Chapter 12
twelve
JOHANNA
The first time I had a panic attack, I was seventeen.
It was three weeks after my beautiful mom passed away suddenly in her sleep. No warning. No goodbye. No time to prepare for the indescribable loss and heartbreak. One second, we were laughing at dinner together, the next we were grieving her. When I look back, I don’t think I ever got to that fifth stage of grieving. I stuck with the first, thinking that denial was the best solution, because if I didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.
I’d been falling asleep with my mom’s robe wrapped around me every night, quietly crying myself to sleep so I didn’t worry my dad or upset Harriet . Only that evening, I’d gone into my room and couldn’t find her robe. Within seconds, my room was in disarray. And the next moment, I was lying on my bedroom floor, hands clutched to my chest as an invisible fist squeezed so tightly, I was certain I was having a heart attack. Ice filled my veins. Cold sweat coated my skin. Everything was trembling uncontrollably.
And then it was over.
Convincing myself I was coming down with something or that it was a normal reaction to losing a loved one, I shrugged it off. I continued to do this for another decade, and it was only at twenty-eight years old that I finally acknowledged it for what it really was.
As I stand with my shaking hand pressed against my chest, I know this isn’t a panic attack thanks to years of experience, but I still beg my body to calm down. I glance around the eerie parking lot, and once I spot the blue Ford Explorer under the streetlamp, my thumping heart finally slows.
“ And five,” I whisper, my lungs deflating with a whoosh of air.
“ Five what?” a deep voice asks from behind me.
His sudden appearance doesn’t startle me, it makes me mad. It’s about time he made himself known. He’s not as stealthy as he thinks, hiding in the dark corner of the bar. I wondered why my gaze felt drawn to that side of the room, and when my eyes landed on his broad form, face all serious and solemn under the poor lighting of the bar, I’d hoped he was here to join us.
Only he stayed tucked away for almost an hour, and I cursed my stupid heart for being so reckless with its affection.
My eyes remain fixed on the midnight blue sky as I hear the crunch of gravel under his feet. The moon is out in all its glory tonight, reminding me why I love living in a small town, away from all the light pollution that smothers the twinkling stars. The Milky Way is teasing us tonight, so I concentrate on the smudge of white and yellow, rather than the tingling sensation building at the back of my neck.
“ What were you counting?”
“ Nothing .” I don’t look at him, even as his shoulder brushes against mine. Keeping my eyes skyward and hoping he doesn’t notice how my breath hitches at the subtle touch.
“ Are you okay?”
I drag my gaze away from the twinkling lights and turn my head toward Patrick . I hold back my laugh at his awkward posture; boots dragging across the loose stones and eyes flicking from me to his toes. He’s spent weeks avoiding me, so why is he here now? I voice that exact question.
“ Why are you out here, Patrick ?”
It’s only as his head shoots up that I spot genuine concern in his eyes, alongside what looks like guilt. “ You ran out and, umm…left your stuff. I wanted to check you were okay.” I glance at his hands to where he’s clutching my bag and coat.
He slowly raises them toward me, but when my hand wraps around the coat, he doesn’t loosen his grip. I frown at him in question as his eyes bore into mine. “ Johanna , I need to know. Are you okay?”
His concern doesn’t stop the emotions from bubbling over, spilling on the dusty stones between us. The professional and unaffected mask I’ve been wearing falls to the ground too—everything I’ve been holding in bared to the world.
“ You don’t need to know anything. Don’t act like you care. No one is around for the act.” I pull at my coat again, but he doesn’t budge. “ Are you really making me play tug of war for my stuff?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “ It’s not an act.”
“ Oh , good to know. At least I know the hate you have toward me is genuine.”
“ You know that’s not true.”
I tug. He pulls.
“ Could have fooled me.”
The hold on my coat slackens, and the fractured look in Patrick’s eyes halts my movements. “ Do you really think I could ever feel that way about you?”
“ Then what is this? Because whatever it is, it’s tiring. I know this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know . Do you really think we can continue going on li?—”
“ You left.”
The coat slips from his grip and my arm falls limply at my side. Both of us weighed down with anguish and defeat.
We stare. Eyes locked. Blue meets green. Heartache meets sorrow.
“ I never wanted to leave, Patrick .”
“ But you did.” And god, does the brokenness in his voice fracture my heart right open.
“ I had to leave. It was killing my dad to see me like that.”
“ To see you like what?”
I bite my tongue so hard at that slipup and shake my head. “ It doesn’t matter, you’re right, I did leave. I needed ti?—”
“ Time . I know. And I gave you that. I said I would wait…clearly it wasn’t enough.”
“ Waited ? ” I shout. The space I wanted from him disappears as I step forward. “ You might have waited, but there was clearly an expiration date on how long. Harriet told you I didn’t want to speak to or see anyone.”
Despite the rage that flares in his eyes, I stand strong. With every word, we step closer. “ We said we would give this a go between you and me. I would have waited however long you needed, but you moved on. You made a happy little life for yourself in Tennessee . Without me.” His voice rises, ricocheting off the brick wall of the bar and my heart.
I rear back at his words. “ Happy ?” I whisper. Patrick’s accusation extinguishes all the heat in my voice. “ You think I was happy?”
“ From what I saw, you looked pretty happy to me.”
