Page 8

Stevie

Before Damien, I loved all things scary.

Horror books and movies, haunted houses, Halloween pranks, haunted hayrides, and anything else meant to get your heart racing.

Then my life became a real nightmare, and I couldn’t do those things anymore.

Tonight is a test.

This is a small country-style carnival, and in my experience the house of horrors is usually pretty tame.

That’s what I’m banking on, hoping that I can get back to where I was before Damien tried to kill me.

A guy holding a chainsaw turns it on, wiggling it in our direction, and I press closer to Marty. My heart is beating a little faster than usual but nothing too bad.

So far, so good.

There are tiny lights on the floor giving a little bit of illumination, probably to avoid the lawsuit if someone falls, so I keep my eye on those as we move forward.

Marty’s body is strong and firm, his hand warm and dry around mine. It’s easy to lean on him, to trust him. I don’t know why but seeing the way he treats his children—with gentle care and endless patience—tells me he’s a good man. The kind of guy who’d protect me if needed.

A masked demon pops out of nowhere, letting out a blood curdling scream and I gasp, clamping down on Marty’s hand. I feel him chuckle and pull in a calming breath.

This is make-believe and I’m here willingly.

To have fun.

I keep reminding myself of that as we inch forward.

There’s a casket to the right with a live woman in it. She’s covered in blood and bruises, and she sits straight up as we pass her.

“Save me,” she whispers in a dramatic voice filled with fear. “Don’t let them put me in the ground…”

We’ve just moved past her when I feel something touch my hair and I shriek, burying my face against one of Marty’s shoulder blades.

“You okay?” he asks, sliding an arm around my shoulder.

“Someone…touched me,” I whisper, trying to shake it off. “I’m okay. It just… I wasn’t expecting to be touched.”

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone else touch you.”

“It was just my hair. I’m all right.”

“Okay to keep going?”

“Of course.”

Maybe.

I hear the guy with the chainsaw behind us and I remind myself that this is fake. No one actually gets hurt. This is fun. I used to think these were hilarious, loved being frightened for a few minutes.

But after being frightened for real, it’s suddenly a little different.

The next room is two stories, and at the top of the stairs is a woman being stabbed repeatedly. She’s screaming and writhing as her masked attacker goes to town, and then… he pushes her down the stairs.

And while I know it’s not real, memories overwhelm me and I shrink back against Marty.

Stop it, Stevie. This isn’t real.

But it’s too much like what I lived through.

I’ve learned coping mechanisms for when I’m afraid or have nightmares, but I don’t think they’re going to work. My heart is racing a little too fast, and I’m starting to feel lightheaded.

“M-Marty…”

“What’s wrong?” He seems to sense my discomfort.

“I…” My breath is choppy. “I need… I’m having… a panic…attack.”

“Okay.” Without a word, he scoops me into his arms. “Hey! My girlfriend is hypoglycemic and needs to get out. Can someone help us please?”

The guy with the chainsaw is immediately behind us. “Yeah, come on—follow me.”

And just like that, we wind through a bunch of hallways with the chainsaw guy saying “medical emergency” as we go past each subsequent room and scene.

Finally, I see the exit sign and he motions us out.

“Hope you feel better,” he says in a perfectly reasonable voice, unlike his chainsaw bearing persona.

The minute we’re outside, Marty carries me to a nearby bench and puts me down.

“What can I do?” he asks, kneeling in front of me. His dark eyes are filled with concern—not annoyance or frustration, just worry. He’s not worried that I embarrassed him or ruined his good time. He’s just concerned about me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It was too much like—” I cut myself off. I really don’t like talking about what happened.

“Like what happened to you,” he finishes my sentence.

All I can do is nod. I still feel a little shaky and clammy, but my heart is starting to slow down.

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

I shake my head. “No. Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Okay.” He sinks onto the bench next to me. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

He puts his arm around me and pulls me to his side. I hesitate for a second but then drop my head onto his shoulder.

You’re safe, Stevie. This isn’t Damien. Marty is safe.

I don’t know why I know this, but I do.

So we sit there for a few minutes, until I start to feel like myself again.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks softly.

“I talked about it ad nauseum with my therapist,” I say. “I’m so tired of that day defining who I am and how I live my life. But I guess I’m not past it.”

“It’s been what? Eight months? That’s not a long time for a major trauma.”

“I love haunted houses,” I whisper, suddenly battling tears. “ Love them. Stephen King is my unicorn author. The Birds is one of my all-time favorite movies. The Haunted Mansion at Disney is my favorite ride. I love Halloween…” A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe at it in annoyance. “I hate that he took that from me.”

“You’ll love those things again,” he says quietly. “I promise. It’ll just take time.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously. For being here. For getting me out of there—that was quick thinking, saying I was hypoglycemic.”

