3. Lachlan
Lachlan
“Fuck!”
Gasping, I sat up, my bedroom spinning as I fought against the wave of nausea that slammed into me. Christ, that nightmare was nothing new. I’d had it almost every time I closed my eyes since the accident, but waking up from it never got easier.
My leg throbbed, the familiar twitching of an oncoming muscle spasm zapping my already shot nerves. I needed to get up and move. If I could walk, I might be able to stop it before I was left crying, pathetically waiting for it to pass.
Tossing the blankets back, I grabbed my cane from where it was leaning against the edge of my headboard and pushed up until I landed on my good leg. I started walking toward the hall, the familiar pit of loathing stirring deep in my belly.
My accident was a nightmare, sure. But the aftermath—the way even three years later I was still a captive to the day that changed everything—made me sick.
I walked to the bathroom with my cane, letting it lean against the wall outside the shower while I got cleaned up.
By the time I was in the kitchen making my cup of coffee, my heart had finally stopped beating out of my chest.
Had my nightmare been more vivid because I knew what this morning held? Therapy days were my least favorite days of the week. Not because I didn’t like my therapist; she was actually the best. But because I knew I’d failed so monumentally at making any progress.
I talked a big game in therapy. How I was fine. Coping. Wanting to get better. But the minute I exited out of our video chat, I went right back to being a coward. Someone who was scared of his own front door. Of the million different dangerous situations that lived on the other side of it.
Here in my house, I had control. Or as much control as anyone could ever have, really.
I’d sat and thought about every danger that lived in these walls with me.
Electrical. Insect. Arachnid. Intruder. Self-inflicted.
I’d run through thousands of scenarios over and over again, in meticulous detail each time about how I would survive each thing.
It gave me comfort, knowing I’d thought of all the possible outcomes and how to mitigate them. Because I couldn’t do that before.
I couldn’t stop my sister from having to see me lying on that floor, bleeding to death.
I couldn’t stop my brothers from having to rescue me.
Or my parents from having to face the unknown around whether I would live or die.
They had to help me bathe like I was a fucking baby again after my surgeries.
They lived with me for months, coddling me back to life. A half-life, really.
My coffee had gone cold by the time I sat down to log in to my laptop. Another Lachlan spiral had stolen time from the day. Classic.
The waiting room sound chimed as my therapist, Dr. Sloane Donovan, logged on to our session.
“Hi, Lachlan. How are you doing today?”
“Hey, Doc. I didn’t cancel this week, so I guess that’s a win, right?”
“Yes, I’m always happy to see you in session. But I’ve noticed that tends to be your greeting when something has happened. What’s going on?”
I sighed, sitting back in the chair before running my hand over my jaw. I should have shaved before my telehealth visit. I knew it was going to bother me, consume all of my attention, and still, I couldn’t do it.
“I had another nightmare.”
“About the accident?” she asked, her voice even.
“Isn’t it always?”
“Well, yes. So far it has been. But that doesn’t mean it can’t or won’t change as we dive deeper into therapy.”
I shrugged, my right leg bouncing up and down underneath my dining room table. “I hope it does. I can’t really keep going like this. If it’s not the physical pain in my left leg, it’s the goddamn mental scars etched in my brain.”
Sloane nodded. “How did you handle the dream?”
“Like I usually do. I woke up sweating, my leg was throbbing, and I felt like I was going to throw up.”
“The same sensations you’ve described when we’ve talked about leaving the house.”
I nodded. Shit. I thought we’d have more time before she brought that up.
“Do you think the nightmare is happening again because of the progress you are making with your agoraphobia?”
“Isn’t that something that you should be telling me, Doc?”
Sloane smiled. “I like to poll the audience every once in a while. Therapy is all about introspection, after all.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It could be. I made it farther yesterday, before I felt like I was going to throw up.”
“That’s great. Were you able to get onto the porch like we discussed?”
I nodded. “I haven’t made it beyond the porch, though.” I could hear the disgust laced in my words. It didn’t take a genius to see the connection. I was trapped in my brain by anxiety, and because I couldn’t let go of it, I was now physically trapped in my own house.
