Текст книги "Whipped"
Автор книги: Elizabeth Lee
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
A few days after my little FaceTime performance, I was feeling pretty confident about my ability to make my relationship with Brett work. Each day we spent apart meant we were one day closer to seeing each other. Nora would be home the week after next to start her wedding plans and then the two of us would be driving Brett’s vehicle back to Texas.
Between studying and sleeping, I decided that I’d spend the weekend pulling all of my old wedding planning ideas from the folder in my closet.
“You know where I’m talking about,” I told Nora over the phone. I called her to see if she wanted me to set up some appointments with vendors for when she came back to town. “Hawthorne Winery,” I said again. “It’s that big farm halfway between here and St. Louis. “We’ve driven by it a thousand times.”
“I think I remember,” she said. “Let me pull it up on the Internet.” I gave her a second, as I thumbed through the brochure I’d found in my stash.
“It’s so pretty,” I told her. It was on the shortlist of venues I wanted to use, but Jamie and I had settled on getting married at our family church in Halstead. Iris had thought the winery was a bit too nontraditional, which meant it was perfect for Nora and Reid. “And there are quite a few hotels nearby.”
“Oh, yeah,” she agreed, confirming that she’d found their website. “It’s gorgeous. Look at the little chapel.”
“Right?” The winery was set on twenty acres and came complete with a chapel and small hall for a reception. As pretty as it was in the photographs of it during summer, I couldn’t wait to see the ground covered in snow. The rolling hills that surrounded it, all glistening and white. It would make for great photographs of my sister’s wedding. “Should I call and set up a tour?”
“Yep,” she said. “I think it’s perfect. You’re really taking this wedding thing seriously. I guess I’ll have to make you maid of honor.”
“Who else were you going to ask?” I joked.
“True.” She laughed. “You are my favorite sister after all.”
“I’m your only sister,” I deadpanned.
As we chatted about wedding colors and whether or not Nora should hire a band for the big day, I kept pulling items out of my closet that I’d forgotten about. Iris had suggested that I donate some of Jamie’s things, so I might as well add my own clutter to the mix. My senior prom dress had somehow ended up in a ball in the back corner, along with a few mismatched shoes and a handful of lip glosses that had fallen out of old purses I’d tossed in there.
I decided that now was as good a time as any to purge the mess that was surrounding me. I tossed the prom dress into a pile that I’d be donating to Goodwill along with three pairs of jeans I was never going to wear again, and enough leopard print to choke Snooki.
Why was this a thing?
“Why do I have so much stuff?” I asked Nora.
“What are you doing? I thought we were wedding planning.”
“I can clean out my closet and wedding plan at the same time,” I told her. “I’m a great multi-tasker,” I said, pulling empty hangers out and tossing them on the bed.
“Hey, be glad you have it all. I’m living out of a suitcase at the moment and have worn the same shirt twice this week.”
“Oh, what a hard life you live,” I jested. “Must be terrible sleeping with your boyfriend, I mean, fiancé,” I corrected, “every night.”
“Quit it,” she replied, sensing my jealousy. “You’ll be here soon enough. Sleeping in that Airstream of Sin doing god knows what with Brett.”
“Airstream of what?”
“Never mind,” she said.
“Nora.”
“Sin... it’s just something that Reid and Hoyt used to say,” she explained. I knew exactly what she was talking about. Brett’s past with women and all of the things he used to do in that trailer of his. “It won’t be like that anymore, though. He’s different now.”
“I hope so,” I said.
“He is. We had dinner the other night and I can tell that he’s head over heels for you. He wouldn’t shut up about you.”
It made me smile to know that he’d been talking about me, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts of him in that Airstream from threatening my happiness. Add it to the list of things I was going to have to okay with. Not only was his job dangerous, but he was going to be the object of other women’s desires. I’d never really been a jealous person and I was going to try my damnedest not to become one.
“Well,” I said with a huff. “Looks like I’ll be pressure washing the inside of his camper when I’m finished with my closet.”
* * *
Two hours later, I was finishing up The Great Closet Purge of 2015. I’d somehow gotten sidetracked with my drawers, pulling old sweaters and downsizing the massive collections of black leggings I’d accumulated. Ten pairs seemed like enough to keep me dressed. I placed eight into the donate pile.
