Landon & Shay: Part Two (L&S Duet #2)(23)

I didn’t want to relive my trauma. I wanted to be better.

I thought I was getting better.

“This is for the best, Doc. Thank you for all you’ve done,” I said, standing up from my chair to leave the room.

“Landon, wait. Please,” she begged, standing to her feet.

I turned to look at her and arched an eyebrow.

She sighed, and her eyes flashed with emotion. “You’re a good person who deserves a happy ending. Don’t give up on that. Don’t lose this fight. If you push me away, confide in someone. Find someone to keep that door open with. Because it’s easy to close yourself off from the world and make it seem like you’re alone, but you’re not. Even on the days that feel so dark, there’s always someone reaching out with an open hand.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“And as always”—she gave me a broken smile—“my door’s always open.”

After leaving Dr. Smith’s office, I put on my mask, and I made the mistake of leaving it on for too long. It became a part of me. Fake smiles, fake laughs, fake everything to hide the hurting that was going on inside me. Luckily for me, I was an actor in Hollywood—the world of being fake. I’d fit right in, and nobody would blink an eye thinking I was off. As far as they were concerned, I was Landon Pace—the happy-go-lucky actor, but I knew the mask wouldn’t last forever because no matter what, the masks always cracked.

And when it began to crack for me, it shattered into a million pieces.





August 1st, 2005



Satan,



Hey, just thought I would get us back to our norm by sending you a letter even though I text you every single day. Tracey is back for our junior year from studying abroad, and it feels like there’s a bit of a disconnect between us. It might all be in my head, but I feel like everything I say, she snaps at me or disagrees with me. It isn’t even big things, really. The other day, she hollered at me because I drank the last of the milk in the carton and hadn’t had a chance to replace it. It’s the little things that drive me nuts the most.

For example, if I say I love a sweater, she’ll tell me all the reasons it’s wrong for me. “It will make your shoulders look bulky. The color will clash with your skin.” Always the negative.

Raine said things have always been like that between Tracey and me. I guess I never really noticed until she was gone and then moved back in with us. Mom said people change with age, and perhaps Tracey and I are just growing in different directions.

Just to be clear, I rocked that sweater, bulky shoulders and all.

How are you? How is Sarah Sims?! Did you tell her I love her? Did you ask for an autograph? Did you ask her to marry me? Please say yes to all the above.

Were you still thinking about me coming to visit you? I can text you my availability. Weekend getaways are always nice, too.

I miss you, Landon.

I can’t wait until we’re in the same time zone again.



-Chick



P.S. SweetTarts for my SweetHeart. You probably shouldn’t eat them, though—they’re from last Valentine’s Day. Hank gave them to Raine, and she hadn’t thrown them out yet. So, unless you are interested in seven-month-old candy, you should pass.





FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: September 1st, 2005, 4:23 PM

SUBJECT: How’s your heart?



Satan,



Hey, you. I sent you the notebook about a month ago and realized you might not even be home to receive it. I forgot that your work schedule is so insane. I’m not sure when you’ll actually get back home to check your mail.

In the notebook, I pretty much just gave you an update on life. From my point of view, it’s not too exciting. I mainly wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing after losing your father. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. You can reach out to me at any time. Day or night.

Anyway, this will be a short and sweet letter. Pretend I’m sending you Tootsie Rolls.

Because they are short and sweet.



-Chick



P.S. How’s your heart?

P.P.S. I know it’s silly, and I’m sure you’re okay, but if you’re not, please reach out. I love you and am beginning to worry.





Shay: Hey, Landon. I just thought I’d text to see if you’re okay. It’s been a week since I emailed you, so I figured I’d shoot you a text message. Is everything okay?





Shay: Hey you. It’s been over six weeks since I’ve heard from you. Please respond. I’m freaking out.





Shay: Six weeks and four days. Where are you? I don’t know how to get in contact.





Shay: Two months. I feel like you’re closing off on me, Landon, and that scares me. We were doing so good for so long. I know you’re still struggling after what happened to your father, but please know that you can talk to me. You can open up to me, just as you’ve always been able to do in the past. I’m always here for you. Even if not in a romantic fashion, as a friend. You’re my best friend, Landon, and to think about you hurting on your own makes my chest ache.

If you can’t talk to me, please let me know that you’re talking to someone. Please let me know that you’re not drowning in your own mind. We need you here, Landon. Don’t let the depression pull you under. You’re strong, and you’re not alone. Even if you feel like that some days. I love you times two. Please text me back.