“I think legally they have to be ready to help in a medical emergency, versus a panic attack. I just wanted to get you out.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I appreciate you. You’re becoming a good friend, Marty.”

“I’m glad.” He leans over and presses a light kiss on my forehead.

My eyes close and we sit there for a little longer.

While my heart rate goes back to normal and my thoughts stop racing.

“Daddy!” Emma’s voice brings us back to reality, and I quickly sit up as she runs over to us. “Look, Daddy!” She holds up the biggest stuffed animal I’ve ever seen, and Martin has one that’s identical, just in a different color.

“I think we need to put these in the car,” Canyon says, grinning. He’s holding a third one, apparently for Bradley, and the kids are talking excitedly.

I see Saylor narrow her gaze at me, and I give her a slight shake of my head.

“We definitely need to put these in the car,” Marty says. “So they don’t get lost or dirty, okay?”

The kids all nod happily and he and Canyon head in the opposite direction, stuffed animals in hand.

“What was that?” Saylor asks, sitting beside me.

“Panic attack,” I admit. “In the house of horrors. There was a guy stabbing a woman and throwing her down the stairs.”

“Oh, honey.” She leans over and hugs me.

“Marty pretended I was having a medical emergency and carried me out.”

“It was a medical emergency. Mental health counts, you know.”

“Well, he said I was hypoglycemic. It worked like a charm. Now I’m just embarrassed and frustrated.”

“Was he mad?”

“No, not at all. In fact, the opposite.”

“You like him.” Saylor smiles.

“I’m not ready to date again,” I say quickly.

“I think it’s too late. This seems like a date to me. Even if you’re not sleeping together or whatever—you can keep things simple. Casual. He’s not divorced yet and has an ugly custody battle ahead. You’re dealing with your demons. There’s no reason not to let things progress at a crawl.”

She has a point, but it’s more complicated than that.

“Marty seems like the kind of guy who wants a traditional marriage, probably more kids, and I can’t provide either of those things.”

“He has three kids and he’s already done the traditional marriage thing. I think you should talk to him before you jump to conclusions.”

“I don’t think either of us is thinking about a relationship right now.”

“No?” She smiles as Emma climbs into my lap and starts playing with my braid.

“Stop it,” I warn Saylor, but I can’t help but smile.

Maybe we are dating.

Friendly dating.

Platonic dating.

Is there such a thing?

Can you date and remain just friends?

That’s an oxymoron.

Isn’t it?

“Have you been horizontal with anyone yet?” Saylor asks, probably keeping her wording vague since we have the kids with us.

“No.”

“This might be the guy to help with that. You probably could both use a little horizontal action.”

“I think that would add an unnecessary emotional complication,” I admit. “But I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’ve come a long way in a short time,” she says. “Just try not to let the past hold you back from embracing your future.”

“I just had a panic attack in a haunted house,” I mutter. “Which used to be one of my favorite things. Unfortunately, the past seems determined to undermine my future.”

“Only if you let it. This is a small setback. And look how wonderful he was about it. Move forward, Stevie. Even if it’s just an inch at a time—no more backsliding. Hold on to the present for all you’re worth and fight tooth and nail for your future. Leave the past where it is—behind you.”

She squeezes my arm just as the guys come back.

“Can we ride the teacups?” Martin asks his father.

Marty visibly shudders. “Sorry, little dude. You know Daddy can’t do those kinds of rides.”

Martin’s face falls.

“I’ll take him,” I say, slowly standing up.

“You sure?” Marty’s eyes fly to mine. “Maybe you should just?—”

“No, I’m good. Rides are different. And I have a well-behaved inner ear. Promise.”

He hesitates. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” I reach out my hand to Martin. “You ready?”

“Yes!” He slides his hand into mine.

“I’ll go too,” Canyon says.

“I’ll stay with Marty,” Saylor adds.

“Wait for us!” Connor and Effie fall into step with us and we chat as we head to the teacups.

Ironically, stuff like this doesn’t give me pause at all. I probably would have been okay at the house of horrors too, had it not been for the woman falling down the stairs.

Even though I know it’s fake.

Even though I didn’t get stabbed.

Even though I’ve been working on everything in therapy.

But that was just too much.

And it frustrates the hell out of me.

I’m doing so much better.

I thought I was.

Now I need to call my therapist and talk about this.

“Yay!” Martin lets out a squeal of delight as the cups begin to spin. We put our hands on the wheel in the middle and make the cup we’re sitting in spin even faster.

And for a moment I’m free.

I forget about Damien and therapy and even the haunted house debacle.

There’s nothing but the wind in my hair and the joyous laughter of the little boy next to me.

So much so I don’t even think about the fact that I’ll never have children of my own.