Page 32 of Choose Me

I have about ten minutes to make myself presentable, so I rush into the bathroom and turn on the shower, brushing my teeth as I wait for the water to get hot. When steam billows over the shower curtain, I strip off my clothes and step under the spray, washing every part of me quickly but thoroughly. I’m not sure what I think is going to happen, but whatever it is, I’m going to smell good doing it.

There’s a low-key panic buzzing under my skin, but a thread of excitement counterbalances it, and the combination isn’t unpleasant. I turn off the shower, dry off, and drag my fingers through my damp hair, then go back into my bedroom to figure out what I’m going to wear.

This is the tricky part. Stef has declared my wardrobe a disaster and threatened more than once to drag me shopping forappropriateclothing. Appropriate for what, I’m not sure. Though that might be helpful to know right now, since I have no clue what to wear. Do I go button down and chinos like I was out somewhere? Or opt for comfy jeans and a T-shirt? I have newfound empathy for Quinn’s panicked clothing meltdown before our last video game tournament and probably owe him an apology.

Seven minutes later, the intercom buzzes. I’m finally dressed in faded but comfortable jeans and a new but very soft T-shirt, there are more pieces of clothing on the floor of my closet than on hangers, I’m absolutely stressing about that, and I’ve gone through every conceivable disastrous scenario from Erik not wanting me at all, to embarrassing myself in the middle of sex and ruining the moment.

I’m a wreck.

I fly down the hall and press the button to let Erik into the building, then wait nervously at the front door for what seems like twelve years. There’s a soft knock and my heart leaps out of my chest.It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just Erik.With a final inhale, I open the door and freeze.

Fucking hell. He looks terrible. Well, terrible for him. He’s gorgeous no matter what, but his soft smile doesn’t hide his tired eyes, and his shoulders are hunched. I haven’t seen him like this in a very long time. “Are you okay?”

His smile turns sad, and he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m all right. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” I step back and let him into the hall, closing the front door behind us. Erik kicks off his boots and sets them neatly by the door, then follows me into the living room, tossing his coat across the arm of the love seat. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

He glances around the room. “No, I’ve had enough alcohol tonight. I’d love some water, though.”

A knot forms in my stomach, because whatever is bothering Erik, it’s not small. His voice is subdued and his body language screams wounded. I know. I’m very familiar with the posture. “Okay, I’ll be right back. Go ahead and sit.” I gesture to the couch and hurry into the kitchen, filling two glasses with ice and water, the whole time wondering what could have possibly made him this sad. It hurts my heart to see him like this. I rush back in and hand him a glass, then sit next to him on the couch, careful not to crowd him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Mostly because there’s not much to talk about. I was at Bjorn’s for dinner with Gunnar and Astrid. It went well. At least at first. The food was great, and we all talked. No one was angry or defensive, and if I’m honest, I was shocked at how nice it was.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and fiddles with the glass. He seems lost in his thoughts, so I give him a little nudge. “That sounds all right.”

“Yeah. But by the time dinner was finished, we’d had a few bottles of wine, and I was worried about Astrid and Gunnar driving home.” That makes me uneasy. I peer closely at him, concerned that he’s driven here in that condition. He flashes the briefest smile, like he knows what I’m thinking. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

When he doesn’t immediately continue, I wait, giving him time to gather his thoughts. “Gunnar lashed out exactly like he used to. He went from zero to one hundred without stopping, and that pissed off Bjorn. They started arguing with each other, and then Gunnar tried to drag me into it…”

His words fade off and he rubs his temple. “It’s just, you know, I don’t do well with that.” Then he shrugs. “Maybe you don’t know. I just… I can’t breathe, and my skin gets tight, and I want to be anywhere but where the argument is.”

I nod, knowing those symptoms all too intimately. “That’s anxiety.”

Erik’s eyes widen. “Shit! Is that what you feel all the time?”

“Well, notallthe time, but yeah. When I’m in a situation that makes me anxious, it feels something like that.”

He’s quiet, and I allow him whatever time he needs. Pushing him to talk could make things worse. He takes a drink of his water and sets the glass on the coffee table. “It was the same kind of argument they always had. When we were younger, they’d escalate into fist fights or throwing things, and I guess I had a… a flashback? I don’t know the right terms.” He sighs and leans back against the cushions. “It was just arguing. They weren’t even really yelling, and no one had moved, but I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s a kind of PTSD. It’s completely understandable, and it’s all right.” I have no idea where I get the courage to take his hand in mine, but I do, and then give it a gentle squeeze. “Have you ever talked to anybody about it? Professionally, I mean. Like, a therapist or something?”

He shrinks in on himself, and it breaks my heart. “I guess Gunnar’s right. My response to conflict is to run away.”

I squeeze his hand again and dip my head so our eyes meet. “Hey, avoiding conflict isn’t running away. It’s self-preservation.” This unsure, dejected man isn’t the Erik I know, and I need to find a way to fix this. If I had the guts, I’d tell both of his brothers to go fuck themselves. The mental image is so absurd I have to choke down a laugh. “It’s a very common response.” Erik’s head tilts up and there’s such hope in his eyes it makes my heart ache. “So, you never saw anyone for your anxiety?”

“No. I didn’t think I needed to.” He scrubs his free hand over his face. “When I moved to Arizona, I eliminated most of the stress in my life. There were always little issues with customers or work stuff, but when that happened I’d go for hikes or, you know, go climbing at the gym. But conflict was rare.”

I brush my thumb gently across the back of his hand, trying to give him whatever comfort I can. “But now you’re back and dealing with your family again.” He nods quickly. “Well, I’ll tell you the best advice I ever got. You can do whatever you want with it. Okay?”

He leans in, eyes intent on mine, and I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint him. “You’re home now, and you’ll be around your family a lot more. So you probably ought to figure out how to do that. And that may require professional help.”

Erik sighs and rubs his face. “Yeah, you’re right.” His whole body deflates. “Would it be okay if we didn’t talk about it right now?” He turns his face toward me with such pleading eyes, I can’t say no. Not that I want to. “I know that’s kind of avoiding confrontation again, but I really can’t tonight.”

“I get it. I promise. But if you everdowant to talk, I’m here. Or if maybe you decide you want to see a therapist, or you know, something like that, I have names of some amazing specialists. They helped me immensely.”

He squeezes my hand. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

He’s so tired and vulnerable, it’s killing me. I move closer until our knees are touching. “Hey. This is a safe space. You don’t have to talk about anything or be anyone but yourself with me.”

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