Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  The only thing I can do is laugh.

  “Uh-oh,” she mutters just before I hear, “Brittany?”

  I look up to see Trace standing next to me. “Hey,” I breathe. God, he looks gorgeous. Of course he does!

  “I saw you and I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Hi.”

  He grins. “Who’s your friend?”

  “I’m Melissa, a co-worker of Brittany’s. Do you have a brother or cousin or friend who looks like you?”

  Trace laughs. “I’m an only child and my family lives in Texas. My closest friend is four hours away and he’s married.”

  “Damn it. Are you sure you want this ol’ hag back?” She motions to me.

  “Melissa!” She can’t be serious!

  “I’m joking!” she quickly reassures, while Trace laughs.

  “I only wanted to say hello. I’ll leave you two alone.” Trace looks down at me and for a moment, I panic. Is he going to kiss me? Hug me? Simply say goodbye? I hold my breath as he leans down, pressing a simple kiss to my forehead. My eyes flutter close at the light contact. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye,” I whisper.

  He says goodbye to Melissa and then sits down at a table with some guy I don’t recognize.

  “You’re still in love with him,” Melissa says, bringing my attention back to her. I roll my eyes, but she keeps talking. “He kissed your forehead, Brittany. Your forehead, which I get can be sweet, but you looked as if he just told you he loved you and wanted to be with you forever. That little kiss, and you looked swept away in Trace’s world. What did he do that’s so unforgivable?”

  “It’s complicated. Let’s pay our bill and get back to work.”

  Melissa finally gets the hint that I don’t want to talk about it. She probably thinks I’m overreacting, which I kinda am, but that’s besides the point. We finish up the last of our meal while waiting for the waitress to bring our bill and then we pay. My eyes keep sliding over to Trace. He doesn’t look our way once. Maybe he’s trying to give me space.

  He’s done a good job of giving me some distance, except for moments like on our last date when he blurted out that he loved me. One minute I’m fine and I can almost believe that we are right and should be together. Then, I’ll remember what happened. I’ll remember the hurt and anger, how I don’t trust him, and how I don’t even know if I can forgive him. I’m starting to feel like I’m crazier than I originally thought with all this back and forth whiplash of emotions.

  That’s something that bothers me a lot. It’s driving me mad that I can’t figure out one way or the other what I want where Trace is concerned. Thinking about it is exhausting on top of everything else. As I’m leaving work for the day, I get a text from Trace.

  Trace: Hope I wasn’t intruding today.

  Me: You weren’t.

  Trace: Want to go out for dinner?

  Me: I have other plans.

  I set my phone down and focus on driving home. My plans include watching the final hockey game of the season. I obsess over what Trace’s response will be, wondering why I care so much. Pushing it off, I don’t bother checking when I park my car at the complex. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stay awake during the game; I’m already sleepy.

  There’s a piece of paper taped to my door, and I gently tear it off. Once I’m settled on the couch, I read Trace’s text first.

  Trace: Okay. Have fun.

  Of course he’s not going to push the issue. What happened to fighting for me? Seems to me like he’s going with the flow more than fighting to get me back. Whatever. I finally read the paper from my door.

  Damn it!

  It’s a notice from my landlord. Rent rates are going up two hundred dollars as leases are renewed. Mine is supposed to be renewed at the end of the month. How can he change the rate that much? How is my apartment going to essentially be worth more next month than today? I don’t know if I can swing that.

  Money is a constant worry as it is. There’s so much to pay for. Bills are ridiculous, and with this happening, either I need to start a strict budget or find a new place to live. It’s not like I’m going to get a raise to match the rise in my expenses. This is all I need. One more thing to add to the already heavy weight on my shoulders.

  What would be really nice is to watch the game with Lily. I grab my phone.

  Me: Can I come over?

  Trace: Sure.

  Just like that. No hesitation. No questions. A few minutes later, I knock on Trace’s door.