“Lach, can I ask you something?” Sloane’s eyes had crinkled around the edges, and she tipped her head slightly to the left as she looked at me.
“Yeah, Doc. Shoot.”
“What is it about the edge of the porch that feels so monumental to you?”
If I knew, I’d be better by now.
“I don’t know. I guess…maybe it’s because I know that as soon as I step off the porch, then the goal post moves.
And where does it end? Because, it’s not so terrible to think about being able to walk around the ranch.
To visit Colt and Vi, or stop in to see Beckett with Jessie and Hawk any time I want.
But if the ultimate goal is to get into town again?
No. Fuck no. I don’t want to see anyone.
I don’t want to go to my shop and see how it’s sitting there, waiting for me to return.
I don’t want to have to answer questions about how I’m doing, or see people’s faces fill up with sympathy when they realize I have to use a cane now.
I don’t want questions about the accident, or where my fucking best friend who did this to me is now, or any of it. ”
Through the screen, Sloane nodded.
“Okay, let’s take a second to digest all that.
Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like we’re compounding our goals.
It’s okay to not be ready to go back into town.
You don’t have to. No one is saying the second you step off the porch, you have to head to your truck and drive down Ford Avenue in your own personal parade. ”
I chuckled, even if there wasn’t much humor behind it.
“But what was exciting for me to hear, was your desire to be able to go outside and be an active part of the ranch. To move around the property and see your siblings.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. They all come here to see me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Because the Lachlan who sat in our session two weeks ago couldn’t even make it through the idea of standing on his porch without breaking out into a sweat and telling me all the reasons why it was never going to happen.
And how many days have you stepped out onto your porch since then? ”
“Every day.”
She smiled. “Every. Day. That’s not nothing, Lach. You’re putting in the hard work. I’d say the goal is, and will remain, integrating back into life on the ranch with your family. They know what you’ve been through. They know what this new normal is like. And they are cheering you on.”
“So how do I…” I closed my eyes and tipped my face up to the ceiling. “How do I tell my brain I’m not going to be hurt, and something bad isn’t going to happen when I leave here?”
“Exactly how you did it just now.” Sloane cleared her throat. “Say it out loud. Shout it, if you need to. Let your brain know that you are safe, and the overactive part that is taking so much from you right now, needs to stand down.”
Okay. I could do this. It was two feet on the ground. The real ground. Dirt, grass, and sun on my face. It was going to be good.
Sloane was right. I wanted to be able to get around the ranch. To spend more time with my family. To not feel like such a burden to them. And it started with putting my goddamn feet on the fucking ground.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Ma: Just wanted to check, family dinner at the main house tonight, or at your place, honey?
I sighed, closing my eyes as I tipped my face toward the porch roof. Mom had always held out such hope that one day, I’d magically be able to walk up to her house again. That I’d be able to leave and sit around her dinner table like I had before my accident.
For a while, I’d gotten away with hiding in my house. Family dinners passed by without me as I sent out excuse after excuse for why I wouldn’t be there. Eventually, my brothers caught on, and now, well, family dinner takes place at my house, so I can’t wiggle my way out of it.
Still on the porch so…my place for sure, Ma.
My siblings and I all still live on our family’s ranch, and Ma loves to have us all together in the same place.
Ma: You know we all don’t mind coming over there. Your dad and I will be down around 5:30 to start getting things cooking. Is that okay with you?
That’s fine. I’m just waiting on Lainey to drop off my meals. I don’t have anything planned after, so come on down whenever.
Ma: You should invite her!
Let’s let Birdie handle that.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket, knowing Ma would agree.
Birdie and Lainey didn’t have the easiest relationship, and I wasn’t about to step in between that.
Besides…it wasn’t like Lainey and I were friends.
We exchanged a few words here and there when she dropped off the food, and that was it.
I eyed the edge of the porch, but before I could take another step closer to my goal, Lainey’s car came rattling to a stop in front of my house. There were at least six things she needed to get checked out immediately on that hunk of junk before she drove it again. What the fuck was Greg thinking?