Chapter 30
Wyatt
The morning sun washed through Taylor’s expansive windows, making everything look like it was covered in a warm, golden glow.
I sat at the kitchen counter, laptop open, cup of coffee steaming lazily in front of me. I was calm, but exhausted, like I’d had a run-in with a double-decker bus or something. It was always that way after a really bad attack.
I ran a hand through my hair, still wet from my morning shower.
I couldn’t shake the lingering tiredness from last night, or the memory of Taylor finding me on that bathroom floor.
Her face. Seeing the way her heart broke for me.
She came at it with concern and understanding, because that’s the type of person she was.
But it didn’t make me feel any less self-conscious about being that way in front of her. Vulnerability laid bare.
And yet.
At that moment, I felt our connection deepen. A silent promise that surpassed the need for words.
Words…
The blinking cursor on the blank document taunted me.
I had to get through at least three pages before my call with Patricia, or there’d be hell to pay.
Getting caught up in the move hadn’t done my schedule any favors, and I needed a full day to make up for the time I’d lost. But with that, and despite the fatigue in my bones, a new hope blossomed within me.
The possibility of this city house becoming more than just a temporary space.
I looked at Michael Keaton again, who was blissfully unaware of the complexities of our situation. His rhythmic breathing was a comforting backdrop to my contemplation. I could do this for him. For us. I could get better and have a happy life with Taylor right here, in New York.
The aroma of fresh croissants wafted through the air, and I smiled softly. Taylor had left early for the office but didn’t neglect to make sure breakfast was covered once I woke up. I nibbled on one absentmindedly, my mind drifting back to the writing I had to dive into.
The gentle hum of the city below, the distant sounds of traffic and voices, formed a unique symphony that dragged me out onto the patio with my wares. It was a gorgeous day, and just because I had to work didn’t mean I should waste it.
I’d no sooner placed my laptop and croissant on the table, coffee cup precariously slung onto my finger, than Michael Keaton hopped onto the chair beside mine. He looked at me for a moment, nudging his nose in the general direction of breakfast, then rested his head on his paws and settled down.
“There’s a good boy.”
I lifted my hands to the keyboard, and to my surprise, words started coming.
With each passing moment I found myself growing more accustomed to the idea of this city life, intertwined with Taylor’s world.
The high-rise buildings flanking my view, the distant skyline, and the constant ebb and flow of urban life enclosed around Elara and me as we descended into the shadow realm together.
Tired, but with a renewed sense of purpose.
That’s what I would’ve written in my journal if it was close by.
But I hadn’t touched it in days, and I was beginning to see the reason for my therapist’s advice.
If nothing else, it was a good way to dump all this stuff from my brain before getting into a day.
I would’ve written about Taylor’s growing bond with Michael Keaton, and how happy it made me to see that happening. About making a new friend. About being dragged into an impromptu interview last night and not keeling over dead because of it.
The doorbell chimed, disrupting the quiet hum of the apartment.
Michael Keaton bounded off his chair before I could make a move and waited impatiently at the patio door for me to follow.
I reluctantly tore myself from my work, wondering who’d be calling so early.
Everyone in Taylor’s life knew she’d be at work, and nobody here knew that I existed.
I was still smiling to myself about that when I swung the front door open to find Devon standing there, a tentative smile on her face.
“Oh, good. You’re alive.” She was on top of me with a hug before I could decide whether that was what I wanted.
“Devon. Hi.”
She started inside without an invitation, dropping her purse on the end table in the hall.
“I hope you don’t mind me just dropping by, but I was worried about you after last night.”
She was being carefully cheerful, if I had to label it. Treading lightly, mindful of the turbulent night I’d had. Devon had an intuitive understanding, and her empathy was palpable.
“Thank you, but I’m doing okay.” I closed the door and moved through to the kitchen with her. “Coffee?”
“Let me.” Devon quickly brushed past me, going for the jug. “It’s part of my duties for the post-panic-attack check-in.”
I chuckled softly, appreciating her candor, and settled at the kitchen counter. “Go crazy.”
Devon busied herself with getting cups and milk from the refrigerator. Then she halted and turned to face me.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to sound crass just now. I know it’s not a joke, but-”
I dismissed her with a wave of my hand. “Please, I’d rather that than have you tiptoeing around me, treating me like some glass artifact that’s so fragile it’ll break if you looked at it the wrong way.”
She heaved a sigh of relief. “Okay, great. Sugar?”
“I have a cup on the patio,” I replied. “Why don’t you get yours and then join me? I haven’t seen the sun in so long, I don’t want it to go to waste.”