My phone chimed and it took me a solid five minutes to dig it out from underneath the mess I’d made. I had to be a special breed—making a bigger mess by trying to clean up. My closet looked phenomenal though. I’d even color coordinated all my shirts, the rainbow effect it created—from red to purple—across the bar was soothing to my organizational soul.
The box in the corner that I’d been avoiding all day was even more prominent next to organized boots and shoes. I looked down at my phone in my hand to see a message from Brett.
Brett: What’s up?
Me: Cleaning. You?
Brett: Riding.
Me: You shouldn’t motocross and text.
Brett: Funny girl. I’m watching videos of me riding at the moment.
Me: And here I thought you only liked to watch videos of me.
Brett: Those are my favorite.
I snickered to myself as I tossed my phone down on my bed, unable to keep from pulling that box that I knew had Jamie’s clothes in it. He wasn’t coming back. I didn’t need all of his things to remind me of that anymore. He’d want me to give his things to someone who could use them. I had photographs and memories of him, which were all I needed.
Pulling the lid off the box, I felt strong. I felt ready, but the second I saw his extra set of Army fatigues sitting my heart fell into my stomach. The thought of him sitting in that Humvee, riding along with his unit buddies, thinking they were doing a standard security check. I could only imagine what had happened that day. The Army was pretty brief about what had happened to him. I’d seen enough movies and television shows for my mind to create the scenario.
I pulled a sweatshirt of his from underneath and brought it up to my nose. The smell of him was gone. Replaced by the stale scent of cardboard from years of being stashed away. I felt a tear fall down my cheek. I didn’t feel sad the way I used to. It wasn’t the sadness of longing for him that I used to feel. It was more a sadness that everything had happened the way it did. The what-ifs and the shouldn’t-have-happened’s.
I kept the photo album and the few small items of his I had. The clothing all went in the donate pile, except for the fatigues that I would give back to his mother. She would want them. She would want to see his name on the patch.
I let out a cleansing breath as I boxed up all of my items for Goodwill. The sun was setting so I knew I’d have to drive them to the depository the next day. Just as I closed up my freshly organized closet, my phone chimed again. I fell onto the bed, exhausted from living in the past, and opened my phone screen. A video message from Brett was waiting. Except it wasn’t his face I saw when I pressed play. It was Hoyt, grinning like a fool.
“Your boy is back on it,” he said proudly before turning the camera to a huge mound of dirt. The roar of a dirt bike could be heard off screen—growing louder and louder as it approached. Within seconds I saw Brett and his bike fly up the hill and through the air as it hit the crest. The way he twisted his body and released his grip on the bike only to pull it back underneath of him moments later had me holding my breath.
The video ended with him safely landing on two wheels, but I was gasping for air imagining what could have happened. It was terrifying. Knowing that he’d been filmed that day was not helping. When I’d watched the videos of Brett from the past it wasn’t as nerve-wracking, especially considering I knew when and where he was when I was doing so. He was sitting next to me or at physical therapy. He wasn’t spending every waking moment trying to one up himself like he’d just done in that video.
The stunt was flawless.
He’s a professional, I reminded myself. Over and over again.
Me: That’s awesome.
I wanted to be supportive. I wanted to cheer him on, but the idea of having a box in my closet with his name on it, full of reminders of him being alive, was weighing on me. As I lay in bed that night, I tried not to think the worst. I’d already been through the worst once, the odds of that happening to me again had to be small.
What kind of universe would actually have me go through losing the man I loved twice in one lifetime? I tossed and turned that night and prayed I’d never have to find out.
“I plan on being back in top shape,” I told one of the reporters from MX Magazine after I had a pretty kick ass run on the track. He was a frail little thing, looking like he definitely spent more time behind a computer than on a bike. I had to give him credit though, he knew his motocross. He’d pretty much retold me my entire career in a matter of ten minutes. The excitement as he told me about last year’s rise to the top had me anxious to get this interview over with and back on the track. “I’m actually feeling better than I’ve felt in a long time.”
