22. Beth
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BETH
A s soon as Callan walked out of my flat, my anxiety took hold. It grew like a monster in the dark, starting out as a somewhat benign worry of how I would approach my dad about Callan and explain myself. By the next day, I was full-on catastrophizing. To arrange a meeting for Callan with Dad, I’d need to explain how I knew Callan and how I knew he had no relationship with Gavin. This would bring everything back up for my parents, they might start fighting, Mum might even start to think Dad wasn’t over his ex-wife after all, they’d break up, our family would fall apart, Mum would blame me for it, and not only would she never talk to me again, she’d ask all of her friends to drop me as their social media management, and I’d end up family-less, company-less, and penniless.
These irrational thoughts spiraled, my brain conjuring up reactions I knew were out of character for my parents, and yet I couldn’t stop.
My brain wouldn’t stop.
Then there was Amanda. The mere mention of her again had her rising to haunt me. All the mistakes I’d made. How different life would be right now if I hadn’t failed her too.
I had moments of focus in between the obsessive thought cycle, and once I’d convinced myself I was wrong, I immediately replayed all the words between me and Callan. Despite his cool reaction to the truth about why I’d stopped speaking to him in high school, I worried that I’d done some damage there. Why else could I sense that thrum of anger beneath the surface of his indifference? I’d failed him too. Failing people right, left, and center.
Guilt morphed until I imagined that I’d caused Callan such irreparable emotional damage on top of him losing his parents and being neglected by his real father that he refused to make a connection with a woman. In my mind, I was suddenly the reason Callan was only interested in a string of one-night stands, and I was the reason the boy who used to smile at me with cheeky mischief in his eyes had disappeared entirely. Callan had always been serious, but now he was downright brooding.
It felt like something was sitting on my chest, I couldn’t seem to slow my heart rate, and my gut roiled.
Exhausted from trying to juggle work, pretending I was okay, and hiding the fact that I’d gotten caught in an anxiety spiral, I wanted to do nothing but hide in my flat.
But I was stubborn. I refused to let this thing pull me into a dark hole that could last days, weeks even. The worst spiral I’d ever had lasted months. It was during my first year at uni, and it was what made me eventually talk to my GP.
The anti-anxiety meds had helped. I’d stayed on them for a year and then the doc asked me to wean myself off them. I’d managed the rest of my university career without it, though my anxiety hadn’t disappeared overnight. I’d learned to manage it with mindfulness meditation, and working out at the gym helped too. But six months ago, with Social Queens becoming all-consuming, I’d felt the pull of that black hole and the GP had put me back on the medication.
It kept the anxiety from overtaking me, and this was the worst I’d felt while on it.
Ignoring that I’d exhausted myself with my overactive and intrusive thoughts, that my body was weary from all the adrenaline my brain was pumping through it, I decided on Sunday that going to the gym was the thing I needed. Working out had always helped recenter my thoughts since mindfulness taught you to focus on the way your body moved during exercise. Usually, it worked.
But I was sluggish and tired as I moved from machine to machine and was considering giving up when a shadow fell over me while I used the power squat.
“Do you mind if I use this next?”
I looked up and the breath was sucked right out of my body.
“Amanda?”
“Excuse me?”
I blinked, my heart racing a mile a minute as the woman standing over me suddenly became clearer. She had auburn hair the exact shade as Amanda’s, the same slight, willowy build, even blue-gray eyes. For a second there, I could have sworn it was her.
It wasn’t.
She was haunting me again.
“It’s all yours.” I pushed up and away from the machine. Suddenly, that pressure on my chest turned into a vise. My head felt fuzzy as it became difficult to breathe, my face tingled, and a cold sweat turned my skin clammy. It felt like my heart was trying to explode out of the steel wrapping itself around my ribs. Vision blurry, the gym seemed to swim around me as I hurried for the ladies’ locker room.
Bursting into it, I dove into one of the toilet cubicles, my fingers clumsy as I tried to lock the door behind me. Then I slumped on the toilet as I heaved in sharp, tight breaths.
A knock sounded on the cubicle door. “Are you okay in there? Do you need help?”
Breathe, Beth, breathe. Mindfulness.
Choose to return.
I took a massive inhale of air and then exhaled slowly.
“Hello?”
Another breath, staring at the door, taking in my surroundings. I was in the toilet in the women’s locker room, in the gym. I could smell sweat, perfume, deodorant, and toilet chemicals. I could hear blow dryers, conversation, and the faint thrum of music from the main gym room.
