Page 5 of Back to You
I stared at him. “What? Why?”
“Because. You need help and I don’t know what else to do to help you. These people are great. They helped me and Violet through Dad’s death, and I really feel like you need to go. I’m worried about you, Hollister. You’re breaking my heart.”
“I don’t need therapy.” I shoved the bowl away from me.
“It’s not therapy,” he argued. “It’s a group of people who’ve lost a loved one, who get together twice a month to talk about it.” Before I could get upset at him—and trust me, I was feeling a whole lot of panic right about now—he slid a small, yellow brochure across the table. “Think about it.”
“Dane, I don’t want to fucking spill my guts to a group of strangers,” I muttered. “They don’t give a shit about me or how I’m feeling.”
“Yeah, but I do.” The pain in his voice cut through me and when I looked up, his eyes were glittering with unshed tears. He laid his hand over mine. “I care, Hols. I care so damn much and it’s killing me to see you waste away. I can’t bear the thought of losing you for good. Please? I’ll come with you? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but please come? One time, that’s all I ask and if you hate it, I’ll never bring it up again, okay?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to breathe. I didn’twantto go. I didn’twantto open up a vein and bleed out my sorrows to people I didn’t know, but I couldn’t handle the fact that Dane was about ready to cry over me. I wasn’t worth it. His hand on mine was so warm and encouraging, though. I didn’t want to let him down.
“One time,” I replied. “I’m not crazy.”
“You aren’t crazy,” he agreed. “You’re in mourning and you’re angry, and that’s okay, but unless you talk about it, it’s only gonna get worse. So go shower and get ready. It’s at noon.”
“Today?” I squeaked.
“Yes, today, dummy. It’s only for an hour, so don’t panic. I’ll be right there. I can do the talking, if you want?”
I could do this. I could survive support group for an hour. Sixty minutes of my life and then I’d never have to go back. With a groan of frustration, I sulked off to our room and tried to put an outfit together that wasn’t wrinkled to hell and back. I was pretty sure they’d be able to tell I was a hot mess. I didn’t need to look the part, too.
I didn’t say much on the drive over to the church where they hosted the group. I was anxious and filled with dread. It wasn’t long before we were seated around a circle in oddly-comfortable blue chairs, talking about our losses.
The leader of the group was a very gay man named Marco, who welcomed me into the fold like I was just another member of his extended family. He exuded both strength and warmth, and his handshake was firm yet gentle. I liked him immediately and Dane could tell, because I caught his grin out of the corner of my eye.
By the time it was over, I was emotionally exhausted.
“Okay?” Dane asked when we got back into his car. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes, then nodded. I was okay. If anything, I actually felt a little bit lighter, even though I hadn’t said more than I had to. Somehow, just getting it out felt right. Dane chuckled and patted my jean-clad knee. “I’m glad. I’m so proud of you right now. How about we go out for lunch? My treat.”
“Why?” Damn it all, my voice cracked.
Dane only smiled and squeezed my arm. “Because you’re my best friend. It’s what friends do. Let’s go grab take-out. After we eat,youare going to take a nap, and thenweare gaming. Understood?” He winked. “Say yes,” he stage-whispered.
My smile was tiny and rusty from lack of use. “You’re too good to me.”
“Shut your mouth and say yes, damn it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, that sounds fun.”
Dane smirked. “Perfect. Greasy Chinese food, here we come!”
* * *
From that point on, Dane and I spent every minute together.
We talked at night, in our separate beds across the room from one another, about the future and what it might hold. We talked about anything and everything. We reminisced over the past and we dreamed about the future, and it made me sad.
I yearned for so much. I wished I could have a future with him, but I couldn’t tell him that. No. Iwouldn’ttell him that. I couldn’t even handle the idea of his rejection, let alone the real thing.
So I kept my secrets locked in a gilded cage, a songbird to never fly free again.
I got conned into playing board games on family night after both Dane and Violet turned their puppy-dog eyes on me. “Please, Hols? Sorry isn’t fun unless we have four people,” Violet all but begged me, even though we both knew it was a crock of shit, but when Dane pouted out his lips and blinked at me? How could I say no tothat?
So game night on Sundays it was.
I continued to go to support group, begrudgingly at first, but letting off steam seemed to help and let’s face it—it was better than going to therapy. I reallywouldfeel crazy, then.
