Chapter 28
ALLYSON
One second I’m trying to calm down Kyle Bloomdale, and the next his finger’s in my face and he’s calling me a bitch.
It’s not the first time I’ve been called names.
Hell, it’s not even the first time that’s happened this month.
I’m a mediator, after all, and my job is helping angry people on two sides of an issue come to some sort of resolution. It’s sometimes an ugly process.
But I reflexively flinch. I feel the too-familiar electric jolt as my muscles tense, and it sends a wash of shame through me.
I don’t do this anymore. I worked too hard to not be this person ever again.
Scared and shrinking is not me. I am bold and bright.
I just lost that for a minute when I was with Jeremy.
So why is this happening now? Maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about the past a bit more the last few days, analyzing the differences between my relationship with Bruce and my marriage with Jeremy and revisiting my slow crumble under Jeremy’s influence.
I know that eventually, I’ll have to tell Bruce more about my marriage and divorce, but I’ve been putting it off, not wanting him to see me as the broken woman I was for too long.
Bruce steps between Kyle and me, and for the briefest of seconds, I feel relieved that he’s going to handle this. The tension amps up, and I step back, needing to get away.
It’s not far enough, though, and I don’t see the punch coming before my face explodes in pain. It’s hot and fiery, bright and deep all at once. I stumble backward, almost falling to my ass, but the teenage referee steadies me with a firm hand on my elbow.
In slow motion, I see Bruce’s face twist in rage as he bares his teeth.
His fist lifts, connecting with Kyle’s belly with a thud.
Kyle throws wild punches back, barely any landing, and even the ones that do, Bruce doesn’t show any sign of even feeling them.
Bruce punches Kyle once more and he goes down.
It’s over in a flash, but my blood is thundering through my body, a roar in my ears blocking out everything and everyone.
No, no, no, no. I can’t do this. He hit me. I have to get out of here.
Cooper! Where’s Cooper?
I hear Bruce calling my name, but I grab Cooper’s hand. “Let’s go, Cooper. Now.” He starts to say something, but when he looks at my face, he quiets and lets me drag him to the car. “Buckle up, honey.”
The drive is fast, my back ramrod straight as I check the rearview mirror for the tenth time. Nothing is behind us but open road.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Why were Coach B and that guy fighting?” His voice is hesitant, but as I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, the blue so similar to mine, he looks worried.
“It’s fine, honey. It’s fine.” My voice trails off, not answering him because I’m mostly trying to reassure myself.
Cooper’s quiet after that, and my brain whirls, replaying the scene at the football field but overlapping the way I felt with Kyle’s pointing finger in my face with Jeremy’s accusations and insults.
It’s hitting me hard, flashbacks of arguments and sneered insults that made me feel small, accusations that made me doubt myself. I haven’t had a panic attack like this in years. I didn’t think it would ever happen again, but here I am.
My breathing quickens, trying to force oxygen into my too-tight chest, and my whole body gets tingly as adrenalin floods my veins.
Rationally, I know there’s nothing to be scared of here in my car.
I left the threat behind at the football field.
But my brain doesn’t care about rational and reasonable logic.
Bitch. His finger in my face. He hit me. Jeremy. Kyle. Bruce. People watching.
Run. Save Cooper. Run.
They’re not complete thoughts, just words floating across my mind like a scrolling marquee, the red LED lights flashing in warning.
My fingers tap on the steering wheel, but I can’t find a rhythm and it’s more drumming than the anxiety-alleviating pattern I usually employ.
I pull into the driveway at home, a fleeting thankfulness at the closeness of my house trying to take root, but my brain swats the positive thought away like an annoying mosquito. “Inside. Let’s go.”
Cooper unbuckles his seatbelt and rushes inside with me, fear etched on his face.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He doesn’t need to see this. He shouldn’t have seen that at the field. Is he scared of me? Bruce? Kyle?
The small bit of control and awareness I have takes hold for a moment.
I squat down, eyes meeting Cooper’s, and I promise him, “Everything’s fine.
