Page 13 of Madden

"You should've let me get your door." I throw her an annoyed look. "I always get my date's door."

She bristles. "I'm pretty independent, Madden. I like to do a lot for myself. It's important that I know I can do those things."

I give her a soft smile. "But that doesn't mean that you can't accept help."

The vibes in the truck aren't as smooth as I would like for them to be. There's an uneasy feeling between us, but I refuse to let it ruin our night. I'm a charmer, and I've been known to get myself out of some harrowing situations. I can read the room pretty well, and right now I get she wants me to sit here and be quiet.

As I drive the streets of Laurel Springs, the sounds of Zach Bryan play quietly in the background. I sing along, trying not to disturb her, but needing for her to acknowledge me.

"You have a good voice." She says after the song goes off.

My face flames. I don't sing in front of others very often. "Thanks. It kept me from going crazy when I was a kid."

She tilts her head to the side, and I know she wants to question why I was going crazy, but I'm not ready to reveal that side of myself to her yet. Eventually I will, because I know instinctively I can trust her.

"You're good, and you can sing around me anytime you want."

"Thanks." I flash her a smile. "Are there any talents you're hiding?" Now that the uncomfortable thread between us isn't there any longer, I go about trying to find out all the things I've wanted to know.

"I don't think so." She puts her hands between her knees and presses her knees together on them.

I notice it for what it is. A protective gesture, one that she doesn't want others to see. It keeps other people from seeing her hands shake. "Oh I bet you can do a few things well. I've heard you talk to people on the phone who are going through the worst moments in their lives, and you're able to calm them down. How do you do that?"

She sighs. "There were a lot of times when I was a teenager and smaller child that I was in situations I shouldn't have been. It's more than likely one reason my brother ended up in prison. We didn't grow up in the best of conditions."

We seem to have that in common. But I'm not sure if I want to admit that to her yet or not. I rarely tell girls I want to date about where I came from. I'd much rather them know who I am now. Instead of telling her, I make a neutral statement. "I think many people our age can relate to that, Bec. We're breaking generational curses these days, but it's not the easiest thing to do."

"No." She chuckles. "It most definitely is not. We're doing our best, though."

"That we are." I pull into the parking lot of El Maguey, and park as close to the door as I can, because I don't want her walking any further than she has to. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Then let's go eat."

Within a few minuteswe're seated and I'm delighted that she is a same-side sitter with me. Usually in a booth, a woman will sit across from me, and not beside me. She did it without thinking.

"Do we get cheese dip?" I question, knocking her knee with mine.

"Of course. Are we really at El Maguey if we don't have chips and queso?" She grins.

This is the Bec I can tell that's hiding behind the tough exterior she puts up for everyone else. She looks so muchyounger when she smiles without the worry behind her eyes. "Nope, I say we get it."

When the waiter comes back, we order the dip, and I encourage her to get a margarita, if that's what she wants. It takes more coaxing than I want it to, but eventually she gives in. I get a glass of my customary water. Within minutes, the margarita is in front of her, and she takes a healthy drink. "Okay, I've had a drink of liquid courage. I'm ready to hear what you wanted to tell me about Mick."

I take a drink of my water, letting a few pieces of ice escape into my mouth. I move them around with my tongue and chomp on them before speaking. "Mick seems like a good kid. I met him in a way I wouldn't have picked, but I'm glad I did."

"Oh no," she sighs. "What happened?"

Turning my body toward her, I deepen our connection. "I was walking through the hallway, as Principal Faulkner requested. Mick was there, and in the middle of a panic attack." I say the words with as much care as I can. "I let him pet Donut, and he worked through it. You would've been proud of him."

She turns her gaze toward her drink and swallows so hard I can see her throat move up and down. "I am proud of him. He hasn't let me in like that. I can tell he's struggling, because we all are. But every time I try to get close, or start figuring out what the problem may be, he pulls back."

I hate this for her. I wish there was a quick answer, an easy way for her to deal with the shit that's been dumped in her lap. Unfortunately, there isn't, and she's going to have to figure out a way to get him to trust her. "It's going to take time. Take it from someone who knows."

"How do you know?" She asks, her eyes wide and full of fear. "How will I ever know how to help him if he won't talk to me about what's going on?"

I've never admitted this to anyone. Not the therapists I was set up with as a kid, not even the one girl I thought I was going to marry right out of high school. I trust her. I feel as if I can tell her all my secrets, and she won’t judge me. "My mom is an alcoholic, and my dad didn't stick around. I saw a lot of shit I never should've, took care of my little brother in ways I shouldn't have had to. It hurt me, and I struggled for a long time with anxiety. I did the same thing as Mick did." I stop to run my hand through my hair. "It was the only way I could deal with all the emotions I had flowing through my body and mind. Rocking back and forth, getting into a space that was quiet, making myself small, they were all ways I dealt with my anxiety. Until I realized that being physical gave me the same outlet."