I was pleased that I was able to get right back into it. I worried that I might have to ease back in, but my physical therapy had paid off. It was literally like riding a bike. I hadn’t missed a beat as far as what I was capable of doing. Hoyt and I had been working on a new run for me to try out at the exhibition next month. The addition of the quarter pipe ramp to the layout was giving me all kinds of ideas—bigger, better, higher tricks were always my end goal. I hadn’t talked about it yet—didn’t want to jinx it—but I was pretty close to nailing a triple with added flair. It was one thing to turn the bike, but if I could turn my body and the bike at the same time I would floor the judges for sure.
“It’s pretty unprecedented that you’ve gotten back on a bike so quickly after a full knee replacement,” he said. “Are you worried that you didn’t give your body enough time to heal?”
“If I was worried, I wouldn’t be here,” I said confidently. Riding was more therapeutic than anything else I did. Each time I sat on my bike I felt stronger. I felt more than ready to get my name on the top of the leader board again. “I did everything I was supposed to do to make sure I’d come back stronger than ever.”
“What can we expect from your runs this season?” he asked. “Are you planning on putting any new tricks in?”
“You think I’m going to give away my set list that easily?” I joked. “I’m always down for trying new things,” I told him. “That’s what I love so much about this sport. Hell, I remember a time when everyone thought a back flip was the end all be all, and now people are doing doubles like it’s nothing. I’m just glad that I’m able to be a part of it all.”
“I know I’m excited to see what you bust out this year,” he said, letting his inner fanboy show a little. It was nice to see that people supported me. Lately, I’d been a little discouraged with Georgia’s lack of excitement about me being back. She was short with the awesome’s and great job’s whenever I told her about my progress. I hoped that when she actually was able to come to an event and see me do what I did up close and personal she’d get it. “I know your female fans are equally as excited to see you back on the track.”
“Yeah, they’re great,” I tried to look grateful. Pilsner had suggested, to Reid and I both, that we keep the comments about not being single to ourselves. He didn’t think we should hide it, but bragging about being in love was frowned upon.
“You don’t want to isolate those fans that think they have a chance with you,” he’d said. “We need to do whatever we have to do to sell tickets.” I empathized with boy banders for a split second.
Reid and I both thought that our excellent skills on our bikes were enough. Motocross was about dirt and metal and pushing yourself harder and faster than you thought you could. Pilsner’s focus on image was a little much at times, but he paid the bills so we played along.
“Is it true that they say you’re off the market?” Fanboy asked.
“You asking for you?” I teased, trying to change the subject. His smile faded and he looked a little embarrassed. “I’m just joking around, kid,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m happy, if that answers your question.”
“Sure,” he said, flipping the recorder off on his phone. “I didn’t want to ask that question,” he told me. “Our editor thought it would go over well with female readers.”
“I get it,” I said with a nod. “No harm, no foul.” My phone rang. Georgia’s name and photo of her making a kissy face flashed on the screen. Fanboy’s eyes fell on it the same as mine did.
“That pretty much answers that,” he said under his breath, tucking his phone and notepad into his bag. “Thanks again. Any chance you can tell me where I can find Chayse McCade?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing toward the shed where she kept her bike. Poor kid thought I was hard on him. Depending on what kind of mood Chayse was in, there was good chance she’d be eating him for lunch. “Good luck,” I said with a chuckle as he wandered off. “Hey baby,” I said, answering my phone. I was anxious to hear her voice. I knew Hoyt sent her a video of my latest trick today and her response was, once again, not very enthusiastic.
“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Not much. Just finished up an interview for a magazine. You?”
“Nothing nearly as exciting,” she replied. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Awww...” I teased. “You miss me.”
“Every day,” she said. Her tone said she wasn’t in a joking mood. The need to hear my voice was evident. I wished I could hug her because that was exactly what it sounded like she needed.
“Everything okay?”
“Sure,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.
“Are you sure?” I knew better. I could tell when she was in her head.
“I had a long day,” she admitted. “I cleaned out my closet,” she hesitated. “Including the box of Jamie’s things.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t easy,” I told her. I loved that she was serious about putting the past behind her. “I would have helped you. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.”
“It was something I needed to do alone.” When she was trying to be strong and I could still hear the vulnerability in her voice are the times wanted most to be able to comfort her. Even if it meant watching her dredge up memories of her first love. I planned on being her last and I would have helped her through anything. “I’ll be okay. It was just a little tough seeing all of his things again. I’m going to take the clothes to the Goodwill tomorrow and then return some items to his mother.” I heard her voice break a little and my heart ached that I wasn’t able to physically be there for her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you,” I said. “Please don’t ever think that you can’t talk to me about how you’re feeling. I’m strong enough to hear about him. I don’t want you to ever think that I resent you loving him,” I added.
