptly ends. I walk away before I can capture much more of her reaction because I don’t want to see her conflicted eyes, a mixture of resistance, desire, love, and hate. There’s only two of those that I’d rather see.

  The lack of anger at my unannounced arrival has to be good, right? She didn’t immediately kick me to the curb. She smiled and even laughed. She’ll come back to me.

  She has to.

  I stare at the flowers Trace brought. No one has ever bought me flowers before. It’s odd how it’s softened me. They’re just flowers. They’ll be dead eventually.

  “What’s the deal with him?” I hear Quinn ask. “You never mentioned him.”

  “It’s a long story, which I doubt you actually want to hear,” I say as I face him.

  “I still care about you.” As if that’s enough reason to talk about an ex.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Quinn frowns. “I miss you.”

  For some reason, I doubt he truly means it. We were only together for two months, and the first sight of an old flame reentering the picture so soon after we break up is probably why he misses me. Quinn is a little…territorial, I guess. He’s probably just jealous.

  “I’m too much work, remember?” I say, causing him to flinch.

  “Not my best choice of words,” he mumbles.

  “Yet they’re still true. Did you get everything?” The sooner he leaves, the better. I can’t deal with two men in my life. It’s been a long day at work, plus dealing with both Trace and Quinn, and I’m exhausted. I need sleep ASAP.

  “Yeah. I’ll, um, get going. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Once he’s out the door, I decide to skip dinner and head to bed. Who cares if it’s only six in the evening? I’ve been up since six this morning and have had more than I can handle for one day. Even though I have no clue what I want to do about Trace, the looming decision is weighing on me. I’ve been trying not to think about it really. It just stresses me out and leaves me more confused than anything. I am so angry with him, but I miss him and he was sweet bringing me flowers, and he seems so genuine.

  What am I supposed to do with that shit?

  My feelings for Trace are all over the place. How am I supposed to make a decision based on that? Rebecca is firmly Team Anyone But Trace. Same for my dad. Mom is the only one who thinks he deserves another chance. Thirty minutes after getting in bed, I can’t sleep. I decide to call Mom.

  “You must need to talk if you’re the one calling me,” she answers.

  I laugh softly. “You just always call me before I can call you.”

  “That’s probably true. What’s going on? Something new with Trace?”

  “Not really. He brought me flowers today.”

  “That’s sweet. It sounds like he’s trying.”

  “Tell me what to do, Mom,” I beg. “Can I go back to someone I don’t even trust? What sense does that make?”

  “Because if the love is still there, then trust can be repaired. I know he hurt you, Brittany, but after hearing why, it makes sense. Now, that doesn’t mean I agree with it. Only that I can see his point of view and understand it.”

  “Why do you think I should get back together with him?”

  Mom is quiet for a moment as if forming her thoughts. “Because despite everything else going on, he made you happier than anyone else ever has. There’s a reason why you were so heartbroken. You loved him so deeply that it cut even deeper. Don’t you think if you have a chance to get that love back, you should try?”

  When she puts it that way, it makes sense. “But what if he just hurts me again?” I voice my biggest concern. “I’m already fragile, Mom.” Emotionally and mentally.

  “You won’t know unless you give him a chance.”

  She makes a good point.

  “Okay. I guess I’ll give him a chance and see how it goes.”

  Two days later, I find the courage to text Trace on my lunch break.

  Me: I’ve made a decision.

  Trace: And it is?

  Me: You can have another chance. We can date, and see if I can really do this or not.

  Trace: Thank you.

  Trace: Free tonight?

  I laugh. Figures he’s going to try and move in as soon as possible. My day has been okay so far. Can I handle an evening with Trace? Before I can respond, I get a text from Rebecca. I texted her earlier to tell her that I’m giving Trace a chance.

  Bec: Are you kidding me? No. Just no, Brittany. Don’t do it. He’s going to break your heart all over again.

  Her response pisses me off. Yeah, I understand it and worry about the same thing. However, as often as she and Dustin have broken up and she’s given him another chance, who is she to tell me what I should do?

  Me: You gave Dustin a chance every time. What’s the difference in me giving Trace one?

  Impulsively, I text Trace.

  Me: What time are you picking me up?

  Trace: 6:30. Dress causal. We’ll be outside.

  Bec: There just is!

  I roll my eyes and don’t respond. I have a date to worry about. When I leave work, I will have just enough time to go home and change out of work clothes. I kind of like having to dress up a little for work. It’s such an adult thing to do. However, there are times when I wish I was still in college and could show up in sweats and a hoodie. I really am extremely lucky to have the boss I have. Belle Larkin is understanding. As long as my work is being completed within the timeframe needed, she has no problem accommodating me when I need it.

  When I get home, I happily shed my clothes for shorts, a V-neck T-shirt, and sandals. There’s some time to spare after all, so I try to tidy up my apartment. It’s a disaster. All I manage to do before Trace arrives is put clean clothes on my bed and the dirty in the clothes basket. I decide to stuff some cash into my pocket and grab my phone and keys.

