Chapter 18
Addison
Wesley and I ate at Texas Roadhouse about an hour ago and it was good. I was surprised at how much I actually ate.
I keep looking at my phone, waiting for Brantley to text me to say he is sorry or that he wants to talk things out, but it’s been radio silence.
I just wish I would’ve known he was reaching a breaking point with me.
Sure, we fought, but we always got through it and grew…
or so I thought. We weren’t even in a fight prior to that call, per se; he apologized for the whole anniversary thing two days ago.
I have a feeling that this trip with Wesley was a tipping point though.
Brantley goes out with friends—guys and girls—all the time, and I’ve just had to learn how to be okay with it.
Meanwhile, I told him I was going to do this with Wes today and he got very uptight.
Gave me a guilt trip about never wanting to go anywhere with him due to my anxiety, but with Wesley things were different.
While I don’t understand it either, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Wesley’s my best friend; we’ve been doing stuff like this since forever.
Ironically, my anxiety was pretty good on this trip up until now.
I’m starting to feel a little queasy though.
Especially after eating all that food. Wesley’s been good at keeping me distracted with light conversation, but the last forty-five seconds have been silent between us…
just enough time to get my anxiety to flare up due to overthinking.
Even with the AC running, the backs of my legs tingle, my hands are sweaty, my throat feels like it’s closing, and the urge to gag surfaces.
“Can you stop a minute?” I manage to choke out, ready to jump out of the truck no matter what, my hands already on the door handle.
“Yeah, sure.” He pulls off the road and I get out of his truck as quickly as I can.
I take a slow, deep breath of the cold November air as I walk towards the back of his truck, attempting to get out of sight of any mirror. I need to feel like I’m in my own space, alone.
I start to walk slowly down the road, focusing on the edge that turns into a grassy field.
I then focus on the loose gravel. On sweeping the small rocks off into the field with a swift kick of my foot.
Counting how many times it takes to clear.
I turn around and do it again the whole way back to the truck.
Distraction. Anxiety is most of the time easy to combat with distraction. For me anyways.
I rest my hands on my hips and take another breath. The winter wind is so frigid it’s almost too cold to inhale, but I do anyway. The urge to throw up starts to subside.
I hear Wesley open his door. “Here.” He hands me my water and walks away again. He knows to give me space.
I take a sip of my water and bask in a break from the nausea.
When I reach the truck again, I evaluate how I feel. What my level of anxiety is and if I feel confident enough to get back in the truck and continue. Because I definitely don’t want to make Wes have to stop again.
“Good?” Wesley asks when I get situated back in the seat.
“I think.” I nod.
Wes reaches over and pats his hand on my knee. “You’re good. It’s just me.”
I give him a small smile and lay my head back in the seat, feeling tired. But that’s normal. After an anxiety attack like that, I’m exhausted.
“You can keep going,” I say as I reach down to my bag on the floor.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I unzip the front and pull out the blister pack of Dramamine.
I pop one out through the foil and tuck it in my cheek.
It’s so bitter. Tastes nothing like grape if you ask me.
They really need to stop making medicines taste so bad.
As if food itself isn’t already difficult for me to stomach when I’m anxious.
Wesley starts down the road again and I twist off the lid to my water bottle and sip, letting it dissolve the powder and slip down my throat. The lingering bitterness has me reaching for a bite of a pretzel to get the taste out of my mouth.
Wes doesn’t even really pay attention, just focusing on the road. He knows what I need, and I appreciate that more than he’ll ever understand.
Wesley has to step on the brakes pretty hard when the traffic in front of us comes to an abrupt stop. My water bottle rolls off the seat and onto the floor by his feet.
We both reach for it at the same time, almost knocking heads. I’m afraid of it getting under the pedal.
He pushes my hand out of the way. “I’ve got it, babe.”
My heart hiccups and my eyes flick to him.
“What did you call me?” I laugh.
Redness creeps up his neck and settles in his cheeks. His Adam’s apple bobs and he hands the water bottle over to me without meeting my gaze.
“Sorry. It slipped,” he says.
“That’s never slipped before…”
“I know. Sorry…I don’t know.” He laughs it off as if it isn’t a big deal and follows the traffic slowly down the road.
Our eyes catch for a second, and I see something in his that wasn’t there before. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire. My whole body is overheating rapidly. I turn the air up. I don’t know what to do. I feel so awkward, like I want to hide, and I’m not even the one who slipped up.
Wesley turns the music up and makes small talk about the traffic. Still acting like everything is completely fine. As much as I’m trying to do the same, I can’t. My mind is racing, replaying what slipped out of his mouth over and over.
* * *
We pass a rest stop, which makes me think about my bladder. I have to go. I didn’t a minute ago…but now that I’m thinking about it, I do. I did just drink all that water when I had that anxiety attack.
“Wes, don’t get mad,” I mutter nervously.
“Why would I get mad?” he laughs.
“I have to pee…”
“Addison…” he grumbles, “we just passed a rest stop.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I hold my breath.
“Good Lord.” He huffs but finishes it with a smile and easy laugh.
“That water went right through me.”
“Yeah, well, you should’ve told me.”
“I didn’t really have to go then.”
“A minute ago?”
I laugh and shake my head.
“It’s fine, we can get off. There’s gotta be a gas station or something. I should fill up again anyway.”
“Good, so you can’t hate me,” I joke.
“I’d never hate you.”
Wesley takes the next exit and pulls into the closest gas station as promised.
When I get back out to the truck, Wesley hasn’t returned yet.
I stare out the window, people watching while I wait.
And when he comes out of the gas station, I watch him walk the opposite direction of the truck, following a middle-aged woman to her car.
I’d bet she’s having some type of car trouble.
Wesley looks like the type of guy who would be of help, and he really is.
I watch them walk to a gas pump. He gets out his wallet and swipes his credit card.
What is he doing?
She gives him a hug, and he proceeds back towards the truck, tucking his wallet in his pocket and shoving his hands in his sweatshirt as the wind blows harder. It almost looks like it could snow.
“What was that?” I ask when he gets settled.
“Overheard her at the register. Wanted ten dollars on that pump.” He starts the truck.
“So…what? You paid for it?”
“Yeah, but a full tank.” He adjusts the heat before he starts driving.
My heart swells to twice the size. Like, are you kidding me? That makes me want to cry with how sweet it is.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he says, almost as if he’s offended.
Changing my facial expression immediately, I look away. “I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.” He chuckles.
“I just think that’s really sweet is all.” I look out my window, watching snow flurries start to fall.
The way I feel about Wes right now…is different. Unexpected. I’ve always classified him as one of my brothers, but this is not at all the same. This is something new, something that makes my stomach twist slightly, and a weight in my chest makes it hard to breathe.
I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.