Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(77)

“I took a corner too fast, and I knew you’d overreact, so I didn’t say anything,” she snaps.

“You could’ve been hurt!”

“But I wasn’t. I’m fine. And you’re making a bigger deal out of this than you need to, which I knew you’d do,” she spits back.

I grab the back of my neck, willing myself to stay calm and rational, trying to decide if I’m overreacting or not. “Do you really believe that it’s not a big deal? Look at you, Teagan. You’re lying. You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.”

“You attacked me the second I woke up!” She scrambles off the bed and rushes toward the bathroom. She throws the boxes she’s holding inside and slams the door shut, standing in front of it. “You know what? I don’t need this negativity or you putting a savior complex on me. I want you to leave.”

“Teagan, please. You have to see how dangerous this is. You could have been hurt. You could have hurt someone else, and let me tell you from experience, it’s not something you want to have to live with.”

“I’m fucking fine! I need to get ready for work, and you need to get out of my space.”

She tries to come back for another armload of pills, which proves my damn point. Especially when I step in front of her, blocking her way. “Let me help you,” I say softly.

“I don’t need help! I need you to get out! Get the fuck out!” She spins around, stalks to the bathroom, and slams the door behind her. I hear the click of the lock.

I can’t decide if it’s me overreacting or her. I don’t think it’s me, but I’m not going to get anywhere with Teagan when both of us are heated.

I grab my backpack and shove everything on the bed into my bag. If she wants it back, she’ll have to deal with me.





CHAPTER 24


HOW DEEP IS THIS HOLE?

Teagan

I feel like I’m trying to breathe underwater. My chest is tight, and my head is a mess of thoughts I can’t hold on to. I’m scared and angry. How dare Aaron come here and throw accusations around, telling me I have a problem, making me feel bad about needing help to manage.

I search the boxes and bottles on the floor for my Valium. I have to work today, and I won’t be able to do that if I’m this upset. I don’t understand why he would do this. We were great last night; he seemed like he’d had a good conversation with his mom. Maybe that’s what this is all about—maybe the conversation with his mom brought up fears and worries about what happened with Devon, and he’s projecting them onto me.

I’m grateful when I find the bottle next to my foot. I shake out one pill and count what’s left. I should have enough for a couple more weeks. Then I’ll have to call in a refill. Which is okay. I can make them last that long.

By the time I’m calm enough to get ready for work, I don’t have time for a shower. I wash my face and apply makeup, trying to keep my emotions in check so I don’t start crying and make my skin all blotchy. I also don’t have time to grab a coffee, and Aaron took my caffeine pills. I have one energy drink left, though, and that should get me through until lunch. I can make it until then.

I get in my car, not loving the new clunking sound that only happens when I’m in reverse. I keep reminding myself to breathe and relax all the way to work. I pull into Harry’s Hardware, and I’m halfway across the parking lot when I realize I’m not wearing my store shirt and that it’s not Wednesday, it’s Friday, and I’m supposed to be at Bernie’s. I arrive with five minutes to spare, which is a heck of a lot better than late.

My stomach is a mess, and I can’t seem to get a handle on how much my hands are shaking, but I manage to make it through the day. I know I’m off; I can see it in Bernie’s concerned gaze. He lets me go home an hour early, telling me to get a head start on my weekend.

When I get to my apartment, I realize I left my bed unmade, which is totally not like me at all. And I lost it on Aaron, also very unlike me. I’m half-embarrassed by the way I acted and half-angry that he would come at me like that before I even had a chance to wake up.

I smooth out the covers and frown when I notice the rest of the contents of the medicine cabinet are no longer strewn about the comforter. This morning feels like a million years ago. The whole thing is a haze. I look under the bed and find a mostly empty bottle of my attention deficit medication but nothing else. I rush to the garbage can, but all it contains is an empty bottle of vodka and the half loaf of bread I threw out because it was stale.

I tap my lips, panic starting to take over. “He couldn’t have taken them,” I murmur to myself, but as soon as the words are out, I have to wonder if I’m wrong about that.

I rush to the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. Which is when I discover that it’s totally empty. All that’s left are the bottles I tossed in there this morning when I was in the middle of my temper tantrum. My hands are shaking as I pick them all up and spread them out on my bed. Which still smells like Aaron’s cologne.

I grab my purse and my overnight bag and dump them both out, then sift through the contents, pulling out my prescriptions and my backup medications, for those occasions when I forget or am at risk of running out. He can’t be right. I don’t have a problem. My doctor wouldn’t prescribe me medication I don’t need. Maybe I need to cool it on the caffeine pills, but other than that, everything else is harmless.