Page 19 of Actions and Reactions (All It Takes #5)

Silas

Staying stubbornly silent to get your way really does only work for kids.

That’s proven to me quickly when my parents start making arrangements to get me admitted into that mental health center in fucking Illinois, since that means we’ll be close to my sister, and they haven’t asked me for my opinion on a single thing.

Not the travel arrangements, not whether I want them there, nothing.

The thing is, though, I haven’t protested.

I’m an adult.

They can’t actually have me admitted anywhere without a court issued mandate, or a signed paper by a psychiatrist that says I’m unable or unfit to make decisions for myself. They’d never ask for those things either, so I know that if I do protest enough, they won’t kidnap me or anything .

And yet . . .

“Knock, knock.” The words are accompanied by actual knocks, and I’d roll my eyes at literally anyone else doing it, but I know that voice, and Gab isn’t only my boss but also someone I admire.

“Come in,” I call out, and I realize my throat is scratchy. I really have barely talked in a whole damn day. Mom and Dad stand to greet Gab and I take advantage of the minute to prepare myself.

I’m definitely unprepared for Gab to smile at me like nothing’s wrong, though. She leans her elbows on the table hovering over my feet and looks right at me. She’s not one to avoid anything.

“How are you doing?”

“Like I’ve been telling everyone...” I pause to look pointedly at my parents. “I’m fine, and I’ll get back to work as soon as they let me out of here.”

Dad’s shaking his head before I’m finished, but before he can rant about how I can’t go back to work, Gab shakes her head once.

“If you think I’m going to let you come back to work when I just saw the name of your doctor on this chart, then you really are in no state to work.

” She taps the chart hanging from the foot of my bed, and I’m reluctantly impressed.

I didn’t even see her look down. My breath stalls in my chest, though, when the first thing she said sinks in.

Is she firing me?

“Things have calmed down a lot since last season, and I don’t expect any scandals soon in any case.” The wave of her hand calms me down marginally. I doubt she’d be this flippant if she were firing me.

“How do you know Dr. Denise?”

Why is that the first thing I ask? Who the fuck knows, but the look she levels on me makes me regret asking it.

“Get real, Silas. My mother died a month after I was born and my father is famous. Which means I’ve been famous all my life.

I know you know what that’s really like.

I was a bright kid who had trouble socializing and making friends until I was in college.

I’m a single mom of twins, the owner of two sports franchises, and of one of the biggest companies in the world.

You really think I haven’t had tough as fuck times when I’ve needed extra help?

Please,” she scoffs and rolls her eyes at me.

“She’s my doctor, and that should tell you everything you need to know to trust her and follow her advice.

You can call me when she clears you for work and not a day before.

If I have to put you on administrative leave to keep you from hurting yourself further, then I will. ”

Struck, hurt, panicked, I can do nothing but shake my head at her.

“You’re a vital cog in the Pirates machine, Silas.” Her tone is a lot softer, and it does calm me down slightly. “You’ve become an integral part of us and I want you back, but more than that, I want you happy. So find your happy and then get back to work, alright?”

She pats my leg twice and I nod, then Gab nods at Mom and Dad and without another word, she leaves.

It feels like I’m signing my death certificate or something, like I’m giving everyone permission to completely change and take over my life.

And boy do my parents take over.

Mom gets me a spot at this place, New Hope, and of course I make a Star Wars joke, but no one laughs. It was probably the timing, but come on, who wouldn’t make that connection?

Mom goes to my place to get my things, and I try to talk to Dad about anything other than what’s happening with me, but he is not impressed. He looks less angry than before, now he’s just mostly worried, and honestly that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Thankfully I get to disconnect from my grim reality when Mom comes back and I see she brought my iPad.

Despite their protests, I use it to watch the Pirates’ game against San Francisco, but the thing is... as soon as it starts I notice how angry I get, like I told Dr. Denise this morning, and what am I supposed to do with that?

Instead of figuring it out, I shut it off before the second minute begins, try to get comfortable in bed, and shut my eyes.

I can’t fall asleep, though.

Everything Dr. Denise said about this... delayed PTSD or whatever it’s called keeps running through my mind. I can’t shut it off.

I still think it’s ridiculous that she thinks I have trauma over losing hockey, but everything she said about my symptoms —and god I hate that word—does check out. And she obviously knows a lot more about the brain and emotions and shit than I do.

I’m not totally stupid; I can see the logic behind it all.

I understand that people’s different experiences mean we all deal with shit differently. And okay, yeah, hockey was everything to me all my life up until that point where they told me I’d lost it.

It was really the only thing I cared about back then.

It’s hard realizing that what Vinny said is probably true... I’m always going to love it more than anything else.

Do I like that?

Fuck no, I don’t.

Can I change it?

I honestly don’t know.

How I’m supposed to change something I’ve been living with my whole life is a true mystery, but what I come to realize after god knows how much time of thinking in this bed, is that the only way I can find out whether I can change is to go to this place and see what it’s all about.

I don’t particularly want to ever step foot in another hospital because I’ve injured myself.

It’s a kick in the nuts, because all my childhood I believed I was going to be putting my body on the line on the regular for my job, and I was fine with it back then, I really was. Now it’s different, though.

And I also don’t think I’d enjoy having another day like the one after Bear and Drew’s wedding. Looking back, I see that I did do what Dr. Denise said, and that withdrawal doesn’t feel good. Added to that, I really don’t want to hurt Vinny again.

I don’t want to see him scared like he was when I woke up after surgery, or so obviously heartbroken like he was when he had that realization. It was the same devastation that I caused the last time I was in a hospital and he came to visit me.

That has me springing up so quickly I startle Dad.

“Silas—”

“Sorry,” I mutter and scrub a hand down my face.

The one thing I cannot possibly live with is going another seven fucking years without Vinny in my life.

I don’t know why in the holy fuck I didn’t say anything yesterday before he left. I don’t know what part of me shut down so effectively that I just stared at him.

But now I need to act.

I crawl to the end of the bed and grab the chart from where it’s hanging, then take my phone from the table next to me.

I flip through the pages until I find the diagnosis and recommended treatment, and like I always do when something big happens—even though I know she hates it and would love to be in my presence to kick my ass when I do—I send Lottie a picture of my chart with no explanation.

I see I have a bunch of messages from Uncle Hulk, Lex, Aunt Lyla, and my grandma, but I ignore those for the time being. I send the same picture to Vinny, and spend about thirty minutes crafting a message.

I know he’s playing right now, and I learned last season that he doesn’t look at his phone between periods so it’ll probably be hours before he sees the messages, but I have to send them now, because sadly I don’t know if I’ll still have the energy or the balls to send them later.

Silas:

I don’t know why I didn’t say anything yesterday, but I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t.

Apparently I’m insane, which I’m sure you won’t be surprised by, but my parents are taking me to this place near Lottie where I’m going to try and get better.

I don’t want us to not speak for years again, Vinny.

You’re the only person in the world who knows me, and I’m including myself in that.

I think that might have something to do with this whole PTSD thing.

I think Mom said something about a three-month program, but hopefully I’ll be able to text you while I’m in there.

I really am sorry.

And I’ll be back once I’m better.

Before I’m even done writing and sending them, Lottie writes back.

I get three rolling eyes emojis, and then she gets straight to the point in such a Lottie way that I have to smile.

Lottie:

I know, Silas.

Mom and Dad already told me and I’m busy finding them a fucking rental.

I knew you were crazy.

I snort at that.

See you in a week or so.

Stop punching walls, dumbass.

Love you.

It’s nice to know some things can stay the same even while others have to change.