Page 71 of My Heart Still Beats
“God, you’re not considering—”
She widens her eyes. “Oh my God, no. Never in a million years. I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Braden. But I sure can look.”
“Doesn’t hurt anything to look.”
Then I glance back at the bartender, my skin running cold again. “See that bartender?”
Skye glances over. “Yeah.”
“You know him?”
She squints, looking closer. “No. He’s kind of nondescript. Why? Doyouknow him?”
“There’s something familiar about him.” I frown. “Something…eerie almost.”
“Are you sure you’re not just flashing back to Garrett?”
“I don’t think so. That guy doesn’t look anything like Garrett.”
She lays her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry this all happened to you, Tess. I should’ve been there.”
“I’m glad youweren’tthere. You’ve been through your own stuff. At least I wasn’t held at gunpoint.”
Skye sighs, looking down. “It took me several sessions with my therapist to come to terms with that. I’m still not sure I’m over it.”
When I think about Skye, how she must have seen her life pass before her eyes when a gun was pointed at her, I feel even weaker. Why is it taking me so long to get over something that wasn’t nearly as devastating?
I was drugged, yes. Date raped, yes. But it wasn’t like Garrett and I had never been together. It wasn’t like I wasn’t going to have sex with him anyway.
So why is this having such an effect on me?
My therapist says I shouldn’t compare trauma, but it’s hard not to. She also thinks there may be something in my past—before Garrett—that is contributing to mine, making it worse somehow. Something I’ve blocked out.
She may be right, but I’ve been going to therapy now for months, and we’re no closer to figuring out what it might have been.
I’m done thinking about it now. How many times do I have to remind myself this weekend is about Skye and not me?
I’ve never been so fucking self-absorbed before in my life.
“Earth to Tessa…”
I snap out of my thoughts.
“So about that bartender…” Skye continues.
“He just looks familiar to me.” A chill runs up my spine. “And frankly, Skye, he makes my skin crawl. There’s just something about him that’s not right. He doesn’t have a Jamaican accent, either, so he’s not from here. He sounded American.”
“So? Maybe he moved. He lives here now, and he works here.”
“But why?”
“Whowouldn’twant to live here and work here? This place is a paradise.”
She’s right, of course. I need to stop thinking about it.
But something about him… Something’s not right.
And it’s driving me slowly senseless.