My breathing slowed. “I’m okay,” I croaked out to the kind stranger. “Thank you.”
“Okay. If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Thanks.”
I listened as her footsteps disappeared, but I stayed in the cubicle, meditating until the panic attack was over and I was utterly exhausted.
As I was driving back from the gym, worn out and wanting to hide from the world, my phone rang. It was Tellie Sutton.
Adrenaline flushed through me as I hit the Answer Call button on my steering wheel. I hadn’t heard a thing from Aura Beauty since I’d lied to Samuel about Callan being my boyfriend.
“Hi, Tellie, how are you?” I answered, trying to sound normal.
“It’s Sheera, actually.”
Hope filled me. “Sheera, hi! How are you?”
“I’m a little disappointed, Beth,” she said, sounding more bored than anything else. “I really had high hopes for working with you, but I can’t work with a liar.”
What? My throat felt tight as I squeaked out, “I don’t understand.”
“My son, Samuel, he really liked you. And I like seeing my son happy. Of course, if you have a prior commitment to someone else, that’s understandable. You told him you’re dating a Scottish Pro League football player, but there’s no mention of it in the papers. In fact, Callan Keen is known for his string of one-night stands. So, I can only conclude that, for some bizarre reason, you lied to my son.”
Oh fuck. Sheera had the kind of connections that could kill my company if she decided she wanted to. “No. Not at all, Sheera. Samuel is wonderful, but I really … I really am dating Callan. He’s my boyfriend. Truly. You know what the tabloids are like. They see him with a girl and they make up lies.” I winced at my own horrible, horrible untruths. Was this who I really wanted to be? Was this what getting ahead meant? Selling out for success?
“Fine. I’m hosting a launch party for our new line two weeks on Saturday. I’m inviting you and a few influencers along to show me what you have. Bring your so-called boyfriend so I can determine for myself if you’re lying. And, Beth, you better not be because there’s nothing I can abide less.” She hung up before I could respond.
I was shaking as I pulled into my assigned space at the flats. Callan’s Defender wasn’t parked outside our building, but he had a game today so I wasn’t surprised. Unclipping my phone from its stand on the dash, I tapped on the inbox message flashing on the screen to see the formal invitation from Tellie.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!!!
Then I saw a text from Dad asking me if I was coming to dinner.
Usually, I would, but I couldn’t force myself to pretend to be okay in front of everyone.
Really, really busy, sorry. Will be there next week, I promise. X
A few seconds later, my phone beeped.
We’ll miss you, kid. Don’t work too hard.
I felt guilty but I refused to let it take over and send me plummeting into another spiral. Because I had a plan. I was focusing on that plan, and it was going to make everything better.
Hopefully.
Hitting his number on my phone, I waited as it rang out. It went to voicemail. “You’ve reached Keen. Leave a message.”
I smirked at his no-nonsense voicemail message. “Callan, it’s Beth. I’ve decided I’ll get you that meeting with my dad, but I need something from you first. Call me back when you can.”
An hour later, as I lay in bed watching a comfort show on my laptop that always helped me forget my worries, my phone rang.
It was Callan.
I answered on the third ring. “You got my message, then?”
“Aye. Look, I don’t have much time. What do you want?”
So brisk and surly. “Like I said, I’ll arrange that meeting. But … here’s the thing. Samuel’s mother, the big-time client I need to impress, just called and basically accused me of lying about being in a relationship with you. She knows who you are and knows your reputation for manwhoredom.”
“Man-what-dom?”
“Anyway, she can pretty much destroy everything I’ve been working my arse off to achieve in the last three years by blackballing me. She’s invited me to a launch party two weeks on Saturday, and she said that if I bring you along and prove to her I’m not lying, we’re all good. If I don’t, she’ll hurt my business.”
“Are you kidding me? Who does that?”
“A mother who has way too much interest in her spoiled son’s love life. Now I’m starting to see why Samuel is the way he is.”
“So you’re telling me because her son didn’t get to shag you, she’s going to blackball you?” He scoffed in disbelief.
“Pretty much. Though she’s pretending it’s about the lie, not the shagging part. Unless I can prove you’re really my boyfriend, I’m done, Captain. So I’m going to need you to pretend to date me so my career doesn’t blow up in my face. In exchange, I’ll get you the meeting with my dad.”
Silence greeted me. I couldn’t even hear him breathe.
“Captain? Callan?”
Nothing.
“Callan, are you there?”