Page 7 of My Best Years
“Birdie, I’m sorry,” I repeat, hoping she knows I mean it.
“It’s okay,” she smiles softly, and I feel like I can finally breathe.
I don’t know if I could handle Birdie being mad at me on top of everything else I’m going through. She’s the one person who makes me happy—the only glimmer of sunlight in my gloomy world.
FOUR
Callum
Present Day
“You’re young, Callum,” Dr. Martin mutters. “All of your labs came back normal. I’m sure it’s just stress.”
My brows pinch together as I stare down at my hands. I flex my fingers before balling them into a fist.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I’ve been stressed my entire life. My childhood was the most anxiety-inducing experience I’ve ever had, but I’ve never dealt with this. The cramps and stiffness just started in the past year.”
He nods slowly.
“Yes, but as we get older, we handle stress differently,” he assures me. “You’re only twenty-nine. I’m not worried about anything severe. You have a high-stress job as a lawyer, most likely contributing to your symptoms. Anxiety and stress are much more physical than people think.”
I wish I could believe him, but something feels off. I know my body. Aside from my shitty childhood, I’ve never been ananxious person at my core. I’m the furthest thing from a hypochondriac. I don’t go to the doctor unless I feel like I’m on my deathbed. I’m not just making these symptoms up in my head.
“Okay…” I reply hesitantly.
“Before you leave, I’ll have the nurse give you a few handouts on reducing stress,” he says calmly. “Take some time to read through them; they are full of beneficial information. Focus on lowering your stress levels for the next couple of months, and if you don’t see any improvement, call the office, and we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”
This is why I hate going to the doctor. Instead of getting clarity, I’m going home with a pamphlet on stress and anxiety that I’d bet was printed straight from Google.
I purse my lips together and nod.
“Sounds good,” I sigh in an unconvincing tone.
Twenty minutes later, I’m leaving Dr. Martin’s office and walking to my car. Thankfully, I snagged the first appointment of the day, which gives me the pleasure of watching the morning sun peek through palm trees bordering the street.
After attending law school in New York and living there for six years, I couldn’t wait to leave the city. I moved to the coast of Alabama four years ago, and it’s been one of the best decisions of my life. There’s just something about being near the ocean that settles me.
Of all the places in the world, there’s one city that’s etched into my heart for eternity.
Myrtle Beach.
I left there when I was eighteen, and I haven’t returned since. My hometown is like a blessing and a curse. It holds the best and worst memories of my life.
It’s the place where I was abused and neglected for years, held prisoner by a man who hated his own child. Everyonethought of me as the rich kid living in the Wylie Street mansion. What they didn’t know was that I almost lost my life in that home.
Myrtle Beach is the capsule that holds my trauma, but it’s also the place where I mether.
Birdie Wren.
She’s the reason I look back at my childhood and smile. She’s why I love the soft sound of ocean waves and the sulfur smell of saltwater. She’s the reason I can hardly watch a sunset because the golden rays remind me of her sandy-blonde hair.
She’s why I’ve stayed away all these years. Because I don’t think I could look her in the eyes after how I left.
It’s my biggest regret. But it’s also the most difficult decision I’ve ever made.
I needed to keep her far, far away fromhim. I would do anything—move to the opposite ends of the Earth—if it meant that he never laid a finger on her.
I wanted her to forget about me. Ihopethat she has forgotten about me.