Mom just got a bit nervous at the field so I thought we should come home.
” I can hear the false robotic note to my voice, but I can’t change it.
It’s taking all I have to speak this calmly and not scare him further.
“Okay, Mom.” I hug him to me, letting the sweaty boy smell of him ground me, feeling him solidly and safely in my arms. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, hot and painful, but I blink them away so he doesn’t see.
“Go to your room for a little bit for me, okay?” He nods and scurries down the hallway.
It’s the last bit of restraint I have. Even as I know it’s ridiculous, I’m in survival mode, and I can’t help but check the lock on the front door and then the windows. I peek through the blinds, looking at the driveway that’s empty except for my car.
He’s not coming.
I’m not sure who ‘he’ even is . . . Kyle, Jeremy, Bruce? All of them? The image of the three of them converging on my lawn is ridiculous but not enough to stop the panic.
I’m glad . . . about Kyle and about Jeremy, who’s not a threat, anyway, since I don’t even know where he is now. I’m sad that Bruce isn’t here to hold me and soothe this panic away.
I don’t need him. I can do this on my own.
I sit down in the living room floor, crossing my legs in front of me and laying my hands on my knees.
I close my eyes, inhaling as I count in my head, holding the too-deep breath until it stretches my chest, then exhaling.
I repeat it several times, so many times that I lose count and drift into my subconsciousness, feeling dissociated from my body as if I’m floating.
Knock, knock, knock.
The firm knock on the door startles me. But I’m slightly calmer now and able to get up and peek through the peephole. It’s Michelle.
Relief, cool and cleansing, washes over me.
“Open the door, Allyson. Now.” She’s doing that mom voice thing again, which under any other circumstances would make me smile. Now, I just do as she says, slowly cracking the door.
She busts through anyway. “Where’s Cooper?”
“In his room.”
Michelle looks at Liam. “Hey, can you go play with Cooper for a bit? We need some Grown-up Talk Time.” I can hear the capitals, like she’s naming a game we’re going to play or a show we’re gonna watch. I think I’m the show, though.
Once Liam is behind Cooper’s closed door, Michelle narrows her eyes, all cursory lightness dissipating. “First things first, come sit down and let me look at that cheek.”
Her nursing no-shit-allowed attitude shines as she shoves me toward the kitchen and plops me into a chair. She presses on the bone, causing me to wince, but she seems satisfied.
“Not broken, eye looks reactive to light, so all good. But you’re going to have a hell of a shiner tomorrow.” Her exam done, she leans back and glares at me, so many questions in the set of her lips as they press together like she doesn’t know where to start with me.
“That was crazy, huh?” I try, starting slow.
“Yes, you were. Wanna tell me about it?” she answers.
I shake my head. “What? Not me! That dad, Kyle, and Bruce. They were fighting, like actual punches, for fuck’s sake.” The image is burned onto my retinas, and I close my eyes to consciously choose another image to see on my lids.
Michelle’s hands cover mine. “Honey, I’m a nurse. I know what a panic attack looks like. And I know they’re not always triggered by something that makes sense. But sometimes, they rear up for exactly the reasons you’d think. Talk to me, Allyson.”
I pause, swallowing. I’ve talked about it. It’s not like I haven’t dealt with shit. But today is proof that even after all these years, deep down inside, there’s still a little demon just waiting to get out of his box and fuck my life up.
I take back my control, telling him to fuck off as bits and pieces pour out of my mouth.
I don’t get too deep into it with Michelle now, not when it’s feeling especially fresh, but it helps to be more transparent with her.
I pace but ultimately sit back down, crossing my legs and putting my hands back on my knees to re-center myself.
She gasps and cusses and asks if she can hunt Jeremy down as I fill her in on what happened so many years ago. A tiny blip of time in the big scheme of my life but formative in a way I hate. And in a way I love . . . because that hell also made me into a mom.
It’s quiet as Michelle processes, so the knock on the door sounds especially ominous.
“Allyson!” Bruce sounds scared. My big beast of a man, and I’ve scared the shit out of him.