Dr. Stayner knew what my mom meant right away. I could tell by that snotty smirk on his face. I guess you have to be super smart. Dr. Stayner is obviously super smart. I, obviously, am not.
I inhale deeply, jogging my memory of the conversation. What did he say, again? Breathing can be a coping mechanism. And then he questioned the tiny breaths. But he set up me. He already had the answer to it. And the answer is …
One … two… three … I count to ten, hoping profound wisdom will land on my head. It doesn’t.
Do you think it matters if they’re tiny or deep? he asked. Well, if they’re not tiny breaths and they’re not deep breaths, then they’re just … breaths. Then you’re just breathing for the sake of … breathing.
… Seize them. Feel them. Love them …
I bolt up straight, a weird calming sensation flowing through my body as understanding dawns on me.
It’s so simple. God, it’s so f**king simple.
Stage Eight ~ Recovery
Chapter Twenty-One
Six weeks later. Group therapy.
One … Two … Three … Four… Five… Six … Seven … Eight… Nine … Ten.
I try not to fidget with my fingers as they sit folded in my lap. “My name is Kacey Cleary. Four years ago, my car was hit by a drunk driver. My mother and father, my best friend, and my boyfriend were all killed. I had to sit in the car, holding my dead boyfriend’s hand, listening to my mother take her last breath, until the paramedics could free me.” I pause to swallow. One … two… three … I take deep breaths this time. Long, deep breaths. They’re not tiny. They’re huge. They’re monumental.
“I used alcohol and drugs to drown out the pain at first. Then I moved on to violence and sex. But now,” I look directly at Dr. Stayner, “I just appreciate the fact that I can hug my sister, and laugh with my friends, and walk, and run. That I am alive. That I can breathe.”
I’m above water.
And this time I’m staying where I belong.
A loud rush of clapping greets me at Penny’s as I turn the corner to find everyone waiting for me. Nate’s the first to greet me, stooping down and lifting me up into an enormous bear hug. I don’t even flinch with the contact. I’ve learned to appreciate it fully again.
“I always knew you were batshit crazy.” Ben hollers from somewhere. I whirl around in time for him to scoop me up and hold me tight to his body. “And tough as nails, for surviving all of that,” he adds softly in my ear. “I would have cried like a five year old girl. You okay?”
I pat his arm as he puts me down. “I’m getting there. I’ve got a really long road ahead.”
“Well, it hasn’t been the same without you here, I can tell you that much,” he says. His brow suddenly furrows. “Hey, so is that your sister over there?” His head nods toward Livie, who’s standing with Storm and Dan. “Because, I was thinking of asking her—”
“She’s fifteen.” I smack him playfully in the stomach. “Have they not taught you the meaning of statutory rape in school yet, Lawyer Boy?”
His eyes widen in surprise, his hands going up in a sign of surrender. “Dammit,” I hear him mutter under his breath, shaking his head as he gives Livie another quick once over.
It’s just before opening and the girls are in their outfits—or lack thereof—so Mia has stayed home with a sitter. Livie’s eyes stick to Storm and Dan, afraid to wander anywhere. Tanner’s there too, his jaw hanging open shamelessly.
The biggest surprise though? My unconventional quack is there.
“I’m not sure this constitutes healthy patient-doctor protocol,” I joke, poking him in the ribs.
He chuckles as he throws his arm around me in a side hug. “Neither does punching your doctor in the face … twice, but I let that slide so do me a solid.”
Livie and Storm’s mouths drop open while Dan and Ben double over, laughing.
“Champagne, anyone?” Cain sweeps through with a pat on the back and a tray of tall, filled flutes. A twinge of familiarity saddens the moment as I remember the last time someone handed me a champagne flute. I was with Trent.
I miss him. I miss his eyes, his touch, the way he made me feel.
That’s right. I can admit it to myself now without guilt or anger or resentment.
I miss Trent. I miss him every day.
A hand slips under my elbow and squeezes. It’s Storm. She somehow senses the turmoil going on inside me. She understands.
“To the toughest nut I’ve ever had the pleasure of cracking,” Dr. Stayner announces and we all clink glasses and sip.
“So, am I cured, Doc?” I ask, savoring the sweet fizzy liquid pooling in my mouth for more than the taste of it. It reminds me of Trent’s mouth, of the last time that he kissed me.
He winks. “I’ll never use the word cured, Kacey. Healed is a better word. There’s one last epic step in your recovery before I’d say you’re on your way to healing properly though.”
My brow quirks. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“I can’t tell you. You’ll know when you know. Trust me.”
I quirk my brow playfully. “Trust a quack?”
“I very expensive quack,” he adds with a wink.
Speaking of which … “So who is this friend of a friend of a friend of Dan’s who got me in to see you? I should probably thank them,” I ask innocently.
Dr. Stayner’s eyes flash to Storm and then quickly avert to the bar. “Oh, look! Caviar!” He slips away to a platter which, no doubt does not have caviar. That pretty much confirms it for me, but I play along anyway. “Livie?”
She looks like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary. “Don’t get mad?”
I wait, smoothing my expression.
“Trent’s dad paid for it all.”
I mock gasp and level her with my best glare.
Livie rushes to explain, all flustered and red-faced. “You needed help, Kacey and it’s really expensive help. I didn’t want to put you in some government-paid shit because they didn’t help you last time, and the wait lists were too long and—” Tears well up. “Carter had you listed as Dr. Stayner’s patient in under an hour. Dr. Stayner is a friend of theirs and he’s really good and—” The tears are streaming now. “Please don’t digress. You’re doing so well. Please don’t.”
“Livie!” I grab hold of her shoulders and shake her. “It’s okay. I figured it out already. And you did the right thing.”
She swallows. “I did?” There’s a delay and then she punches my arm, her face twisting in a scowl. “You knew and you let me freak out?”
I laugh and pull her to me in a tight hug. “Yes, Livie. You always do the right thing. You know, I always think I need to take care of you, but in truth you’re the one who takes care of me. You always have.”
She laughs softly as she rubs the tears away with the back of her hand.
I pause, not sure if I should ask, but I do anyway. “Have you talked to Carter about Trent?”
Livie nods and offers me a gentle smile. I told her about Trent’s goodbye. I’m pretty sure I heard her crying through the phone. Even she can’t hate Trent. “Carter calls me every few weeks to check in. Trent’s doing well, Kacey. Really good,” she whispers.