“I know that, and I love you for being so respectful.”
“Anything for you.” I paused. “Only a couple weeks until you get here. I can’t wait to see you.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” she said again. I heard voices and a rush of sounds in my ear. “Hey, I’ve got to go. A patient just came in.”
“I’ll call you—” The line went dead. “Later.” I most definitely would be calling her later. Something in the pit of my stomach said that we needed to continue our conversation. She wasn’t quite herself and the last thing I wanted was for her to think I was unavailable when she needed me most. I might not have been in the same state as her, but I could still talk to her and calm any fears she might be having about us.
I tried to convince myself that she was just busy and that she’d been a little shaken by her trip down memory lane. Everything would be okay. In the pit of my stomach I had a feeling it wouldn’t.
* * *
Hoyt and I rode into town and grabbed some dinner later that night. I’d missed the vibe of Austin. There was always something to do and the food was the best. Tex Mex, barbeque, southern comfort food, it had it all. I couldn’t wait to bring Georgia out here and show her the town. She’d love the laid back afternoons and wild nights the city offered.
What I thought was a night out with my buddy quickly turned into what felt like me on a date with another couple. Imagine my surprise—and Hoyt’s—when Chayse McCade saddled herself up next to us as we sat at the bar of local pub.
“Care if I join you?” she said, already seated next to us.
“Guess not,” Hoyt said. He’d told me earlier that day that the two of them had butted heads most of the day, as usual. Seeing her all smiles and him annoyed was mildly amusing. She went from hot to cold and back to hot more times than the weather back in Illinois.
“How was your interview?” I asked her when we saw that she was staying for the duration. I figured I might as well at least try to get a civil conversation started between the two of them.
“Oh I’m sure Pilsner will be pissed about it,” she said with a laugh. “The kid shouldn’t have asked me what my favorite thing to do when I wasn’t riding was if he didn’t want to hear the answer.”
“What’s that?” My curiosity got the best of me. The second she flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and let her green eyes narrow, I knew it was a bad idea.
“Having great sex.” Her answer was clear and precise and I nearly had to perform the Heimlich on Hoyt who choked on a french fry. I gave him a sharp pat on the back as I laughed.
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that answer,” I joked, watching Hoyt take a long pull from the beer he had in front of him. This girl was a hoot all right. If she could get her riding half as sharp as her tongue she’d really be making headway in the sport. “Isn’t he trying to sell you as America’s Sweetheart?”
“America’s Sweetheart, I ain’t,” she said proudly. “As soon as everyone stops trying to make me something I’m not,” she said, pointedly looking at Hoyt. “The better off we’ll all be.”
Hoyt shook his head as the two of them locked eyes. I knew how to take a cue. It seemed I was always giving the two of them a moment. I didn’t mind. I wanted to call in and check on Georgia. I knew she was off at eight and it was quarter past.
“I’ll be right back,” I told them, doubting that they’d even notice. “Gotta call my girl,” I added before walking to the back of the bar. The last thing I wanted to be a part of was a lover’s quarrel.
The universe I’d been asking to be kind to me, decided that today was the day it was going to see if I was actually strong enough to handle the decisions I’d made in my life. Not only was it testing my abilities at my job, it apparently wanted to make sure I remembered exactly how losing someone affected me. I’d be lying if I said the day before hadn’t gotten the wheels turning. Rummaging through all of Jamie’s old things had stirred up some memories—some feelings—that I thought I was strong enough to revisit. I woke up in a pool of sweat, unable to recall the dreams—or nightmares—that had brought it on.
There were two uniformed men trying to tell me something, apologizing profusely, and then I was at a funeral. I thought it was Jamie’s but Brett’s picture was by the casket. I hadn’t slept a wink since waking up from that doozy of a nightmare.
My chest was heavy with dread as I climbed out of bed and got ready for work. Fresh off a night of restless sleep, I showed up for my clinical shift at the hospital. I’d planned on being on the Cardio floor, as I’d been the day before, but a shortage of nurses in the Emergency Room meant that I, being the low woman on the totem pole, was assigned to the unit.
