Making Me Sane (Sanity Book 2) (6 page)

“You must need to talk if you’re the one calling me,” she answers.

I laugh softly. “You just always call me before I can call you.”

“That’s probably true. What’s going on? Something new with Trace?”

“Not really. He brought me flowers today.”

“That’s sweet. It sounds like he’s trying.”

“Tell me what to do, Mom,” I beg. “Can I go back to someone I don’t even trust? What sense does that make?”

“Because if the love is still there, then trust can be repaired. I know he hurt you, Brittany, but after hearing why, it makes sense. Now, that doesn’t mean I agree with it. Only that I can see his point of view and understand it.”

“Why do you think I should get back together with him?”

Mom is quiet for a moment as if forming her thoughts. “Because despite everything else going on, he made you happier than anyone else ever has. There’s a reason why you were so heartbroken. You loved him so deeply that it cut even deeper. Don’t you think if you have a chance to get that love back, you should try?”

When she puts it that way, it makes sense. “But what if he just hurts me again?” I voice my biggest concern. “I’m already fragile, Mom.” Emotionally and mentally.

“You won’t know unless you give him a chance.”

She makes a good point.

“Okay. I guess I’ll give him a chance and see how it goes.”

Two days later, I find the courage to text Trace on my lunch break.

Me:
I’ve made a decision.

Trace:
And it is?

Me:
You can have another chance. We can date, and see if I can really do this or not.

Trace:
Thank you.

Trace:
Free tonight?

I laugh. Figures he’s going to try and move in as soon as possible. My day has been okay so far. Can I handle an evening with Trace? Before I can respond, I get a text from Rebecca. I texted her earlier to tell her that I’m giving Trace a chance.

Bec:
Are you kidding me? No. Just no, Brittany. Don’t do it. He’s going to break your heart all over again.

Her response pisses me off. Yeah, I understand it and worry about the same thing. However, as often as she and Dustin have broken up and she’s given him another chance, who is she to tell me what I should do?

Me:
You gave Dustin a chance every time. What’s the difference in me giving Trace one?

Impulsively, I text Trace.

Me:
What time are you picking me up?

Trace:
6:30. Dress causal. We’ll be outside.

Bec:
There just is!

I roll my eyes and don’t respond. I have a date to worry about. When I leave work, I will have just enough time to go home and change out of work clothes. I kind of like having to dress up a little for work. It’s such an adult thing to do. However, there are times when I wish I was still in college and could show up in sweats and a hoodie. I really am extremely lucky to have the boss I have. Belle Larkin is understanding. As long as my work is being completed within the timeframe needed, she has no problem accommodating me when I need it.

When I get home, I happily shed my clothes for shorts, a V-neck T-shirt, and sandals. There’s some time to spare after all, so I try to tidy up my apartment. It’s a disaster. All I manage to do before Trace arrives is put clean clothes on my bed and the dirty in the clothes basket. I decide to stuff some cash into my pocket and grab my phone and keys.

“Hey.” Trace smiles when I open the door. His gaze travels over me in appreciation. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He waits patiently for me to lock my door before interlacing his fingers with mine. I want to pull away and tell him that he hasn’t earned that privilege yet, but I don’t. I don’t want to overreact. Besides, it feels ridiculously good. He still oozes comfort and strength. It irks me a little, to be honest. There’s no real reason why, I guess.

Trace opens the passenger door for me and then walks around to get in on his side. “Did you have a good day?” he asks.

“Yep. You?”

“Not too bad.”

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a fair in town, so I thought that would be fun. Sound good to you?” He glances at me with a touch of worry in his gaze.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.” It sounds like a no-pressure place with a fun atmosphere where things can’t get too serious. It’s also a place where things can’t get too cozy or intimate. At least, I hope not. Whatever happens, I definitely do not want to jump into a relationship with Trace again. Not until I feel like I can trust him and us again.

The drive is quiet and slightly awkward until Trace asks, “Okay with getting something to eat there?”

“Sure.”

More awkward, uncomfortable silence. How did we get to this point? To where we no longer have comfortable silence? It’s tragic. It shouldn’t be like this with Trace.

He reaches over to pull my hand away from my wrist and intertwine our fingers. “Hey, it’s just me.”

I pull my hand out of his. “Yeah, it is just you,” I say quietly. It’s just the guy who I completely trusted, had fallen in love with, had depended on, and needed during the good and the bad. Just the guy who broke up with me and shattered my heart into pieces I’m still trying to put back together. Yep. It’s just Trace.

Nothing else is said the rest of the way. I don’t think Trace knows what to do with this distance between us either. He’ll have to figure it out if he wants me back.