  “Hey.” Trace smiles when I open the door. His gaze travels over me in appreciation. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He waits patiently for me to lock my door before interlacing his fingers with mine. I want to pull away and tell him that he hasn’t earned that privilege yet, but I don’t. I don’t want to overreact. Besides, it feels ridiculously good. He still oozes comfort and strength. It irks me a little, to be honest. There’s no real reason why, I guess.

  Trace opens the passenger door for me and then walks around to get in on his side. “Did you have a good day?” he asks.

  “Yep. You?”

  “Not too bad.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Well, there’s a fair in town, so I thought that would be fun. Sound good to you?” He glances at me with a touch of worry in his gaze.

  “Yeah, that sounds fine.” It sounds like a no-pressure place with a fun atmosphere where things can’t get too serious. It’s also a place where things can’t get too cozy or intimate. At least, I hope not. Whatever happens, I definitely do not want to jump into a relationship with Trace again. Not until I feel like I can trust him and us again.

  The drive is quiet and slightly awkward until Trace asks, “Okay with getting something to eat there?”

  “Sure.”

  More awkward, uncomfortable silence. How did we get to this point? To where we no longer have comfortable silence? It’s tragic. It shouldn’t be like this with Trace.

  He reaches over to pull my hand away from my wrist and intertwine our fingers. “Hey, it’s just me.”

  I pull
my hand out of his. “Yeah, it is just you,” I say quietly. It’s just the guy who I completely trusted, had fallen in love with, had depended on, and needed during the good and the bad. Just the guy who broke up with me and shattered my heart into pieces I’m still trying to put back together. Yep. It’s just Trace.

  Nothing else is said the rest of the way. I don’t think Trace knows what to do with this distance between us either. He’ll have to figure it out if he wants me back.

  At first glance, it doesn’t seem that busy at the fair. But once we make it past the entrance, I see that I’m mistaken and I unthinkingly reach for Trace’s hand and move closer to him.

  “Once we get away from the entrance, it should lighten up,” he reassures me. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he slows his pace as if once we get away from the main crowd, I’ll release his hand and move away from him and he’s trying to prolong the inevitable. He doesn’t need to worry about that. My anxiety has already launched up a few notches and I’m not going anywhere just yet. Like it or not, Trace still brings me comfort.

  I slowly relax as we aimlessly stroll through the fairgrounds.

  Trace’s chuckle causes me to tilt my head back and look at him. “God, I haven’t been to a fair since I was a kid.”

  “Bringing back a lot of memories? I’ve never actually been to one.”

  He stops walking and stares at me in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Pretty sure I’ve always been full of anxiety and I didn’t like the little festivals in elementary school, so whenever my parents asked if I wanted to go to a fair, I said no.” I shrug. “They never dragged me anyway.”

  “Have you even had cotton candy or a candied apple, or corn dipped in butter or fried oreos or a huge turkey leg?” I shake my head. “We should go to the state fair this fall. You’ve missed out, Britt.”

  “Well, show me the ropes.”

  First, he buys me a funnel cake, which we share. It’s delicious and I’m tempted to get another, but Trace has other ideas. Trace leads me to a booth where some kind of game is obviously played. He hands over some cash and deposits me into the seat, standing behind me with his hand on my shoulders.

  “Aren’t you playing?” I ask, looking up at him.

  “Nah, I’m going to help you win.”

  I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask as the other seats are filled.

  Trace instructs me to put my hands on the triggers of these odd-looking guns. “Water is going to squirt out of this and you need to hit the bull’s-eye on the target. Keep your hands steady because it’ll cause that tube to fill with water. You have to be the first to make it fill up to win.”

  “Am I supposed to want to win a lousy stuffed animal?” Humor is a good distraction. I can feel the heat from his body behind me. His thumbs rubbing back and forth on my shoulders. It makes me want to lean back and pull his arms around me.

  Trace laughs. “Yes.” He doesn’t get time to say more because the guy on the other side of the counter gets everyone’s attention. He counts us down and soon, water is squirting out of the gun. It takes me a second to get my aim right. “Hold steady,” Trace instructs, but my hands are too shaky. He’s making me nervous with his closeness. “Ah, you were close,” he says as ringing goes off to announce a winner two seats down.

  Next, he drags me to play ring toss. I’m no better at that. Trace decides I need another try. He stands behind me and helps. “You need that dog. Looks like Lily,” he explains as he aligns our bodies and guides my throw.

  It settles around a bottle perfectly. “I guess this is the extent of your athletic abilities.”

  His chest rumbles with laughter. “If you want to call this athletic, then yeah,” he answers, another ring landing around a bottle.

  All we need is one more to win the stuffed animal. Third time is the charm. I point to the one that looks like Lily with a smile. Trace makes me play most of the games we come across and I can’t help but think about how much money he’s wasting to give me this “full experience.” Call it a side effect of growing up and not having my parents pay for everything anymore. It is fun, though, and we’re both able to relax.