I usually didn’t mind working the ER. Over the past few years, I’d become numb to the trauma and uncertainty, but today different. The quiet calm of the unit was eerie that morning. Only a few rooms were occupied and it was mostly stitches and stomach aches. I felt a weight pressing down on my shoulders as I checked in at the nurses’ station.
“Glad you’re here,” one of the doctor’s on staff said. I recognized him from my last shift on the floor. Dr. Clark. He was more of a drill sergeant than a doctor, which is exactly why he was perfect for the Emergency Room. He could handle the stress. He knew what had to be done and didn’t have a problem delegating. “There was a wreck on Route 44. Multiple injuries,” the look on his face told me how bad it was going to be. I tried to brace myself for the worst, but the second the first ambulance showed up, I knew that the day was going to be hard.
“Paul Freeman. Forty-four,” a paramedic informed us as we wheeled the first patient in from the bay. “Multiple contusions and lacerations,” she continued. “Shortness of breath. Pretty sure he punctured a lung.”
“How many more are coming in?” Dr. Clark asked.
“Just one more,” the paramedic said. “It was a head on. Pretty bad. You better run a tox screen on this one,” she added. “Police found liquor bottles in the vehicle. Well, what was left of it.”
“Take him to trauma two,” the doctor said, handing off the chart to another physician. “We’ll wait for the next one,” he said to me. As I watched them wheel the first victim away, I’d started preparing myself for the worst. The stress of an ER rotation was always heavy, but with my mind already a mess, my stomach was in knots. My hands were slick with sweat. I rubbed them down the front of my scrubs as we waited in the bay for the next ambulance to arrive.
When it arrived, the back door opened and I could see a man on the stretcher. His blond hair was caked with blood and his eyes were closed. As they lowered him onto our gurney, I was immediately reminded of Brett. They had the same build. The same features. They were close to the same age. My feet were stuck in place as I reminded myself that it wasn’t him. I was quickly jolted back to reality as the gurney I was holding onto started to move.
“What do we have?” Dr. Clark asked the paramedics as we transferred the unconscious man from stretcher to stretcher. A gash along his left cheek had been closed up in route, but the tape and gauze were surely going to need to be replaced with stitches.
“Daniel Mitchell, age twenty-six.” Dr. Clark and I stood on each side of the stretcher. “Hasn’t regained consciousness since he was extracted from the vehicle.” I checked for a pulse and let out a sigh of relief when I heard it weakly beating through my stethoscope. He was still alive.
As we wheeled him into an exam room, Dr. Clark immediately started checking him for internal bleeding. I waited for my orders and tried to keep from imagining that it was Brett lying on that bed. It had been a shock to see him in the hospital when were just friends. When he’d hurt his knee, at least I knew that he was going to be okay. Imagining him in a situation like this was too much to bear.
An actual ER nurse joined us and she was far more qualified than I was—at least mentally. My hands were clammy and it felt like the air was thickening in the room, as I watched Dr. Clark’s face grow more and more unsure of Daniel’s condition.
“Doctor,” the nurse said when she opened his cut shirt and pulled back the bandage the medics had applied. “There’s bleeding.”
“We need to get him in to an OR now,” Clark called out. “Bennett,” he yelled as they were heading out the door. I snapped to attention and followed him as he kept pressure on the laceration that had started bleeding profusely. “Page Neuro and have them meet us there,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling that there’s damage to his brain. Pupils are dilated and unresponsive.”
“Yes sir,” I said.
“And try to find his next of kin,” he ordered. The nurse handed me the bag of personal items the first responders had sent along—a wallet and a cell phone. As I watched them wheel through the operating room doors, my chest was heavy. I now had the responsibility of finding this man’s family. I had to call and tell them that their son or husband was in an accident. Even worse, I had to tell them that his injuries were severe and that he’d been rushed into surgery.
The memories of learning what had happened to Jamie were mingling with my focus of tracking down this man’s family. I’d been at school the day the officers showed up at the Shaws’ house. I’d been blissfully unaware that he was dead for almost two hours after they’d left. Being the courteous student I was, I’d flipped my phone to silent and missed the call from Jamie’s father, but the second I saw his name on my screen I knew that something was wrong. It was ten in the morning, he should have been teaching Intro to Government to bored sophomores, not calling me and leaving a voicemail asking me to come to their house as soon as possible.