And at that, the remaining embers are smothered by his words.
“ You saw me? When ?”
Vulnerability sparks in his eyes. His gaze falls away for a second before it swings back to me. “ I flew out to see you. A month after you left.”
My heart stops .
His hands run through his messy hair, gripping the strands so tightly I worry he’s hurting himself. “ I came over to your apartment right after I landed, but Harriet wouldn’t tell me where you were at first. I just wanted to see you; check you were okay. She told me you needed time away from everyone, that you needed space, but I’d heard those words on repeat for weeks on end from your dad. It drove me crazy not knowing what was going on with you. Not knowing why you left. I told myself once I knew you were okay, I’d give you what you wanted. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“ You came to see me?” The words are barely audible. “ Why didn’t I know this?”
“ I didn’t stick around once I saw you.”
“ Did Harry know?”
He doesn’t reply, but from the guilty look on his face, she did.
It takes a second for his words to make sense in the tornado that is my brain. He came to Tennessee . To see me. To check on me. But what did he see that made him leave without making himself known?
“ W -what did you see?” A very small and unguarded part of me worries that he saw me at my worst. That somehow he saw me in the middle of a panic episode.
“ Does it matter? What I saw was enough.” From the pained look in his eyes, I think it does matter.
“ Patrick , whatever you think you saw it wa?—”
“ A guy. I saw you with another guy.”
The drop in my stomach is so sudden, I sway backward with the sensation, my foot slipping on the gravel, but he doesn’t let me fall. No , he grabs hold of my shoulders, steadying me, and doesn’t let go.
I had friends, but in the first month, I only hung out with Harriet , so who did he— Davis . He must have seen me with Davis the night I went to visit him at the bar where he was playing. That’s the only explanation, because I haven’t been on a date or with another man in a long time. Almost six years, to be precise, but Patrick doesn’t need to know that.
“ Whatever you saw that night wasn’t what you think. I promise you. I wish I knew you were there or let me explain. But I definitely wasn’t happy, far from it.”
“ So , who was he? You never responded to my calls and texts. You can’t blame me for seeing you wrapped up in his arms and putting two and two together. The only time you contacted me was months later.”
It makes sense why his constant texts and calls stopped now. His silence hurt, but I was also grateful I didn’t have to continue avoiding him. The second I reached out to him after months of ghosting, I regretted it. The text was fueled by anger and heartbreak. I’ll never forget how the news of Patrick becoming a father unraveled all my hard work. It wasn’t his fault; I was barely hanging on as it was. Dad was visiting for Thanksgiving , and I overheard him and Harriet talking. Patrick . Carrie . Pregnant . Baby . They didn’t know I was listening, but it didn’t matter.
Yeah , I didn’t take it well.
I’d convinced myself I’d be returning to Sutton Bay after Christmas —seven months after I left—but gosh, was I wrong. Even without the news of Patrick , I was far from ready. It took two years for me to even entertain the idea of going home, but by that point, I’d found a good routine, a great therapist, and made somewhat of a life out there. I felt too ashamed to go back, plus, there was no way I could watch Patrick raise a family with another woman. I knew my limits.
“ I regretted that text the moment I sent it. I wasn’t in a good place, Patrick , and I’m sorry I ignored your calls, but then I found out about…” I gesture toward him, not wanting to volley his own words back at him. You’re the one who moved on .
“ That night was a mistake.” He shakes his head vigorously and clamps his eyes shut. “ Fuck . No , it’s not, because we have Lottie . I never intended to go home with anyone that night, but I was drunk. Hurting . Confused .”
Guilt rips through me. Of course he was hurting, he’d just lost his dad and his best friend wasn’t there for him. I remember the night he came to see me so clearly, and I know exactly what he saw. Me hugging Davis . But that hug didn’t hold an ounce of attraction or romance. As much as I want to explain who Davis is, he’s too agitated right now and I’m too exhausted.
“ I’m sorry I left you to deal with that grief alone. It killed me inside to leave you when I did. Leaving this town. Leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” The pressure behind my eyes builds, but I hold back the tears.
“ Losing my dad hurt, it still does, but that night was fueled by a completely different pain.” He steps closer, the space gradually disappearing until our chests brush. The scent of him surrounds me. Pine and juniper. “ I was grieving the loss of you that night. Waiting for you was never a question. I was happy to give you the time and space your family told me you needed, because I was certain you’d come home. To me. But when I saw you with someone else, I took it badly. Drank myself stupid to forget you. But there is no forgetting you.”
“ I don’t understand,” I breathe out, the words leaving my mouth in a puff of air. My hand is gripping so tightly onto his arm now, I’m sure I’ll leave a mark. “ Why ? Why come to see me when I left you and your family during one of the worst times in your lives? Why do you care after all these years?”
There’s no anger, frustration, or sadness in his gaze now. He shakes his head like the answer is obvious. But how could it be?
The pause makes me think he’s not going to answer me. Then I hear three words my teenage heart dreamed of hearing from his lips. Words I never thought I’d hear.
In another universe, another life, I imagined this declaration being whispered to me sweetly. Words I could wake up to in the morning and fall asleep to at night.
They’re whispered, but not sweetly. And they aren’t meant to be spoken in the past tense.
“ I loved you.”