Landon & Shay: Part Two (L&S Duet #2)(22)

When we said our goodbyes and he climbed into his car to drive away, unease hit me as I watched him round the corner. He was gone with a dazed mind and a heavy heart, and I didn’t have a clue when he would find his way back to me. The other day, we had been talking about our future and closing the gap between us, yet now I felt as if that gap was widening once more.

It broke my heart thinking Landon was moving so far away from me, both in distance and in heart.





7





Landon





Dr. Smith didn’t put her feet up on the desk when I walked into her office that day. She didn’t toss around a stress ball or smile her goofy smile. She didn’t ask me for three good things that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, and I was thankful for that.

I didn’t have anything to give her.

She sat there, staring at me as if trying to get into my head to see how much damage had been done by losing my father. The answer was a lot.

So much damn damage that I’d wanted to pretend wasn’t there.

“Land—”

“Empty,” I cut her off.

“What?”

“That’s what I feel. I feel empty. I don’t know if my meds are working anymore because I don’t feel anything. I feel empty inside.”

She nodded. “A feeling of hopelessness is common after a death takes place.”

“No. That’s not what I said. I said I’m feeling empty, not hopeless.”

“Yes, I know, but sometimes those two things can look so much alike that you might confuse the sentiments.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m confusing!” I snapped, my hands gripping the armrests. I shut my eyes, feeling instant regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“No, that’s good. Snapping is good. You know why? Because if you snap, that means you can’t feel empty. I think what you’re feeling is the opposite of emptiness, Landon. I think you’re feeling too much. I think you’re feeling everything under the sun right now, and you are not being able to process everything being thrown your way right this second. You’re in overload mode, which makes you feel like you can’t do anything at all.”

“How do I fix it?” I whispered through gritted teeth. “How do I fix me?”

She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “By realizing you’re not broken—you’re grieving.”

I let those words settle in and shifted in my seat.

Was I doing that? Was I grieving for a man who hadn’t even wanted me when he was alive?

No. Fuck him.

Fuck him for not wanting me, and fuck him for not caring, and fuck him for dying.

“It’s the meds,” I commented, clasping my fingers together.

“The medicine you’re on is fine.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should try something else,” I grumbled, scratching at my neck.

“It’s not the medicine,” Dr. Smith stated once more.

“How do you know? You’re not in my body.”

“Before what happened with your father, how did you feel, Landon?”

I thought back to the days before my father’s heart attack. I thought about Shay and her smile, us laughing, kissing, making love. I thought about how good it felt being with her, how easy it felt. I thought about the acting opportunities I’d been given, how my dreams were coming true—how I had fucking dreams. Me. I had dreams. In the past I’d only lived in nightmares.

For the past few weeks, I’d felt nothing but alive.

I lowered my head and stared at the carpeted floor. “This is grief?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. This is grief.”

Dammit.

I ‘d been hoping I could take a drug to fix this ache inside me.

Who knew how long it would take to fucking pass? I didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with grief. So, I put it on hold, and I pushed it as far to the side as possible. I’d bury myself in my work and the characters I was scheduled to play.

At least that way I could be someone else for a while, someone other than me.

I cleared my throat. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Keep our meetings going. My schedule with work is getting pretty busy, and I don’t really have the time to commit to therapy anymore.”

“What? Landon, no.” For the first time ever, Dr. Smith appeared worried. “Now more than ever is the time to stick with this commitment. I see what’s happening. I can tell that you feel as if your world is crumbling around you, but it’s not. You’ve made so much progress. Let’s not step backward. Let’s keep unpacking these boxes.”

My mind pulled up one of the last comments Dad made toward me.

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

I didn’t want him to be right. I didn’t want to crumple and leave people with my messes. I didn’t want to be the weak asshole that Dad claimed me to be. I didn’t want to be like Uncle Lance.

Lately, I couldn’t breathe, and I knew that meant I was seconds away from spiraling again. Down, down, down, back to the darkness. But I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t have time for grief or another run-of-the-mill bout of depression, and I knew if I kept unboxing shit with Dr. Smith, I’d fall even deeper into the feelings I wanted to keep locked away.