Devon nodded and went about getting herself a cup of coffee. When we got outside, she took up Michael Keaton’s chair since he was planted by my feet again.
“Giving the city a chance, I see.” She smiled warmly and took a sip of her coffee. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to wake up to this view every day?”
“You might be onto something,” I admitted, using my cup as a hand warmer. The sun was out, but there was still a chill in the air. “But you know how it is. Change is always daunting.”
Devon’s eyes reflected her understanding. “Oh, I get it. But trust me, the city grows on you. Before you know it, you’ll be navigating the streets and its people like a pro. Complaining about the constant noise like a true New Yorker.”
We both laughed, settling into the easy connection we somehow shared. I was grateful for it, for the unexpected friendship that was developing. Just having her around, both last night and now, brought a certain relief to the challenges I faced.
The conversation took an unexpected turn part way through our coffees, veering into the territory of vulnerability. Devon, who was usually bright with humor, softened as she listened to me. I wasn’t planning on laying it all out, but she made it easy.
“It’s just… everything feels so uncertain,” I said, tracing patterns on the coffee cup with my fingertips. “The move, things with Taylor. It’s a lot to process. I worry about the what-ifs, you know?”
She nodded, and I believed that she knew exactly what I meant.
“Change is never easy, especially when it comes bundled with so much unknown. But it sounds like you’ve got a good thing going with Taylor.
And this city, as overwhelming as it may seem, has a way of surprising you.
I think you should let it do that and let us be there for you while you’re finding your feet. ”
I sighed, warmed through by her compassion and support. “My anxiety… it’s not that simple to shake it off. It sneaks up on me sometimes. Even when I’m nowhere near to it.”
Devon leaned back, her gaze focused yet gentle. Safe. “Have you tried any coping mechanisms? Besides the fur baby at your feet, of course.”
“Michael Keaton does have a special way of helping me.” A small smile tugged at my lips. “But I’m open to suggestions.”
“First off,” her eyes twinkled with mischief, “cut yourself some slack. It’s okay to not have everything figured out right away. Breathe your way through it and don’t suffer in silence.”
I absorbed her advice, taken by this virtual stranger who was carving her place in my life.
“I mean it, Wyatt,” Devon went on. “Communication is key. Talk with Taylor about how you’re feeling and what your challenges are. I know her, and if she’s with you, she’s with you.”
Relief washed over me. Devon’s insights were like a lifeline, offering practical strategies to getting through this sea of storms.
“Thanks, Devon,” I said sincerely. “Sorry for spilling my guts, but I’m glad I did.”
Her grin returned, warm and reassuring. “You know what they say about sharing the load. You’re not alone in this, Wyatt.”
My phone pinged and alerted me to the time—my therapy session. The thought of delving into my recent struggles with her made my stomach churn. But a part of me, the part that wanted to be fixed, knew I needed to confront it head-on.
Turning to Devon, who had been a source of unexpected comfort, I hesitated for a moment.
Should I disclose the nature of my impending appointment, or should I keep this part of my life veiled for now?
The decision hung in the air like a silent question, but ultimately, I chose honesty.
She’d proven herself trustworthy, and I didn’t mind her knowing.
“Work?” she asked, downing the last of her coffee. “It’s okay, I have to get started on my to-do list too.”
She got up, and I rose with her. “Actually, I have an online session with my therapist.”
Unsurprisingly, there was no judgment from Devon. She pulled me into a warm hug and said, “We’ll catch up later. And if you ever need someone to talk to who isn’t Taylor or your therapist, you know where to find me.”
Her words resonated with a sincerity that eased the knot tightening in my chest. I walked her out, and when I returned to the patio her comfort was still lingering over me.
The call came through and I answered without hesitation, smiling at my therapist’s face that filled the laptop screen.
“Good to see you,” she said, her voice a soothing balm. “How have you been holding up?”
The floodgates opened as I got into everything with her, the highs and lows of acclimating to a city that felt both alien and enchanting. I told her about Taylor, of how different our worlds were, and the looming fear of sabotaging something beautiful.
She listened intently while I poured my heart out and only spoke once I’d reached the end of my story.
“You’ve built walls around yourself for a reason, Wyatt,” she said. “Growth and healing lie beyond those walls. It might be time to let a little light in.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned slightly. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Getting out of my comfort zone, connecting with Taylor…”
“Closure,” she replied simply. “Going to the root of what prompted those walls is where you have to start. How would you feel about contacting the husband of the patient you lost?”
I blinked stupidly at the screen, my insides twisting into a million knots.