Page 117 of Truck Up
“It means you need to talk to Lia.” I insist.
“I did, and she won’t talk to me.” He sounds exhausted and concerned in a way I’ve never seen from him before.Is this idiot finally opening up his eyes?
“Like I said, I can’t help you.” I turn to walk back inside, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Please, I need to know.” He begs. “Something is off, and I can’t figure it out.”
I shake my head. “I already fucked up by letting you goad me into that stupid game. I’m not going to fuck up more by breaking your sister’s trust. Talk to her. Better yet, talk to your fucking friend.”
“Badger?” He furrows his brow. “I did.”
“And?” I raise a brow, curious about how that asshole spun the story.
“He said that he was consoling Lia when you barged out and threw a fit.”
“Threw a fit?” I snort. “Only because he was—”
I stop myself before I say something that I can’t take back. I can’t betray Amelia.
“He was what?” The concern in Linden’s eyes actually makes me feel sorry for him.
I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes. “Badger is not who you think he is. He’s a piece of shit. The only reason he’s still breathing is because Lia won’t let me touch him. But if he ever touches her again, he’s a dead man.”
His eyes widen. “Explain.”
I cringe because I’ve already said too much. “Talk to Lia.”
Then I turn around and head back inside. He calls out my name, but I don’t turn back. If he keeps probing, I’m liable to slip up and reveal her deepest secret. That’s her story to tell. Not mine.
If I do that, I could lose her forever, and that’s not something I’m willing to risk.
“Thankyou for making an appointment this time,” Dr. Johnson says, her voice a gentle anchor in the storm brewing inside me. “I really appreciate that.”
“Mmhmm,” I grunt, my hands gripping my bouncing knees so tightly my knuckles are white. My nerves are a tangled mess, a deadly war of anxiety. I should have been here yesterday, should have broken down these emotions hours ago.
But she wasn’t available, and I’m trying to respect her boundaries.
Restraining myself, instead of storming in on my schedule, was agonizing. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The only thing that stopped me was the miracle of her availability—a session scheduled within one day.
But that doesn’t lessen the torment. I needed to talk yesterday, to unload the weight of these suffocating emotions. Now, the rage is a simmering volcano, threatening to erupt. Dr. Johnson is one of the few safe havens I have, the only person who truly understands the chaos within me. Not even Chase, with his unwavering love, can truly grasp the depths of this pain.
Amelia understands, but she’s withdrawn, refusing to work through this yet. She still needs more time.
Three days have passed since the fucking game—three days of agonizing silence. Each passing hour feels like an eternity, the distance between us widening with every agonizing tick of the clock.
Worse, the craving is driving me mad, a monstrous beast clawing at the edges of my sanity. I haven’t felt this desperate for a hit in months. The urge is a terrifying, suffocating presence.
If she doesn’t forgive me soon, if this chasm between us doesn’t close, I fear I’ll do something reckless, something I’ll regret forever.
Stupid decisions are my Achilles’ heel, and I’m teetering on the edge. I’m one wrong move away from imploding.
I’m afraid of what I might do, afraid of the damage I might inflict on myself, on others. The fear is a cold, suffocating hand around my throat, choking out the last vestiges of hope.
“Christian, talk to me.” Dr. Johnson probes. “You said this was an emergency.”
I snap my eyes to hers and she flinches. I’ve got so much fear, anger, and anxiety bottled up inside me right now that I’m about to explode. It’s not a good feeling. Couple that with my inability to sleep, and I look like a rabid animal.
“Have you relapsed?” she asks. Her voice is calm and reassuring. There’s not an ounce of judgement in her tone.