Page 101 of One Little Lie
“No. But I have been going to therapy with Lexi. It helps. When I heard your little song about panic being an old friend, I recognized something the therapist had said to me. Singing that song, either in your head or out loud, you’re taking control of it. Did you know that? Does it help you calm down?”
Does it?Thinking back, I realize repeating it does slow my heart rate.
Pinching the back of my neck, I peer up at him. “Yeah. I guess it does.”
“Panic makes you feel out of control. Your heart rate, your breathing, your physical awareness all become something you fight for. By acknowledging it, with that song or by counting, or whatever the fuck works, you’re taking the power back. It’s a coping mechanism, Halt. And a good one if it works.”
Easton slides his phone over, and I see a family photo taken at a fundraiser gala last Christmas. I’m in the back, slightly behind Ash.
“Scroll through them,” he orders.
Picking up his phone, I do as he asks. Each photo a similar version of the first.
“It’s like you’re hiding in plain sight in each one?” It isn’t an accusation. It’s more of a question. He’s trying to understand something I’ve been attempting to figure out my entire life. “Social situations like this cause your attacks.”
I nod but keep my eyes on the screen. To the outside world, we’re the picture of perfection, from our straight, white teeth to crystal clear blue eyes and hulking forms. We have more money than we could ever spend, and here I am, incapable of enjoying it.
“So, I would imagine having brothers like Preston and Colton that thrive in the spotlight makes you feel like an outsider. But what about Ash and me? Why wouldn’t you have come to us? I’ve been a grumpy asshat, sure, but I would have understood. And Ashton? Jesus, he has always been awkward. The most gentle for sure, but awkward just the same.”
He smirks, but we both know we have work to do with Ash.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table in front of me. My head falls into my hands, and I involuntarily tug on the strands.
“I have nothing to complain about, East. We were born with more privilege than most will experience in a lifetime.”
“What does that have to do with how you feel?”
“I have no right to be like this. I have every opportunity. I …” I break off because I don’t know what I want to say.
“Halt, you know that panic and anxiety are medical conditions. It isn’t something you choose.”
“No shit. Do you think I’d choose to feel like a loser? Do you think I’d choose to feel like an outsider with my own family because I like different things? I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s not rational. I-I just can’t control it.” My voice rises with each word until I finish and I realize I’m full-blown yelling.
“You aren’t different, Halton. At least no different from the rest of us. Yes, Preston and Colt are a different breed for sure, but they have issues they have to deal with, too.”
Guilt racks my body, thinking about everything Preston put himself through in the name of protecting us.
“I also guarantee that you’re more alike to all of us than you give yourself credit for. Why do you think you’re so different? Because you like art and math? Because you hate social situations? Because you’d rather be anywhere than put on display? What? Tell me?”
I hate that he has summarized my existence and can make it sound like no big deal.
“Halt. If we had known, we could have protected you. Preston and Colt? They love the spotlight. There was never any need for you to be in it. We would have helped you. We would have supported any dream you had, no matter where that put you within The Westbrook Group. You understand that, right?”
“It makes me sound weak, Easton.” My tone is biting, but he sits patiently, waiting for me to continue. “After Dad died, we couldn’t afford a weak link. Not when the entire world was waiting to see The Westbrook Group fail. Everyone expects us to be like … to be like you and Preston. In control. Aggressive when necessary. Larger than life. If people knew I was trembling every single time I had to open my mouth, what would that have done to our reputation? What would you guys have said? Do you really think you could have understood this when you were twenty years old?”
“Yes,” he bellows. “Yes, I would have understood even back then, Halt. Maybe even more so because of what I was feeling at the time. As for what the world expects, fuck you. Since when have we, as a family, ever cared what the world thought of us? But I’ll tell you what we would have thought. We would have thought, we do think, you’re human. You’re not a robot. You’re not a clone of any of us. You’re our brother who is struggling to grasp the concept that we love you for who you are, not what you do. If you were weak, you wouldn’t have made it through all those events,” he says, nodding toward the phone still in my hand. “If you were weak, you wouldn’t have been able to stay away from Rylan. You’re not weak, Halton. You’re probably stronger than any of us, but you don’t give yourself the same grace you give us.”
Easton stands, dragging large sheets of paper across the table, and turns them to face me.
“You draw people. I draw furniture. You keep journals like Preston and Dad. You love with your whole heart, like Colton, and you have a stubborn streak like us all. A gentle soul and need to protect as big as Ashton’s. You fit in this family just the way you are, Halton. You always have. Your problems are hard to fix because you’re always fighting yourself.”
We sit in silence. My heavy, erratic breathing is the only sound.
“I know you love Rylan, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. But I’m telling you, if you don’t get a handle on yourself, you’re going to lose her. It’s okay to have missing links in your armor, Halton. You just have to know how to let us in, so we can hold those links together. That’s what family does. We’re stronger together than we’ll ever be on our own. Stop pushing those that love you away. You have to get a handle on this shit before it ruins you.”
“Fix your shit,” I mumble the words everyone seems to be saying to me lately.
“Yeah, fix your shit … before you’re buried in it.”
