Landon & Shay: Part Two (L&S Duet #2)(19)

“How’d you get so smart?”

She smiled, which always made me smile, too. “I’ve watched a lot of Dr. Phil with Mima.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Really, Landon, don’t let any of those things your father said settle, okay? I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to.”

I pulled her into a side hug and kissed her forehead. “Will do. Now can we go get some breakfast? I’m starving.”

She kept staring at me with narrowed eyes, almost trying to look past the words I was giving her to find the dialogue running through my head.

Don’t look too closely, Chick. It’s not too nice right now.

I smiled and nudged her. “Food,” I pleaded. “Please?”

She shifted her heavy eyes and nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

We hopped into the car, and I turned on the music. It didn’t take long for Shay to start bopping around and singing poorly, and I sang, too, because I knew she was worried about me and my thoughts.

Even though I sang and smiled, my mind was still replaying Dad’s words in my head.

You’re not my son.

You can always count on that son of mine to crumple and leave you with his mess.

Those statements played on a loop in my head as I sang the words to some top forty song. That was one of the things about anxiety and depression—every now and again, it came with masks, masks to help shield your loved ones from your suffering because you knew how much it would hurt them, masks to protect them from the pain you felt.

So, I put on my mask.

I pretended I was all right for her. I didn’t want her to worry. I didn’t want her to be concerned that the mechanics of my mind were currently jammed up and fucking with me. It was working, too. The longer we drove, the more at ease Shay became. She relaxed into her seat and stopped glancing my way to make sure I was okay.

The problem with wearing the masks was that when you wore them for too long, they would begin to crack. After the masks cracked, they eventually shattered, and when mine shattered, she’d be left with my mess.

I’d take it off soon. I’d allow myself to breathe without faking as if I were okay, but not during my time with Shay. During my time with her, I’d be okay. I’d be my happy self and not show her my scars. Our actual time together was so short, and I didn’t want to spoil it with deep talks about my flawed psyche.

She deserved a happy version of Landon, so that was what I’d give her.

Then I’d go back to Los Angeles and crumple in the rightful place: inside Dr. Smith’s office, where crumpling was not only allowed, it was encouraged. “You have to knock down some fences to get to greener pastures, Landon.” I was planning to knock them all down, too, because once I did the work on me, I could focus even more attention on Shay and me being together. Until then, I just had to keep unpacking my mind boxes one at a time, unloading them on the right people—not Shay.

We stopped for food, and I kept the mask on nicely.

When we were almost home, my phone rang, and April’s name popped up on the screen. A knot formed in my gut, I turned down the radio, and Shay’s crappy-yet-intoxicating singing came to a halt.

“Hello?” I said, answering the call. April didn’t say anything at first. All I heard was the wailing of her tears as she sobbed uncontrollably. What the hell? “What’s going on?” I asked.

“You!” she cried. “You did this. This is your fault,” she bellowed, her voice cracking as she fell apart.

Wait, what?

She kept going on and on about how after we left, he suffered another massive heart attack and went into cardiac arrest.

He was pronounced dead thirty minutes after I left the hospital.

The phone dropped from my hand and hit the floor mat.

“What is it?” Shay asked, glancing my way. “What’s going on?”

“It’s my father,” I choked out.

“Yeah? What about him? Is he all right? Should we go back?”

“No.” I shook my head as acid begun rising up my throat. “He’s dead.”





I had to call my mother to tell her the news about Dad, and when she found out, she wailed on the other end of the line as if a piece of her soul had been stolen away, the same way April had cried. Even after everything that man had put my mother through, she still found tears to mourn him.

I didn’t cry. I should’ve broken down, and should’ve fallen apart, but I didn’t.

I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel upset. I didn’t feel crushed.

I felt nothing.

Numbness raced through me, swallowing me whole.

Shay drove me back to her place, and I could see the worry in her eyes, but I couldn’t respond to it. I couldn’t talk. Words seemed too exhausting.

She sat in front of me on her bed as I stared forward, not looking at anything in particular.

“How can I help you?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down my thighs. “What can I do?”

I shook my head.

Nothing. She could do nothing.

Sometimes, there was nothing to do. Sometimes, all a person could do was sit.

So we sat.

We lay.

She slept.

I didn’t.





6