  “I thought you had plans?” he says as he steps aside for me to come in.

  “I do. I’m just going to do them here.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Not hungry. Hey, Lily!” I crouch to pet her, squeezing my eyes closed as she sniffs my face, scared she’ll lick me even though she never has before.

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yep.” No need to lie about it. “Come on, Lily. We have a hockey game to watch.”

  “I need to finish dinner,” Trace tells me. I nod and he leaves for the kitchen. His remote is on the armrest of his recliner. Did he have a bad day? Or is that where he placed it when he came home or on his way into the kitchen?

  I turn it to the correct channel, settle in on the couch, and start petting Lily as she sits next to me. The night would be perfect if I was at home with her, but no pets are allowed in my apartment, unfortunately.

  “Sure you don’t want anything?” he hollers.

  “I’m fine!”

  Seconds later, he sits in his recliner with a plate full of food. “So, you watch hockey now?”

  “Yeah. It’s a good distraction.”

  He eats while I watch the beginning of the game. I stretch out on the couch and Lily stretches out in front of me. Trace chuckles. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

  “Don’t be jealous that she gets to cuddle with me and you don’t.”

  “I can’t help it,” he laughs.

  My phone rings and it’s my mom. I haven’t talked to her in a few days, but it’s time that I do. “Hey, Mom,” I answer, ignoring that Trace is subtly paying attention.

  “Brittany!”

  “Dad? Why are you calling from Mom’s phone?”

  “She’s in the hospital; we just got here. I think she’s had a heart attack, but they’re running tests right now.”

  “What?” I breathe, sitting up. “Is she okay? What happened? I’m coming home, okay? Call me if anything changes.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “Yes, there is!” I shout. Guilt rams into me. I’ve been ignoring her calls ever since Trace showed up at my house when I had been drinking, and now, she’s had a heart attack! “I’m coming!”

  “Okay, okay. Be careful. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I stare at my phone, tears falling down my cheeks. What if she’s not okay? What if I never get to talk to her again? What if she dies? A ragged inhale starts my chest heaving until I’m hyperventilating.

  “Britt, what’s wrong?” Trace is suddenly in front of me, hands cupping my face.

  Focusing on his hazel eyes, I do my best to calm my breathing. “Mom.” Breathe. “Hospital.” Breathe. “Heart attack.” A sob breaks me down. “I’m so stupid. I’ve talked to you, even went out on a fucking date, and I was ignoring her calls still. God, I gotta go home.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive,” he starts as I stand and move around him.

  “Too bad! I have to see her!”

  He grabs my wrist and pulls me back to him. “You’re crying and having a panic attack. You don’t need to drive. Let me drive you.”

  “Then, come on!” I don’t care how I get there, as long as I get there.

  Impatiently, I wait for Trace to let Lily out and then he grabs his keys and we’re on our way. Country music is playing softly in the background. Ten minutes into the drive, Trace reaches for my hand.

  “She’ll be okay,” he whispers.

  Except
she might not be. Dad sounded really worried. He didn’t even sound that scared when I was in the loony bin. “What if she’s not?” I voice my worse fear.

  “One minute at a time,” he replies. “Try to relax. It’s going to be a long drive, and Ray will call if anything happens.”

  “It’s my mom! What if I lose her? You—” I abruptly stop.

  “What?” There’s a hard edge in his voice. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose my mom? You haven’t lost yours, Britt.” I can’t help but hear a silent yet. He clears his throat. “Your call said she’s alive and in the hospital. My call was that she was dead. Be grateful for that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His voice softens. “Me too. Your mom will be fine; she seems like a fighter.”

  “Was yours?” I tentatively ask.

  His hand tightens on the steering wheel. “She did the best she could.”

  I decide to drop the subject, pulling my hand away from Trace’s to squeeze my wrist.

  Please, be okay, Mom.

