Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(81)
Damn. I’m going to miss her big mama self. “Just give it to me straight, why don’t ya?”
She laughs. “Would it penetrate that thick head of yours, otherwise?”
I roll my eyes. “I have a thin, pretty head, thanks.” I glance around my small room; the same one I had before when I was first admitted. But this time, I don’t dread its walls. I don’t feel locked up and isolated.
A different kind of fear envelops me. The one where I’m afraid to leave. Not sure if I can keep my shit together on the other side of them.
“Hey,” Nurse Bridge cuts into my thoughts. I look at her, and she says, “You’re going to be okay, Mel. Nothing to fear.”
With that extra vote of confidence, I smile and head to my bed where I tweak out the journal from between my mattresses. The poems and stories I’ve spent the past month creating. The moments I shared with people on the road, the times I had, the lessons learned, the mistakes made—it’s all documented.
It’s my life, and it’s my foundation.
I don’t know what tomorrow will be, but I do want a tomorrow. I do understand how to have a tomorrow. That’s my ultimate aim. My new motto; the one I recite when I feel the anxiety start to pull me under. I want to live, and I want to be as happy as I can in this life.
As I tie off my trash bag, Ari enters our room, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s gained some weight during her extended stay here, and I’m hoping that when she transfers to her new college, she’ll continue to see herself the way I do—beautiful and smart. Capable.
She moves beside me and brings something from behind her back. A pink journal. “We can’t really get any good going away presents up in here,” she says, shaking her head. “But I still wanted you to have something from me.”
I accept the gift and flip open to the first page. A poem written by her, and her contact information. “Ari, this is…”
“It’s nothing,” she says. “Don’t make a thing out of it. And read the poem later.” Her thin face blushes, and I close the journal.
“Thanks.” I give her a tight smile. “And listen, when you get settled at your new school, if you ever need anything…just call, okay? I’ll be there.”
She nods and smiles, but I can see the distress buried just beneath. The worry about having to go back home to her parents; having to start over in a new college. “Keep writing, Mel. I’ll miss you.”
I hug her, feeling the frailness of her body, and despite her aversion for human touch, she wraps her arms around me, offering me something few people receive from her. Her trust.
Nurse Bridge nods toward the door. “It’s time. I think someone’s been waiting for you all morning.”
As we leave the community area of Stoney Creek, I say my goodbyes. To Doc Sid and the other counselors, a few friends I made, and the faculty. But I hug Nurse Bridge the longest. I’m going to miss my big mama and Ari the most.
After I sign myself out, I toss my garbage bag over my shoulder and step through the doors. The bright morning sun welcomes me back into the world, and standing in the parking lot, grin on his face, another welcome awaits.
Leaning against his bobber, shades lowered and wearing a gorgeous smile hiking up one side of his face, lone dimple just for me, Boone stands with his hands sunk in his jean pockets.
If this was a movie, this would be the part where the camera zooms in and captures his cocky smile, gorgeous as hell. Then pans to me, stepping out of rehab, reuniting with the guy who I’ll start my new life with. Close-up of my face as I smile.
Role credits.
But it’s not a movie. And it’s not someone else’s story. It’s mine, and the story damn sure doesn’t end here.
He meets me halfway and wraps his arms around me, bringing me in for a hug. “Longest f*cking twenty-eight days ever. I missed you.”
“Hell, I missed you more.” I nuzzle my nose into his chest, savoring his fresh, manly scent, loving this perfect spot I found that’s all mine. It’s like coming home in a way I’ve never felt before.
Boone pulls back and nods his head toward the lot. “I know I’m going to get some mad ass when you see what I managed to do.”
My gaze travels to where his bike is parked, and next to it, my Breakout. “Holy shit. Yes, you’re going to get some mad ass, and then some. Sam and Holden? They for real rode my bike down here all the way from New York? Shit, I would’ve loved to seen that.”
He chuckles. “Oh, yeah. They did. And then I rode mine here, took a cab back, and drove yours here. Damn, girl. You’re demanding. I hope I earned some points here.”
I laugh and follow him to our rides. And as excited as I am to embark on this next journey, a sudden moment of panic spikes my blood. Boone must sense my hesitation, because he stops right before we reach the bikes.
“It’s not now or never, Mel. We can wait till you’re ready.”
I shake my head. “I’m ready. I am. It’s been too long already.” I plop my bag down and dig out my clothes, transferring them into the tote Boone stowed on the back of my seat. The envelopes are next—Boone’s handwritten letters.
While I was in rehab—this time by my own choice—Boone started counseling sessions with an anger management specialist. As much as I wanted to see him in the halls, have him near for when I struggled, the added support, I knew he’d become a crutch for me. I have to find my own coping mechanisms, so that he doesn’t become one of them. I needed time on my own to focus on my issues and myself, and he needed to seek healthier outlets. A counselor Jacquie arranged three times a week verses sharing Hunter’s story as his own and brawling.