Nepenthe (Bracing for Love #2) (8 page)

I’M LYING IN bed, listening, waiting to hear Olivia come in. Maybe I should go check on her. It’s been twenty minutes. If she really did have a bad day and she needs me, then I’m doing a terrible job of being there for her. Just as I’m about to toss the covers to the side, I hear my door close and then footsteps.

A figure appears in my doorway.

“Olivia?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “I'm here. Just wanted to see if you were still awake.”

“Yeah.” I pause, wondering if I should do what I'm about to do. I've already done one thing today that I wasn't expecting to do. Might as well make it two things. “C’mon. You can sleep in here with me.”

That seems to be what she was waiting for. She quickly comes around and crawls into my bed. She's probably six inches away, both of us lying on our backs, staring at the ceiling. It's after a long day like this that I almost wish I didn't throw away all my alcohol yesterday.

My hands are clasped together on my chest, moving as I breathe. I like the silence with Olivia. It's easy and I don't have to talk or lie about the simple things. Tomorrow, I'll make an appointment that'll lead to another and hopefully some help. I might even call Lucy. She gets pissed if I don't call regularly, and I think it hurts her feelings too. That's not something I want to do, so I guess I'll call. She'll think things are back to normal if I keep up appearances. Plus, it'll be good to hear from her.

After about fifteen minutes of being lost in my thoughts, Olivia reaches over to take one of my hands in hers, resting them between us. I wonder if I should try to get her to talk, but I’m not sure. She might want me to talk in return and that's not happening. But if she's having a bad day, then maybe she wants to talk about it. Some people like to do that.

“Rough day for you too?” I finally say, silently praying this doesn't backfire on me.

“Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it,” she says quietly.

Shaking my head, I let out a half-hearted chuckle. Figures. She doesn't have to talk if she doesn't want to, but she'll force me.

Olivia doesn't acknowledge my laugh. “We should do some yoga.”

“No.”

“It'll make me feel better. You too. Or we could go to the gym here and do something you like.” She's still staring at the ceiling.

“No.” Doing yoga in her apartment is one thing; going to a gym and exercising is another beast. I haven't been to a gym since my injury, and I won't start now.

Her head shifts on the pillow to face me. “Do you still exercise and work out?”

“Do I look like I do?” I question with skepticism. My stomach isn't as firm as it used to be, nor as flat. There's a little layer of fat there now that wouldn't have ever appeared if I was still playing. I'm even pretty sure I'm starting to get flab on the underside of my arms.

Olivia's eyes give me a once-over. “Yeah.”

I take her hand and make her poke my stomach. “I don't, or it wouldn't feel like that.”

“Like there's a very small, soft coating to all that hardness?” she mocks. As if I'm lying, and I'm still in shape. I'm not. Maybe by normal standards I am, but not by football standards.

She should learn to stop asking about what I don't want to talk about. Let's throw it back at her. “Why did you have a bad day?”

“Why do you refuse to talk to me? Or anyone else for that matter?”

I sigh. Figures she'll evade the question. “Haven't I done enough talking already? Give me a break here, Olivia.” She's about to get kicked out if she keeps on.

“Sorry. You're right. You're being nice to me and I'm being pushy again. I'll wait until another day.” She doesn't give up.

“Thanks.”

We're quiet only for a moment. “You know how there are days where absolutely nothing goes right?” Olivia asks.

“That's been my life for over a year.” I mean it as a joke, but it falls flat.

“Well, that's why I had a bad day. Everything went wrong. One reason why I was out grocery shopping so late.”

I'm unsure of what to say. It's not like my siblings come to me when they need to talk. Patrick is the go-to person for that. I'm good at helping take care of them and being strong so they don't have to be. But listening and being supportive isn't my specialty. I decide to try.

“Tomorrow will be better for you.”

“Hey,” she says, rolling onto her side. “For you too, Corey. You made the first step in that direction today.”

Hm. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

She smiles. “Night, Corey,” she says before closing her eyes.

“Good night, Olivia,” I whisper.