  The drive was long and silent except for when Ray called to give Brittany an update. Her mom did indeed have a heart attack, but is alert and in a room. Brittany takes a deep breath and interlocks her fingers with mine while we ride an elevator up to the correct floor.

  “She’s okay,” I remind her.

  “I know, but I need to see her.”

  Brittany pulls me the moment the elevator doors open and drags me down the hallway to room 903. She leaves my side and rushes to her mother, already crying. “I’m sorry. Are you okay? When do you go home?”

  “I’m okay, Brittany,” she reassures. Even I can tell she looks exhausted, though. “Can you give us a minute?” she asks, looking at Ray and then me. We leave the room with a nod.

  Ray closes the door and proceeds to glare at me. I’m reminded that Jane was the only one who persuaded Brittany to give me another chance. “Why are you here?” he gruffly asks.

  “She was freaking out; I didn’t want her to drive like that all this way.”

  “So you were with her?”

  “She was at my house.”

  He frowns. “Jane and I decided that we want her to go back home. We don’t really know much yet, and Brittany doesn’t need to be stuck here with us.”

  “I’m not sure she’s going to want to leave.”

  “Then we’ll have to convince her. She won’t be helpful here, and she doesn’t need to miss work to obsess over her mother.”

  I agree, but Brittany is not going to be happy. “Is Jane really okay?”

  “We don’t know much at this point,” he admits. “She napped earlier, but she wanted to be awake for Brittany.”

  “What? Mom, no!” we hear Brittany say from the other side of the door.

  “That’s my cue,” Ray grumbles.

  I hesitate for a moment, unsure whether I should follow him. Deciding it’s a family moment, I walk the short distance to the waiting room. Not five minutes later, Brittany is storming my way.

  “Let’s go,” she snaps.

  “Everything okay?”

  She ignores my question and heads toward the elevator. Her knuckles are white as she squeezes her wrist. She keeps shifting her weight. I can’t help but wonder when she’s going to break and if it’ll be in tears or anger. She huffs as the doors slide open to the parking garage. We find my car and are soon on the road for a long drive back.

  Brittany neither cries or shouts her frustrations. She leans her head against the window and falls asleep. I’m not considering that a good response. Anything would’ve been better than shutting down. I’m glad we’re going home, though. I don’t like leaving Lily all night. It’ll be easier after this weekend when a fence and doggie door will be installed.

  Four hours later, it’s five in the morning and we’re finally home.

  “Brittany, we’re here.”

  She easily awakes. “Thanks. I’m going to head home.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask as she reaches for the door handle.

  “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Just because my mom would rather have me four hours away if she dies doesn’t mean I’m not fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” Before I can utter a word, she gets out and quickly gets into her own car.

  I’m too tired and sleepy to chase after her. I’ll be lucky to get an hour of sleep before I have to turn around, wake up, and get ready for work. Lily is waiting by the door, eager to go outside. Once she’s done her business, I’m able to fall into bed.

  Sleep is much needed these days. Ever since I’ve been able to maintain a regular sleep pattern, my anxiety and depression always come out to play when it’s interrupted. I’m not surprised in the least when I wake up that short hour later, feeling on edge. My heart seems to beat a little faster, my breath comes out a little shorter, and I feel like I’m coiled tightly, waiting to spring at any moment.

  It’s been a while since I’ve had an off or bad day. That’s the worst thing about being better: I’m always wondering when it’ll end. Lately, I’ve been too distracted by what’s happening, or not happening, with Brittany. Maybe if I ignore it and keep going as if nothing is wrong, it’ll go away faster? Unlikely, but one can hope.

  “You look like shit,” Ben says when I walk into my office. He’s a co-worker of mine.

  “Why are you sitting behind my desk?”

  “You have something in common with my first client of the day.”

  “Which is?” I ask as he stands and moves out of my way.

  “You’re both late. Everything all right with you?” He sits in the chair across from my desk.

