Scorched (Frigid #2)(60)
Author: Jennifer L. Armentrout

Today, I was ready to face the future with or without him.

Moving my hand to my wrist, I toyed with my newest fashion accessory. My über-chic medical-alert bracelet that made people aware of the fact I was spleen-less. It wasn’t like I’d drop at any given moment without a spleen, but I was more susceptible to infectious diseases. Good news was I didn’t have to take antibiotics every day, but one of the first things I’d done when I’d left rehab was get all kinds of immunizations.

It was just another way my life…my life had changed.

While I’d been in rehab, I hadn’t been on medication to treat the chemical imbalance. At first, they had wanted to try a more…holistic approach, considering I had addictive tendencies—talking, developing coping skills, and all that jazz. After a few weeks, though, they knew I needed more. So, another thing I had done within the last couple of days was pick up my prescription. It was strange thinking that I might have to be on the medication for the rest of my life, but it was far better than the alternative.

I watched a bird hop across the grass as it twitched its wings. The little guy stopped, glanced in my direction and then took flight. It flew to a nearby branch and landed, rattling the leaves. I’d watched the leaves changing color while I was in rehab. No longer green, a few that remained on the branches dropped to the ground in lazy spirals. A shadow fell over me.

My breath hitched in my throat as I lifted my gaze.

Tanner stood at the other end of the bench, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark denim jeans. He had a dark blue baseball cap on, and it was pulled low, shielding his eyes.

For a moment, neither of us moved or said a word, but then one side of his lips quirked up in a lopsided grin. “Hey,” he said.

My heart was pounding fast and that hope was a wildfire burning in my chest. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” He sat beside me, so close his thigh pressed against mine. His eyes never left my face. He stared at me so long I felt my cheeks start to heat.

“What?” I whispered. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

His grin spread. “You just look different. I don’t know what it is. Maybe because it’s been forty-two days since I last saw you.”

My brows flew up. “You’ve been keeping track of the days?”

“Hell yeah, I have been.” He angled his body toward me, dropping his arm along the back of the bench. “I’ve missed you, Andy. You look good—great. Beautiful.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” I admitted.

His shoulders loosened as if some unseen tension bled out of him. “So…did you talk to your advisor?”

I blinked, surprised. “How did you know about that?”

Tanner grinned. “Not to sound creepy, but I’ve been keeping myself updated on what you’ve been doing.” When I arched a brow, he looked sheepish. “I’ve asked Sydney. I know I could’ve asked you, but I wanted—no, I knew I needed to give you time.”

Syd hadn’t said anything to me about it. Part of me could understand why. The other half wanted to throttle her. “I did talk to my advisor. I was…I was honest about why I missed virtually half the semester. There’s no making up lost time at this point, but they’re going to work with me. He’s checking to see how tuition can be moved to next semester, and we’re checking to see how having a DUI on my record may affect future employment.” Saying DUI out loud was still hard, but I needed to speak it, because that made it real. “It could be tricky with teaching.”

“What will you do then, if it does impact that?”

That was an important question. Good thing I’d spent a lot of time thinking about it. “You remember how you kept asking why I wasn’t going to become a therapist? Turns out that might be a good option.”

His smile was back, spreading across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

I grinned as I shrugged. “Obviously, I have firsthand experience with some of these things, and I think…I think I could help other people. I don’t know. It’s something I’m considering. I have time to decide and I can change my mind. I’m okay with that—with either one. Nothing is written in stone.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, lightly knocking his knee against mine. “You can do whatever you want.”

“It’s such a…a relief knowing that,” I said, and I could tell that he was surprised by the fact I’d spoken that out loud. I was even a little bit surprised, but I’d been surprising myself every day recently. I drew in a deep breath as I glanced out over the grassy knoll. “When you visited me, you said—”

“I told you that I loved you,” he cut in, and my heart jumped a little. “That hasn’t changed, Andy. I love you.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t know if you’d still feel that way.”

“Why? Did you think how I felt would change because you have depression?” he asked, his gaze unwavering as he reached up and twisted his cap backward. “Andy, I really hope you don’t think that badly of me.”

“No,” I immediately replied. “You’re a wonderful person.”

“And so are you. You are an amazing person, Andrea. Frankly, you did something so many people never do. You realized you had a problem and willingly got help for it. Yeah, it took something drastic and it could’ve been worse, but you did it. You turned your life around and you’re still turning your life around.”

I blinked back sudden tears. Oh gosh, he was going to make me ugly cry.

“Like I told you before, you made a shitty decision that could’ve been so much worse. You could’ve died. You could’ve killed someone else. You’re lucky that those two things didn’t happen, but you didn’t wallow in that and make more mistakes. You owned what you did and what could’ve happened. I saw your heart break when you told me. You had already realized how badly that night could’ve gone. You didn’t fight what your family wanted. You willingly went into rehab and stayed longer than the minimum. You got help, and Andrea, you have my upmost respect for that. Seriously.”

Tanner smiled at me. “You are incredibly courageous and you’re remarkably strong. You’re beautiful and you’re funny. And you are kind,” he continued. “Why wouldn’t I feel the same way about you?”

“But I…” I almost stopped right there, kept what I wanted and needed to say to myself. Almost. Part of healing and getting better was to be honest. To speak. To not bottle everything up. “I have baggage. Real baggage. I’m working on it, but I know there are going to be moments when I’m annoying and it’s going to be hard. So hard. That’s a lot to want to be a part of.”