The Trauma Response (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #2)

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter eighteen

I have officially run out of ideas, and have nothing left to have delivered to Whits. And I’m desperate, which is why I made the fatal mistake of asking Christian how she’s doing.

“I mean, she seems fine at work. She laughs and has good interaction with everyone, and the client adores her. I’m sorry, Cai. If there’s something wrong, it doesn’t show at work,” Christian says, but his assurances that Whits is doing fine don’t help me in deciphering what happened between us. One minute, we were growing closer, close enough that I thought we were heading toward something more than friendship. The next, she dropped me faster than she did in college.

“Yeah, thanks, Chris.” I strap my helmet back on and mount my bike, wishing I could get to the bottom of what went wrong.

“Why don’t you go to her house and ask her directly?” Chantelle asks.

“He’s probably trying to give her space, like she asked,” Thor says.

I lick my lips and start my bike, almost wishing we didn’t have synched comms. I need some time to think, and asking my friends for relationship advice means it will be the topic of discussion for hours. I appreciate them, I really do, but I don’t think they can crack this one.

“Sometimes people just need space,” Des says and shrugs.

“I get that, but what doesn’t make sense is that we were doing really well, then she suddenly declared she needed space, yelled at me, and now she won’t even text me back to explain what happened.” We take the turn out of the gas station slowly, ensuring we don’t get cut off by drivers who don’t pay attention to bikers.

“That is a little strange,” Holt says. “It would be less so if you’d clearly done something wrong.”

“I still think you should go check on her. It’s Saturday. Casually ride over there, ask her if you can talk it out.” Chantelle pulls alongside me and speeds up a little to keep up with my monster of a bike. “You know I wouldn’t tell you to do something if I didn’t think it would work, right?”

“I know. I’m not saying it won’t, but you can imagine how intimidating that idea is,” I admit.

“You got this, Hotshot. Besides, it’s probably better to settle this now than spend another ten years waiting to hear back from her, right?” Thor lays some difficult truth in my lap, and I’m forced to consider that even the best of intentions can go astray. None of us intended to drift apart during college, but we did. This feels different, though, almost as if she’s pushing me away for some reason. Maybe I came off too pushy. Maybe I misread our flirting. Either way, they’re right. I can’t stand the thought of spending another decade wondering what went wrong.

“I’ll catch up to you guys later. I gotta see her.”

“Good luck!” Chantelle’s voice fades as I turn right and the others continue straight ahead toward Brokedown.

I maneuver the turns until I’m just outside the city and on the road leading to Whits’ house. She might slam the door in my face, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take if only to give myself some peace of mind. As far as I can figure, there’s either something going on she doesn’t want me to know about, or I’ve done something wrong that I can’t pin down. The living room light is on, so I assume she is home. I take a deep breath, remove my helmet, and head to her porch.

The front door cracks open and her silhouette is backlit by the hall lamp. “Cai, what are you doing here?” Her tone isn’t annoyed or cold, but unsteady. Worried. Afraid?

“I think you know what I’m doing here. You’ve ghosted me for ten days with no explanation other than you need space. Which would be fine, I’d understand if you explained why you suddenly need space from me, but you didn’t.”

“Cai, I just needed to be left alone for a while. I’m trying to figure out a new job, I’m still getting accustomed to not feeling—”

“Why are you lying to me?” I step onto her porch and she shuts the door behind her. She’s not going to let me into her house, and it feels a lot like she’s shutting me out of her entire life. Permanently.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and crosses her arms with a great heave. “All right, fine. I ran into a patient of mine last week and learned that my biggest rival in the hospital took my position as lead surgeon in the department. She has all of my patients, and they just love her.”

I blink a few times, unsure how to respond to this. “So…you…pushed me away…because your patients are in good hands? Whits, they have to see someone. They need a doctor.”

Her scowl would scare anyone, but not me. I know her, and I know she’s hiding much more beneath that hardened veneer than frustration about her patients.

“Of course, I’m glad they’re in good hands. It just made me realize how much I lost all over again, and how easily replaced I am. I wanted some space to process. That’s all.”