  “I have my own therapist, you know. I don’t need you stealing her job,” I grumble as I look through the files on my desk.

  “I like to think of myself as your interim therapist for when you’re in between appointments. The position is otherwise known as being your friend. Are we going to have lunch today? You can finally tell me about that pretty girl you insisted on talking to at the Mexican restaurant yesterday but refused to tell me about. Wouldn’t mind learning about her friend either.” Ben grins and I shake my head at him. “Is that a no?”

  Jennifer, the receptionist, pokes her head into my office. “Your first appointment is here, Ben.”

  “Thank god,” I mutter.

  “I’m hurt. We’re taking our lunch together so I can pull the stick out of your ass.” He stands and leaves.

  “Your first appointment canceled, Trace,” Jennifer says. “You have some time to recoup from whatever happened last night.”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  She gives me a half smile. “A little. Your next appointment is in an hour.”

  “Thanks.” She leaves and I sigh.

  Grabbing my phone, I text Brittany, asking for an update on her mother. She doesn’t text me back. Ben and I have lunch, where he forces me to spill the beans about Brittany and makes me promise to attempt to set him up with Melissa. I have enough trouble setting myself up with Brittany to worry about setting him up.

  By the time the work day has come to a close, the only thing I want is to go home. I go to Brittany’s instead. I don’t like how she’s ignored me today and I need to check on her. Then, I’ll go home and take a long nap.

  It takes six knocks before the door swings open. Her eyes are red, her cheeks are stained from tears, and she looks rumpled, causing me to wonder if she went to work today. She looks like she’s wound tight and ready to explode.

  “What do you want, Trace?” she tries to snap at me, but her voice is broken.

  “I’ve tried texting you and you can’t say you didn’t get them.” I nod down to where her phone is clutched in her hand.

  She stares at me for a moment. I can practically see the debate in her head. Does she give me an inch by trusting me with her inevitable breakdown, or does she stay cold and detached because I haven’t earned her trust yet?

  “How’s your mom?” I ask.

  Her shoulders droop and a tear escapes. “She
needs surgery and she doesn’t want me to come.” Brittany turns and starts pacing. I step inside and close the door behind me. “What the hell is wrong with them? I should be there! What if something happens? Even if it doesn’t, I still have the right to be there and they are all but banning me from the hospital! I can’t take this on top of everything else!” She whirls around to face me. “Mom loves you, apparently.” Brittany pokes me hard in the chest. “Talk to her, Trace. Change her mind. They’re so worried about not making me worse, that it’s all they’re doing! What’s so wrong about worrying about my mom? Nothing! That’s normal. This bullshit of keeping me away is not!”

  I grab her shoulders. “I agree.”

  “What?” She seems stunned that I would be on her side.

  “She’s your mother and she’s having heart surgery. I don’t think they should keep you away from that. However, this,” I wipe away her tears, “is what they were trying to prevent. They don’t want you sitting in a hospital waiting room, obsessing over every second that passes while she’s in surgery.”

  “So, what? It’s better that I mess up at work because I’m too busy worrying about her? What if she dies? My last in-person conversation with her left me pissed off because she kicked me out of town!”

  “What about the last phone conversation?”

  Brittany narrows her eyes at me. “It was fine, but I still want to be there!” More tears well in her eyes. “You know what sucks? I don’t even have the strength to disobey them and drive down there. How terrible is that? I can’t get over myself and my own problems to go see my mother anyway!” Her voice lowers and she doesn’t seem to be talking to me anymore. “Maybe they’re right to keep me here. Mom worrying over me can’t be good for her heart.”

  “Hey, stop talking like that,” I tell her, pulling her into my arms for a hug. “This is what you need to do. Call your mom, talk to her, and tell her you’ll stay, if that’s what you want to do. Tell her you’ll go home this weekend to see her. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind that because she’ll be fine and recuperating after that. That fulfills their wish and gives you time to prepare for a weekend visit home.”