Olivia falls asleep before I do. While I've been here thinking about nothing, my hand behind my head, she's been scooting closer and closer to me. Her arm suddenly reaches out, lands on my chest, and she eliminates the last bit of space between us. For a moment, I barely breathe. It's not like I've never had a girl in my bed before, yet this is distinctly different than those times.

My eyes are starting to get heavy, so I move my arm around her and tuck her closer. This is a taste of normalcy, a small piece of happiness I may have one day when the good outweighs the bad. I like this and the hope it presents for the eternal tomorrow. While this feeling will probably be gone by morning, I'm going to enjoy it while I can.

WHEN I WAKE up, it's to find Olivia all over me still. Her leg has moved between mine and her head is on my chest. There probably isn't even enough room for air between us. The biggest thing I notice is that I feel good this morning. Really good. Maybe today will be a great day.

I'm distracted as Olivia's body moves against mine as she stretches, awakening. She lifts her head, sees she's cuddled up with me, and her eyes widen a bit before she moves away.

“Oops,” she nervously laughs. “Morning.”

“G'morning.” I even give her a real smile.

Olivia grins. “I need a camera and a calendar so I can document that Corey Kennedy just smiled!” She laughs, cracking herself up. “It's going to be a good day, isn't it?”

“We'll see.” There's no need to get our hopes up.

She nods like she understands. “I better get going. I have to a class at 9:30. See you later, Corey.”

I sit up as she does, torn between wishing she could stay and wanting her to leave. I hate that I'm so wishy-washy all the damn time. Is it too much to ask that for once I'd know what I want, or to feel one overall emotion instead of every last imaginable feeling on the planet? Just as she's about to get out of bed, I speak.

“Hey, Olivia.”

“Yeah?” She turns to look over her shoulder.

Who knows if I'll wake up in a good mood again tomorrow or the next day or the day after that? What if this moment, where things are looking positive, is gone by lunch, never to be felt again? I'm being presented with a chance, right? One I'm almost certain I want to take.

For a change, my nagging thoughts cease as I lean towards her, causing her to react by shifting her body towards me a little more. Her eyes are alert, maybe a little guarded as if I'm about to attack. That isn't going to happen. I drop my gaze to her lips for only a second before I glance back up, place my hand other back of her neck and pull her to me.

The kiss is soft and hesitant at first, neither of us too sure, but then she parts her mouth to mimic mine. Olivia reaches up to cup my cheeks with her hands as if she's grounding me while she deepens the kiss. As far as first kisses go, it's one of the best. It doesn't last long, but it's long enough that I have to take a deep breath or two when I pull back.

“I wanted to say thank you,” I say in a low voice. This time, I'm watching her, trying to see if we're on the same page or not, even though I don't even know which page that would be.

That mouth of hers quirks into a smile. “You're very welcome. I'll text you later.”

And then, I watch her leave before falling back onto my bed, still feeling pretty good about today.

Until I look up my doctor's number to make an appointment. The phone is sitting on the table next to my laptop, mocking me. All I have to do is call, secure a time, and then go. Surely if I can tell Olivia I need help, then I can make a simple phone call. I need to keep thinking that I really do want help and that I can do it. If not, Olivia will be there, ready to push.

I grab the phone and tap in the numbers. Things are going smoothly until the woman asks one question.

“What are you coming in for?”

“Um.” Shit. I don't want to tell her. “Because I need to see him?” I try.

“Well, of course, but what for?” Her tone is still nice, but she's a bit irritated now.

“I need a referral.” Because I don't know who to go to, and I'll probably need a referral for an appointment anyway.

“For what?”

“Can I get an appointment or not?” I snap. “It's not like he's not going to ask even after looking at my file. He'll still ask why I need one and for what, so it can wait. What time can I come in?”

“Just one moment,” she answers curtly. All she has to do was give me a time and date. The rest can wait until I speak to the damn doctor himself. “We can get you in today at four.”

Today? I gulp, not expecting it to be so soon.

“Will that work for you, sir?” the woman adds.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” I hang up. More time to prepare myself for this isn't an option. Before I lose my good mood entirely, I call Lucy. She answers on the second ring.

“Hey, Corey!” Her happiness makes me smile a little. It's good that she's happy. “How are you doing? How's school?”