Now wasn’t the time for me to be thinking of my own loss. I had to find this man’s family and get them to the hospital. I turned on the cell phone and started to slide the button across to get to his contacts. My eyes focused on his screen saver. A photograph of him and his beautiful family. His wife, a lovely woman, and two small children, a girl and a boy. My heart was both full and broken at the same time. Their smiling faces and the obvious love they had for one another was right there in front of me in their genuine smiles and embraces. I choked back my dread and put the phone back in the bag. I should have just pulled his wallet first and saved myself the heartache of seeing his happy family’s photograph. I pulled up his file on the computer and searched for an emergency contact.
JULIA MITCHELL
I had a job to do. I had to call this unsuspecting woman, whose face was now fresh in my head, and tell her that her whole world might be on the verge of an irrevocable change.
“Hello,” her voice said when I dialed her number. I quickly blotted the tears from my eyes and tried to have some composure.
“Mrs. Mitchell,” I said, my voice breaking a little. I reminded myself to stay calm. If I sounded stressed, it would only make it worse for her.
“Yes.”
“I’m calling from Trinity Medical,” I said. She gasped. “I’m afraid that your husband has been in an accident. We’re going to need you to come down here as soon as possible.”
“What do you mean? Is he all right?”
“He’s in surgery now,” I said. “We’ll fill you in as soon as you get here.”
“I’m on my way,” she said. A sob broke from her end of the phone before it went dead.
I knew exactly what she was feeling. I had started crying the second I walked into Jamie’s house and saw his mother’s face. I felt helpless and hopeless, much like I’m sure Julia felt. At first she felt like the air was sucked from her lungs. Like she couldn’t catch her breath, no matter how hard she tried. The heaviness in her chest would be replaced with an ache, slowly squeezing her heart, and threatening to crush it. That would stick with her for days, weeks, months even. She was going to feel like she didn’t know which end was up. Like she was living in a nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from.
As I waited for her to arrive, I ran over to the operating room and looked through the windows. It was chaos. The rush of everyone’s movements. The worry in their eyes. I saw Dr. Clark pull the paddles from the cart next to him and yell, “Clear!”
I couldn’t watch. All I could do was think about Julia driving to hospital and what it would be like if I were in her shoes. If something happened to Brett, I wouldn’t even be able to get to the hospital quickly. He was a thousand miles away. I wouldn’t be on his list of emergency contacts and I’d never even met his family.
I wasn’t his wife. I wouldn’t have been called and on my way like Julia was. She wouldn’t even be able to remember how she got here—her sole focus was on her husband and getting to him as quickly as possible.
Dr. Clark walked out of the operating room and tossed his scrubs and gloves—covered with blood—into the bin outside the door.
“There was too much damage,” he said, when he saw my face. “We tried everything.”
“His wife is on her way,” I told him.
He nodded as he walked toward the front of the emergency room. The moment I saw her walk through the automatic doors—I knew it was her. The smile that I’d seen was now replaced with fear and uncertainty as she walked into the hospital, carrying her young daughter. She couldn’t have been more than two years old. I watched as Julia nearly crumbled in Dr. Clark’s arms. I heard her cries as I walked into an empty on-call room and closed the door behind me.
My system was flooded. The overwhelming emotions that I thought I had put behind me were back. I was stupid to think that I was strong enough to handle a life with Brett. I could barely handle the life of a patient’s family.
My tears fell freely as I thought about how Julia’s life would be changed. She was going to have to go home to her children and tell them that they would never see their father again. She was going to have to try and move on with her life. She’d think she was having moments of acceptance. She’d think about how grateful she was to be alive, or when she looked into the eyes of her children, but the truth was it was going to take her years to compartmentalize it all. When she did, when she thought that just maybe she could be happy again, something would happen and all the pain that she felt now would overtake her. Just like it had done to me.
I couldn’t do this to myself anymore. I couldn’t put myself in situations where the odds of me ending up like Julia were even higher than normal. I’d do whatever it took to rid the fear from my system and protect my heart. Which meant calling the person I loved most and telling him that I couldn’t be the woman he needed me to be.
