CHAPTER 20
Quinn
The week has left me sore from the demolition phase, but today my hands itch for something else: sketches, swatches, the clean slate waiting at Avellana.
I haven’t set foot inside since that night just over a month ago.
Just picturing those empty rooms waiting for my touch sends a flip through my stomach, nerves tangled tight with excitement.
“Can we put my playlist on, please?” I ask, shifting in my seat in Cole’s second-hand Land Cruiser.
I’ve packed my new tablet, the one Cole got me, and it warms my heart every time I pick it up to add an idea to my Pinterest board. Just having it on my lap makes me feel jittery, like I’m stepping back into a part of myself I’m not sure still exists.
Halfway to the bar, Cole’s phone rattles against the console, the screen on the dash flashing NO CALLER ID. He silences it quickly, and when it rings again, my chest pulls tight, old memories pressing in before I can push them away.
Josh’s hand snapping out to silence calls whenever I sat beside him in the car. The quick flick of his eyes to the screen, his smile never reaching his eyes.
My stomach would knot so tightly I’d have to press my palms flat against my knees to keep from shaking, cagey motion a silent confirmation of what I already knew. And still, I’d paste on a laugh, pretending I didn’t notice, shrinking smaller with every lie I forced myself to swallow.
“You don’t have to ignore calls because I’m in the car,” I mumble, eyes down, fidgeting with the seat belt.
“I don’t usually answer private numbers,” Cole says with a shrug, looking over as we roll to a stop at a set of lights.
“Oh, okay,” I reply, unsure why my anxiety is flaring.
Heat creeps up my neck, the air in the Ute suddenly too thick.
I fumble for the window switch, desperate for a rush of air, but my hand shakes so hard I can’t press it.
My chest tightens as my breaths turn shallow and sharp.
The music blurs into a single pounding note behind my racing pulse and I grip the leather seat beneath me.
The harder I fight for breath, the tighter my lungs feel, as if the walls of the cab are closing in on me.
I stab at the window switch again, desperate for fresh air, but the panic scrambles my sense of direction: up, down, I can’t tell, and my fingers skid uselessly across the plastic.
“Can you pull over?” I whisper, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat.
“Is everything okay?” Cole asks, already turning onto a quiet side street.
I don’t respond. The words jam in my throat, useless. By the time the car stills, I’m already shoving the door open, gulping at the sharp rush of air. My legs won’t stay still, so I pace, trying to bleed off the adrenaline coursing through me.
“Stones, gravel, bricks,” I whisper to myself as I scan the pavement for those textures: I need something solid, something real.
I used to do this after Josh would leave the room mid-argument, his silence louder than anything he could’ve said.
Back then, I didn’t even know what grounding was; I just knew I needed to count things to stay upright.
My therapist once told me that trauma isn’t always a big bite out of an apple.
Sometimes it’s pressure drawn out over time until it splits in two.
Standing here, chest raw and lungs aching, I finally understand what she meant.
I've been pretending and hoping my halves fused back together, but they didn’t. I just learnt how to carry both pieces.
“Are you okay?” Cole asks again, stepping out and rounding the front bumper.
I hold two fingers on the pulse point at my neck, counting the beats, willing them to slow down.
When Cole steps closer, my legs carry me forward before I can think.
I fold into him, arms circling his torso, my cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. The warmth radiating off him steadies the tremor in my hands, his heartbeat drumming calm against my ear until my own begins to slow.
He pulls me in close without hesitation, resting his chin gently on top of my head. I inhale his faint scent of cedar and laundry detergent. I don’t know why it feels so natural, but it does, like my body remembers something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
For a flicker of a moment, I’m back in the Avellana storage room with Cole’s arms around me as I shook apart. He hadn’t said a word then either, just held me until the storm passed. The memory slides against this one, overlapping so seamlessly that it feels like the same embrace.
For a moment we stand like this, until I find my words and step back. “I’m fine,” I say, looking up at Cole’s furrowed brow.
“What just happened?”
“I had a, um, panic attack,” I say, pressing my clammy palms to my flushed cheeks. “They hit me out of the blue sometimes.”
“Was it something I did?” He rubs the back of his neck.
“Not you. Not really. It’s just…” I hesitate, teeth catching on my lower lip.
The name Josh sits heavy on my tongue, and part of me wants to swallow it down.
My chest tightens, a shallow breath catches, and I know the only way forward is to let it out.
Therapy taught me that sometimes speaking the truth is the only way to breathe again.
“Josh used to ignore calls in the car. It always made me feel like I was going crazy. I found out recently he’d been seeing someone else while we were together, and I guess it just brought all of that back. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I never answer calls from private numbers. Besides, if they wanted to get a hold of me, then they’d leave a voicemail.”
Heat prickles at my cheeks. The call had nothing to do with me, yet I turned it into something it wasn’t. Guilt twists in my stomach for making Cole feel responsible, especially when I’m just as guilty of dodging numbers I don’t recognise. Half the time, I don’t answer calls at all.
“Oh, no. That’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
“It’s nothing, seriously,” Cole reassures me. His eyes hold steady on mine, voice even. “Just tell me what you need right now.”
“I’m okay now, thanks for being here with me.”
“Of course. Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Still in the car, waiting for me to get over it?” I shrug.
“Never. I’d never do that.” His hand brushes lightly against my arm, the fleeting contact steadying my breath and loosening the last knot in my chest.
“Thanks for… you know. Being a great friend.”
“Anytime, Quinn. I’m here for you.” He shifts closer, catching my gaze before adding, “And also, Josh is an asshole. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be.” I shake my head, exhaling. “I’ve learned that I can only move forward if I stop letting it pull me back.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Really, Cole. It’s fine.” I sigh, forcing a small smile. “I’m used to this happening.”
He studies me for a long moment, his hand brushing the roof of the car before he leans closer. “Okay,” he murmurs, the word holding more understanding than advice.
“Are you ready to go?” I try for a smile as I reach for the passenger-side door. Cole beats me to it, holding it open and flashing me a lopsided grin.
“Always ready when you are.” He closes my door and circles back around to the driver’s side. Sliding in, he turns the key and the engine rumbles back to life, his hand steady on the gearshift.
“Can we put the music back on?” I ask, sinking into the seat.
“Of course.” He nudges up the volume and the car fills with music again. Almost at once, a voicemail notification flashes across the screen. Cole taps it without hesitation, his posture easy as the message plays. It’s someone from Avellana, confirming a budget meeting for later in the week.
Cole glances over at me. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he says. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
I force another smile to convince Cole I’m fine, even as my breathing struggles to find its natural rhythm.
“Do you still want to come to Avellana today? We could always push it back.”
“No, I’m fine,” I insist, hoping that my smile looks convincing. The adrenaline from earlier is fading, leaving behind a queasy twist low in my stomach.
“Good,” Cole says, his eyes on the road. “Because I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
I glance at him, cheeks warming at the way he says it, and murmur, “You might regret giving me free rein.”
“Never,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
I lean back in my seat, letting the music wash over me. For the first time in a long while, it feels like I’m heading toward something that can heal me, not just away from something that broke me.