Page 62 of Landon & Shay: Part Two

Shay

I knew I wasn’t supposed to name the same thing twice, but I couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, I felt as if someone saw me for who I really was—not some celebrity god or bullshit like that. She saw the real me, and even though she didn’t really appreciate what she was presented, it felt nice to be seen. If I saw her again, which somehow, I’d planned to do during my down time, I’d show her more of me, and hope that someday she’d let me back in. Because even after all these years, being around her still felt like home. A messed-up home in need of many repairs, but still—home.

* * *

“So, what is your plan?”Dr. Smith asked me over our FaceTime. “Where do you go from here now that you and Shay reconnected?”

We’d been talking for the past hour about the height of my anxiety and working through it. Unpacking the boxes of my stress one at a time.

“There’s nothing I can do,” I said. “She hates me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I could see it in her eyes. She looked beyond hurt after those two women walked up to us.”

“Being hurt by you and hating you aren’t the same thing. Do you think there’s any chance you can make this right?”

“I have no clue how to, plus with the way the media presented me at the whiskey party, I’m sure Shay wants nothing to do with me.”

“But that’s not you, Landon. Not the real you, at least. It’s a made-up persona that is based on fiction. So, perhaps you now have a chance to get a redo with Shay. You said you have a month off, right? Perhaps now is the time to try to show her who you really are. What you’re all about.”

“She won’t let me in that easy.”

“I never said it would be easy,” Dr. Smith argued. “Nothing of importance ever comes easily, but it will be worth it. You know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because this is the first time in years, I’ve heard you speak about something with a light in your eyes. A spark. The last time I saw you have that spark was because of the same girl. Don’t miss out on a second chance at happiness, Landon. Most people don’t get them, and even if it doesn’t work out, at least you know you gave it your all.”

“How do I prove to her that I’m not the same messed up kid I used to be?”

“Easy.” She smiled through the phone, then tossed her legs onto her desk. “Show her the man you are today. Your past doesn’t get to define you forever. You’ve done the work to improve your world. Now, you get to reap the rewards of your hard work. All you have to do is be brave to go for the things that scare you the most. The bravest people in the world live with fear—they just let their drive drown out fear’s sounds.”

“I don’t know how to even connect with her nowadays.”

“Think back. What was your favorite way of communication with Shay when you were younger?” Dr. Smith asked.

I knew exactly what she was getting at, and even though there was a big chance it wouldn’t work, I knew I had to try.

After I hung up with Dr. Smith, I pulled out a notebook, sat at the dining room table, and began speaking to Shay the only way I knew how to—with my truths.

20

Shay

“How didyou get so good at this?” Karla asked as she read over a few of my manuscripts with a look of awe in her eyes. I wished I could’ve had agents look at my words with such amusement the same way that fourteen-year-old girl stared at them.

Karla was Greyson’s oldest daughter. She’d been through a lot of emotional and physical trauma after a massive car crash that took her mother’s life, and left Karla battered and bruised. She walked with a heavy limp due to the accident, and her face and arms had scars all over. She dressed in all black and wore her hair over her face to hide a few of the scars, but I was trying my best to convince her that her scars were beautiful.

We’d met a few weeks ago when Greyson invited me to join the girls and Eleanor for a baseball game. Karla and I clicked, which seemed like a big deal, because Greyson said his daughter had been anti-social for a long time running. Ever since the accident, Karla lost a lot of her friends. They mocked her for her appearance and called her Hunchback—due to her posture.

I remembered high school being cruel when I was there, but I couldn’t have imagined being in school with today’s technology. The things Karla had told me people had said and sent to her via social media made my skin crawl.

How did we develop into a world where children had no morals? When did they become so cruel?

Once Karla learned I was a writer, she asked if I could look over some of her stories. “You don’t have to, because I’m sure you’re busy, and wouldn’t want to waste your time with my stupid work,” she said, putting herself down—something I was certain she learned to do from others. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

I hated how low her self-confidence was, and I wanted to help her build it up as much as possible, even if it was through her written word.

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