“Hey, Luce. Everything is good here.”

“Really? That's great. I was really worried,” she confesses in a softer tone.

“I know. I'm sorry for making you worry, but things are better, I promise.” Enough of that. “How's your boyfriend adjusting to living with Patrick and Jon?” Anything else is better than what we were talking about. Even if it is her boyfriend.

“Good. No complaints from him, really. Plus, we get to see each other more, so it's working out.” She pauses. “When are you coming back down to see us?”

“I don't know, Luce. Things are busy. I'll definitely come right before spring break, though.”

She's silent for a moment too long. “That's over a month away, Corey.” The disappointment is evident and I wish I could promise her sooner, but I can't. She'll be more hurt if I promise to come and then don't. I know because I saw how pissed she was when I said I would call and didn't. “As long as you don't forget to call me every week, I guess I'll survive until then. Don't get too busy for us.”

“I won't.” I've been hoping that with her relationship with Grant, which is apparently really serious, she would branch away from us a little. Not that I don't love her and want to see her and hear how things are, but I wonder if by us being so overprotective of her, we made her too dependent on us. Like this past Christmas, she didn't like that Jon went to meet his girlfriend's parents instead of going to our grandparents' house like usual. She complained more than once while we were there.

“Good. My next class is about to start. I have to go. Love you,” she says, dragging me away from my thoughts.

“Love you too, Luce.”

Hanging up is a relief. With my brothers, I don't have to lie as much as I do with Lucy. It's exhausting. But I'd rather pretty things up for her than tell her the truth. All I have to do is fake that everything is still normal until I reach a point where everything is more balanced.

The hours until four o'clock speed by way too quickly for my liking. The receptionist gives me an evil glare like I'm a pain in her ass already. My time in the waiting room doesn't last long either, and before I can breathe, the doctor is looking at me, asking what's going on.

To get myself through it, I think semi-reassuring thoughts.

This guy doesn't know me, isn't related to me, and isn't supposed to judge me.

I can do this and never have to come back again.

“I've been having some trouble lately.” He nods for me to continue. “For a long time, really. I, uh,” I pause, wondering how much he really needs to hear. “I have a hard time getting out of bed and fulfilling my commitments. I get really low points where I hate everything and can't manage to do anything, and what I do manage to do makes me tired. I'm tired all the time and I need help.” There, that has to be good enough, right?

Nope.

“Explain to me some of your symptoms. When did your depression start?”

I never said that, but I answer his question anyway. “I've always felt like this, but it's been really bad for a little over a year.”

“And what happened a year ago?” he prods, jotting something down on a piece of paper.

“None of your damn business.” I don't want to say it, think it, or talk about it. I don't want to deal with it. I just want to forget it ever happened, like it was never a part of my life at all, and move on to something different. Is that too much to ask for? Taking a deep breath, I calm myself down a bit. “All I need is a referral to a psychiatrist, okay?”

The old man looks up at me. “Son,” I want to cringe from the word, “talking is part of the healing process. You—”

“Yeah, I know. I need to talk.” I'm two seconds away from exploding. Just because it's something I need to do and something I know I need to do, doesn't make it any easier. There's no need to keep trying to force me to do it. I'm not ready. I take another long, deep breath, but end up saying it harsher than I need to. “Can I start with a psychiatrist first? What happened to taking baby steps? Give me the referral so I can leave.” He's not amused. Well, neither am I! I take a deep breath for the millionth time, feeling defeated, and mumble, “Please, just refer me to someone.” He is old, so I shouldn't yell, but if he doesn't do this right now, then I'm not responsible for my actions.

Thankfully, he hands me a piece of paper. “This is the doctor I'm referring you to. He's a good guy who will be able to handle a piece of work like yourself.” He smiles and chuckles to himself. “He'll be able to help you as long as you cooperate. Someone from his office will contact you today or tomorrow to set up an appointment.”

“Thanks.”

And then I get the hell out of there. I'm over today. Today can go to hell for all I care. It's one thing after another. It always is and I'm sick of it. But that's the point of what I just did. It sucked, but I can't deny that it brought me one baby step forward. Progress is supposed to be a good thing, right?