At first glance, it doesn’t seem that busy at the fair. But once we make it past the entrance, I see that I’m mistaken and I unthinkingly reach for Trace’s hand and move closer to him.

“Once we get away from the entrance, it should lighten up,” he reassures me. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear he slows his pace as if once we get away from the main crowd, I’ll release his hand and move away from him and he’s trying to prolong the inevitable. He doesn’t need to worry about that. My anxiety has already launched up a few notches and I’m not going anywhere just yet. Like it or not, Trace still brings me comfort.

I slowly relax as we aimlessly stroll through the fairgrounds.

Trace’s chuckle causes me to tilt my head back and look at him. “God, I haven’t been to a fair since I was a kid.”

“Bringing back a lot of memories? I’ve never actually been to one.”

He stops walking and stares at me in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure I’ve always been full of anxiety and I didn’t like the little festivals in elementary school, so whenever my parents asked if I wanted to go to a fair, I said no.” I shrug. “They never dragged me anyway.”

“Have you even had cotton candy or a candied apple, or corn dipped in butter or fried oreos or a huge turkey leg?” I shake my head. “We should go to the state fair this fall. You’ve missed out, Britt.”

“Well, show me the ropes.”

First, he buys me a funnel cake, which we share. It’s delicious and I’m tempted to get another, but Trace has other ideas. Trace leads me to a booth where some kind of game is obviously played. He hands over some cash and deposits me into the seat, standing behind me with his hand on my shoulders.

“Aren’t you playing?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Nah, I’m going to help you win.”

I roll my eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask as the other seats are filled.

Trace instructs me to put my hands on the triggers of these odd-looking guns. “Water is going to squirt out of this and you need to hit the bull’s-eye on the target. Keep your hands steady because it’ll cause that tube to fill with water. You have to be the first to make it fill up to win.”

“Am I supposed to want to win a lousy stuffed animal?” Humor is a good distraction. I can feel the heat from his body behind me. His thumbs rubbing back and forth on my shoulders. It makes me want to lean back and pull his arms around me.

Trace laughs. “Yes.” He doesn’t get time to say more because the guy on the other side of the counter gets everyone’s attention. He counts us down and soon, water is squirting out of the gun. It takes me a second to get my aim right. “Hold steady,” Trace instructs, but my hands are too shaky. He’s making me nervous with his closeness. “Ah, you were close,” he says as ringing goes off to announce a winner two seats down.

Next, he drags me to play ring toss. I’m no better at that. Trace decides I need another try. He stands behind me and helps. “You need that dog. Looks like Lily,” he explains as he aligns our bodies and guides my throw.

It settles around a bottle perfectly. “I guess this is the extent of your athletic abilities.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “If you want to call this athletic, then yeah,” he answers, another ring landing around a bottle.

All we need is one more to win the stuffed animal. Third time is the charm. I point to the one that looks like Lily with a smile. Trace makes me play most of the games we come across and I can’t help but think about how much money he’s wasting to give me this “full experience.” Call it a side effect of growing up and not having my parents pay for everything anymore. It
is
fun, though, and we’re both able to relax.

“All right, time for some rides,” Trace declares.

We go on a few as the sky darkens, rides and vendors lighting the place up. I start becoming tired and hungry when he leads me to the Ferris Wheel.

“Last one,” he says as if he somehow knows I’m ready to leave. Which wouldn’t surprise me because he could always read me well. “Can’t come and not ride the Ferris Wheel.” We wait in line until it’s our turn, and he glances down at me. “Think you’d want to get some actual food after this?”

“Maybe.”

We settle into our seats and the bar secures over our laps. Trace takes my hand in his, his thumb drawing maddening circles around my knuckles. I give in to my urge and rest my head on his shoulder. It could be so easy to fall back into a relationship with him. Part of me wishes I would, but that is the last thing I need to do.

N
ever, in all the years I’ve known Brittany, has there been distance between us. It’s there now. I have no clue what to do with it or how to close the vast gap. Maybe that’s what I need to bring up in therapy next week. I hate it, though. It’s my fault it’s there and somehow, I’m supposed to know how to put it back together.

“So, what do you say? Want to go eat? We could go to your favorite fried pickles restaurant.”

It sucks that she has to think about it. Eventually, she answers, “Yeah, we can do that.”

I smile because it’s a small victory in the long battle ahead of me. Or at least I think so until I catch her squeezing the hell out of her wrist and then she says, “Actually, take me home please.”

“Okay,” I agree quietly. I don’t want to push her. After changing directions, it doesn’t take us long to reach her apartment complex.

“Sorry,” she mutters once I park.

“It’s fine.”

“I had fun.” She still hasn’t looked at me.

“That’s good; I’m glad.”

Brittany nods, but still makes no move to leave my car.