Page 119 of Truck Up

“A little over two years.” I furrow my brow and frown. I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“And in those two years, how many times have you fought?”

Her question causes all the tension that’s gripped my body for the past three days to loosen its hold. My shoulders sag and I let out a low breath.

“None.” I admit.

“In those two years, how many times have you broken her trust?” She continues.

I widen my eyes. “Never.”

She leans forward on her elbows and holds my gaze. “And how many times have you stood by her side and supported her when she needed you?”

“Every single time,” I say without hesitation. “I’ll do anything for her. Always.”

“Two years is a long time to go without fighting or breaking a person’s trust. She just needs a moment to wrap her head around this small obstacle. She’ll come around.”

I close my eyes, and take a deep, shuddering breath. Dr. Johnson’s words echo in my mind, a fragile melody against the cacophony of doubt that constantly plagues me. Logically, she’s right. She’s always right, a beacon of reason in the storm of my own self-destruction. It’s why I keep coming back to our sessions.

But doubt, that insidious beast, has a tight grip on my soul, whispering lies and poisoning every hopeful thought.

“But what if she doesn’t come around?” I put those nightmares into words.

“Then we’ll deal with it, and I’ll help you work through it.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “But don’t sink the boat just yet. You’re a good man, and she knows it. She wouldn’t be with you otherwise.”

Dr. Johnson has been my lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss on more than one occasion. I owe her my life, my very soul. She’s been my compass, guiding me through the darkest of storms, and I cling to the hope that she’s right about this too.

Losing Amelia would shatter me.

I don’t know if I could survive the emotional wreckage her absence would create.

Chapter 25

The hard truth.

Amelia

Asharp rap against the front door drags me from my thoughts, but I ignore it, burying my face in the pillow. Nova’s home. It’s probably for her anyway.

“Can you get that?” She calls from the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans a jarring counterpoint to the silence in my head.

I push myself to a sitting position, the effort draining me. But I don’t move. The thought of human interaction is a terrifying prospect. Conversation is the last thing I need right now, the last thing I can bear.

Instead, I crumple back onto the bed, curling into a fetal position, a desperate attempt to shield myself from the outside world.

The knocking intensifies, a pounding now, a relentless assault on my fragile peace. I tighten my grip, my breath catching in my throat, silently pleading for the visitor to go away, to leave me alone in my misery.

“Lia!” Nova’s voice booms through the house, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing throughout. She’s not happy, I can tell.

Let her join the party. Unhappiness seems to be the theme song of my life lately.

I’m still furious with Christian. How could he do this to me? To us?

“I thought I meant more to him than that,” I whisper, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth. It’s been days, and the silence between us is deafening. He hasn’t made an effort, not really. Granted, I asked for space, but I didn’t expect him to vanish. I need him to fight for me, to prove to me that I’m worth the effort.

I roll onto my back, staring at the swirling patterns on the ceiling, this pain amplifying my despair.

“God, I’m so stupid,” I groan, the words catching in my throat. Here I am, lamenting his absence, when I was the one who pushed him away.