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38
Being alone for the first time since finding out about the salon has added a new layer of anxiety to my repertoire. As soon as Colt’s gone, the heaviness in my chest sits deeper. I hate that nobody thinks I’m strong enough to be alone, but I hate it more that they’re right. I want to prove to them, and myself, that I’m stronger than what’s going on in my head.
Because right now, my head isn’t a great place to be. Did Jett really destroy the place I work? All for what, not being with him? If he’s capable of that, then it terrifies me to know what else he’s capable of. He’s already beaten me and came back for more. At my home and now the salon. Is anywhere really safe?
Colt said he’d be back in thirty minutes. I can do this. I just need something to focus on. Something to keep my head from going back to that place. The salon that’s trashed. The letters written on my mirror. Closing my eyes, I force my mind to go somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Whiskey brown eyes.
Calm washes over me. Colt brings out things in me I didn’t know existed. For as much of my life as I can remember, I’ve lived in a constant state of nervousness. Some days are worse than others, but there’s always an underlying current of anxiety. It’s why I need to have as much control as possible. Unexpectedness is a massive tipping point, making it all the more suffocating.
With Colt, though, all he has to do is look at me and all of it goes away. His presence is a warm blanket, wrapping me up and shielding me from outside stressors. Just being in his shirt aids in putting my busy mind at ease.
Checking my phone for the time, I notice another missed call from my mom that I’ll be ignoring. Because fuck her for putting me in this position. I suppose I could finish making myself a cup of tea to help with the nerves. Colt’s words about not knowing how to make tea come back to mind and I smile to myself.
Is he really here just to help me? Willing to marry me to keep me safe? Even if it’s fake, it still takes him off the market. It’s lying to his family and friends. He says it’ll make his mom happy, but is that enough to carry out what we’re doing? Colt seems sincere, but my gut always says to err on the side of caution. In my experience, people only help you out when they want something in return, or to have something to hold over your head later. The exceptions to that are Blake and Tyson. But even they took a while to gain even an ounce of my trust. And I still keep Tyson at arm's length when it comes to my innermost thoughts.
I’ve been pretty careless with Colt. Flying by the seat of my pants, or better yet, the heart on my sleeve. For the first time in my life, it’s been easy to just go with the flow and let someone else take reign. But I can’t help but wonder if I’m being naïve. Like I was with Jett.
He had bad moments, everyone does. They weren’t like my dad’s moments, though, not in the beginning, which is what I always told myself. But clearly I should have been more careful. I need to be more careful. Otherwise, I might find myself in these situations more.
My phone rings and snaps me out of my thoughts. Finding it on the coffee table, I check to see who it is.
Jett Dixon
Fuck. The panic is instant and consuming. Sweat covers my palms. My hands are trembling, my breath shaky, my legs wobbly, and my head spins. No. This can’t be happening. I drop to the ground and put my hands over my ears. Closing my eyes and swaying side to side, trying to ground myself.
In for four, out for four.
I need to get a handle on my breathing. Nothing else is going to calm down until that does. But the jitters are working their way down my arms already. Soon I won’t be able to move or think.
The tea kettle screams at me. Shit. I need to turn it off. The high pitch isn’t helping the panic raging through my veins. Focusing on my movements, I use the counter as leverage to pull myself up. Slowly making my way to the stove and turning off the burner.
A ping from my phone causes me to jump, the pounding in my chest intensifying and the air around me getting thick. I look over at the clock on the stove. Five minutes until Colt should be here.
There’s a knock at the door.
No, no, no. He can’t be here. He can’t get inside. If he’s mad enough to trash the salon, what more would he do to me?
“Libby?” a voice calls from the other side of the door. I can’t move. “Baby, it’s Colt. Can you let me in?”
Colt. The fear drains from my toes. It’s him. Taking one hesitant step after the other, my movements are slow until I’m in front of the door.
“Colt?”
“Yeah, Libs, I’m here. Unlock the door for me, okay?” His voice is soft.
I carefully reach for the deadbolt and unlock it. As soon as it clicks, the handle twists and Colt lets himself in. He has a brown bag in one hand and drinks in the other, eyes scanning my body before landing on my face. “Are you okay?”
Darting my eyes away, I try to regain some composure, so I sound more convincing. “Yes.” Well, that didn’t work.
Colt takes a step forward and I shake my head, trying to force the restless energy away. I don’t want him to see me like this. “Libs, look at me.”
I can’t.
“Baby,” he coaxes. I bring my eyes to his and the concern is scorching. “I’d like to come closer. Is that okay?”
Why is he asking me? And how the hell am I supposed to answer? Yes, I want him closer. I want his warmth and protection. But I don’t want to need it. I don’t want to depend on anyone. Especially a man.
