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“That sounds really scary.” She pierces me with her steady gaze. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
She doesn’t seem put off by my abrupt answer. Instead, she nods slowly. “I understand it’s tempting to bury this in an attempt to move on with your life. But I want to caution you—that can present problems later on. If you’re not comfortable speaking with me, I can recommend someone else.”
And give these people more reason to keep me here when I should be out on the road? Nope. “What’s there to talk about? It’s over.”
“Yes. And I know it’s too soon to assess any lingering issues, but I want you to be aware that some survivors have nightmares, flashbacks, and/or depression. Certain events could trigger any of those adverse symptoms. It could happen now or months from now. And it’s completely normal.”
I close my eyes briefly, recalling some of my earlier nightmare. “I suspect I’ll have nightmares for a while,” I admit.
Her expression doesn’t change. No triumphant gotcha-to-open-up smile. Just calm reassurance. “Do you want to talk about that a little?”
Before I realize it, I’m spilling the whole awful story. The kidnapping, my fear, my escape attempt, my anger, and how certain I was that I was going to die.
She listens to every word, hardly taking down any notes.
When I’ve purged it all, I finally feel lighter.
“That is a lot, Shelby. You’re very brave. And none of it is your fault.”
I’m really not sure how to respond. I don’t feel brave. Or blameless. “Thank you.”
“Do you meditate?”
“Yes. Usually before I go onstage. Sometimes after, if I’m really keyed up.”
“Good. That’s good. If you have a nightmare, try to ground yourself with your breathing. Remind yourself that you’re safe.”
“I’ll try.”
“I’ll be honest, I don’t recommend going right back out on tour.”
“I have to. This is…this tour is a huge break for me. Everything was going so well before…”
“I understand.” She holds up her hand and smiles. “Actually, I don’t. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”
Finally, something worth chuckling about. “Well, I can’t counsel anyone, so we’re good.”
“Do you have people on tour who are supportive? Is your mother on the road with you?”
“Lord, no. She’d make me even more nervous.” I glance down at the scratchy blanket and pick at a loose thread. “My boyfriend, Logan. He was planning to join me on the rest of the tour…before this happened.”
“You think he won’t want to now?”
“Oh, no. I think he’ll be on me like wet on rain after this.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? Good and bad.”
“What’s the good?”
“I love being around him. We have a lot of fun together. He has a way of making things so much…easier. Less stressful. I definitely feel safe with him.”
“That is good. What’s the bad?”
“I hate for him to feel…I don’t know, obligated? To upend everything to watch over me now? I don’t know if I’m explaining it right.”
“How long have you been together?”
“Not long.”
“So the relationship is newer. Is he your first serious boyfriend?”
I don’t have to ponder my answer. Any other relationship I’ve ever been in was a dress rehearsal compared to what I feel for Rooster. “Yes.”
“Is it hard for you to depend on others? Accept help?”
“Oh, yeah. Big time.”
“So, can you try to accept his word at face value?”
“I can try.”
She smiles. “That’s a start.”
There’s a gentle knock at the door. Rooster pushes it open, smiling until his gaze lands on the doctor. “Your mom went down to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?”
I wave him inside, not sure if Doctor McDavis will approve. But she stands and introduces herself, offering her hand for a quick shake.
“Can he join us?” I ask. “I don’t mind if he hears any of this.”
She turns back to me. “Actually, we’re all finished for now. I’ll let you get some rest. You have my number if you need to reach me.”
“Thanks.” I won’t need more counseling. Martin won’t get near me again. Rooster tamed my mother. Life should be smooth sailing as soon as I get out of this damn hospital.
But I should know better. Whenever I least expect it, troubled waters have always threatened to drown me.
Chapter Seventeen
Rooster
I catch up to the young doctor as she’s leaving Shelby’s room.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
She flashes me a tired smile. “Sure.”
She leads me to the elevator and down a few floors to a small, cluttered office. “What’s on your mind?”
“Is she…is Shelby okay?” I’m not sure how to phrase my question but that seems like a good place to start.
“Just so we’re clear, Shelby stated she was okay with discussing this in front of you, Mr. Randall. Otherwise, I wouldn’t.”
“Okay.” I jam my hands in my pockets, not sure what to do or say. “I just want to do what’s right for her.”