“First of all, you are not easily replaced. Second, I know that’s not all. That’s not even the core of it. If it were, you wouldn’t be shifting your weight back and forth. Whits, that’s how I know you’re lying to me. You won’t look me in the eyes and tell me the truth, so I’m sorry if—”

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you.” She drops her hands and balls them into fists. “I was afraid that I was only using you as an anchor, something to distract me from my pain, okay? I didn’t want to do that to you, so I pushed you away. Are you happy now?”

I throw my hands in the air, nearly losing my grip on my helmet. “Yes! Yes, I’m happy, because you gave me a reason.”

“It’s a terrible reason!”

“Exactly! It is a terrible reason, which is why you’re going to go get your shoes on and get your tiny butt on my bike so we can go watch a hockey game together and forget all about this.”

Whits steps back and tilts her head, eyes narrowed. “Did you hear a single word I said? I just admitted I might be using you for my benefit, and you’re demanding I go to a hockey game with you? It’s not even hockey season!” She matches my energy and throws her hands in the air.

“Dragons are in the playoffs, remember? And if you think you are using me, you need another brain scan. That’s not you, and we both know it. And even if you are, I’m here willingly, of my own accord, to help you through a rough time in your life. I care about you, Whits. Don’t shut me out.”

She blows out a deep breath, toying with her messy hair. “Can I change first?”

I got her. Hockey always lures her in.

“Yes, but hurry. First period starts in half an hour.” I turn around and head back to my bike, already strapping on my helmet. Using me. Ha! It’s sweet that she thought she was using me to distract herself from her pain, that she wanted to make sure that she didn’t hurt me, but if she thinks I’m going to let her walk out of my life again that easily, she’s nuts.

I grab my phone and order another ticket to pick up when we arrive, which kills just enough time before Whits emerges from her house with new clothing and, hopefully, a new attitude. I untether a helmet from the back of my bike, one I had ordered just for her before she went rogue on me, and hand it to her.

She says something but it’s muffled, so I tap my ears. She rolls her eyes and slides the helmet on. It’s already synched, and somehow she knows that. “I said, Chantelle must have a lot of these for you to borrow.”

Whits hoists her leg over the back and settles in behind me. “Nope. It’s yours, unless you ghost me again.”

“I told you, I was trying to do what I thought was best for you. I don’t want to hurt you, Cai.”

I start my bike and head toward the rink, praying she sees that she’s not doing what she claims she’s doing. “I think you’re scared, that’s true, but it’s not because you’re going to hurt me. You’re going to have backslides, and that’s fine. I get it, but us reconnecting and spending time together where you enjoy yourself, does not suddenly mean you are taking advantage of me to distract yourself. We used to have a lot of fun, and you weren’t using me back then.”

Things go silent for a while until we’re about halfway to the rink. Whits squeezes me a little tighter. “I’m sorry, Cai.” Her whispered, choked reply tells me she’s holding back tears.

I reach behind and squeeze her thigh. “I know, but I’m still here. I’m always going to be here.”

“For what it’s worth, it’s been hard ignoring you. A girl can get used to flowers and chocolates and books dropped at her door daily. You spoil me.”

“Not even close. If you think that is spoiling you, you haven’t seen anything yet. Gimme time.”

She leans with me into the last turn and into the parking lot. Once the bike is off, she raises her leg and slides off the back so I can get off. I grasp her hand and tug her back to me so I can grasp the bottom of her helmet. I flip up my visor and hers so I can stare into her eyes. She freezes with her arms at her sides, her helmeted forehead pressed to mine.

“I want you to know that I intend to smother you with things you love not just because you’re healing, but also because you’re my friend and I care about you. The only thing you can do that will hurt me, is to cut me out of your life. Anything and everything else can be worked out, but silence cuts deeper than a knife, Whits.”

Her eyes go wider and wider, but she nods so I release her. I don’t expect her to fall into my arms, but she does and our helmets slam together.

“Ouch,” she whines.

I chuckle. “Lesson learned.” I wrap my arms around her and tuck her head under my chin, a feat with these bulky things on our heads.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. You said that. Let’s let it go and move on, okay?” She nods. “You still like the Dragons, right?”

“Of course.” Her sassy tone is back, and I know we’re past this hiccup. I can only hope she took me seriously, because if she disappears on me again, it’ll kill me.