  “All right, time for some rides,” Trace declares.

  We go on a few as the sky darkens, rides and vendors lighting the place up. I start becoming tired and hungry when he leads me to the Ferris Wheel.

  “Last one,” he says as if he somehow knows I’m ready to leave. Which wouldn’t surprise me because he could always read me well. “Can’t come and not ride the Ferris Wheel.” We wait in line until it’s our turn, and he glances down at me. “Think you’d want to get some actual food after this?”

  “Maybe.”

  We settle into our seats and the bar secures over our laps. Trace takes my hand in his, his thumb drawing maddening circles around my knuckles. I give in to my urge and rest my head on his shoulder. It could be so easy to fall back into a relationship with him. Part of me wishes I would, but that is the last thing I need to do.

  Never, in all the years I’ve known Brittany, has there been distance between us. It’s there now. I have no clue what to do with it or how to close the vast gap. Maybe that’s what I need to bring up in therapy next week. I hate it, though. It’s my fault it’s there and somehow, I’m supposed to know how to put it back together.

  “So, what do you say? Want to go eat? We could go to your favorite fried pickles restaurant.”

  It sucks that she has to think about it. Eventually, she answers, “Yeah, we can do that.”

  I smile because it’s a small victory in the long battle ahead of me. Or at least I think so until I catch her squeezing the hell out of her wrist and then she says, “Actually, take me home please.”

  “Okay,” I agree quietly. I don’t want to push her. After changing directions, it doesn’t take us long to reach her apartment complex.

  “Sorry,” she mutters once I park.

  “It’s fine.”

  “I had fun.” She still hasn’t looked at me.

  “That’s good; I’m glad.”

  Brittany nods, but still makes no move to leave my car.

  “I’ll walk you in,” I offer.

  “Okay.”

  We get out, meet around the front of the car, and I take her hand as we walk toward the building. I’m not dumb enough to have thought that we could’ve slipped back into the way things were, but I didn’t think it would be so difficult or feel so bad.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say as we step into the elevator. Just because I can still read her easily doesn’t mean I know exactly what she’s thinking.

  She looks over at me with watery eyes. Fuck. What have I done now? Brittany just shakes her head.

  “Britt,” I whisper, but she shakes her head again.

  The doors slide apart and Brittany walks through, dragging me with her. She lets go of my hand and starts talking as she unlocks her door. “I don’t know if I can do this, Trace. It’s too hard, and I feel like I’m constantly fighting myself because my emotions are contradicting each other. I just don’t know if it’s worth the turmoil.”

  My heart begins hammering in my chest. She can’t be giving up and retreating already. Brittany pushes her door open, but I grab her arm before she can escape. Her eyes are full of pain as she looks up at me. I cup her face.

  “It’s worth it. We are worth it. Please.” My voice trails off because I don’t even know what exactly I’m begging for anymore. Except for her. I’m begging for her.

  Her eyes scan over my face. Suddenly, she grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me down as she lifts on her tiptoes to kiss me. Her lips are aggressive and her tongue pushes its way into my mouth. I wrap my arms around her waist to pull her flush against me. My fingertips curl and dig into her shirt. This kiss does not belong to a conflicted girl; it belongs to a girl who is desperate to put the pieces back together and keep them that way.

  Brittany starts walking toward the door, but I slide my hands
to the underside of her thighs and lift until they’re wrapped around my waist. I walk us inside and kick the door closed behind us.

  “Tell me what you want.” I kiss along her jaw and down her neck.

  “Bedroom,” she breathes.

  Even though I hate to give her an opportunity to change her mind, I ask anyway. “Sure?”

  She presses her mouth to mine and nods. Within seconds, we’re in her bedroom and on her bed. I run my hands down her sides, wanting to commit to my memory the feel of her body and to remind myself that she’s here and this is happening. My heart stops when she gently pushes me away. My heartbeat seems like it’s pulsing in my head, but it slows as I realize she’s only removing her shirt. I drink in the sight of her. I could stare at her for hours, but Brittany isn’t having it. She pulls me back down to her lips and then her hands reach for my shorts.

  I push them away for now. It’s been one year, two months, and a handful of days since I’ve been able to enjoy her body. Not a thing about this will be rushed. I didn’t do a good enough job before to take care of her. That’s not happening again. I place open-mouthed kisses across her chest. My girl doesn’t trust me, she doubts me, and everything I do has to be a step toward getting rid of that. That thought makes me pause. Brittany removes her bra while I wonder if I should even sleep with her yet.

  Brittany grabs my face and pulls my body up until we’re face to face. “Don’t think; just act.”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to nod because she kisses me again.

  Don’t think. Just act.

  I can do that.

  Brittany lies next to me with her head on my chest and an arm thrown over my stomach. We haven’t spoken a word in quite some time. I continue running my fingers up and down her bare back and glance at her alarm clock.

  “I need to go.” My voice seems too loud as it breaks the silence.

  Her body tenses and I swear she stops breathing.