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“Good point,” I said. “What did you do in high school? Tell me about my brother.”
He chuckled. “I will, if you really want to know. There’s some stuff I wish I hadn’t gotten into.”
“I’ve told you before, I’d never judge you based on high school. I wouldn’t want to be judged based on high school either. Who would?”
“Baby, I know you won’t. I won’t judge you either.”
“High school was months ago for me. For you, it was years ago.”
“So? High school is high school. People who look back on high school as the best years of their lives are pretty sad, don’t you think? Eighteen years old, and it’s all downhill from there. I’d hate to think my best years are behind me.”
His words struck me. I had to believe my best years were in front of me. I’d lost nearly a year of my life. I didn’t want to lose any more.
“Tell me,” he said. “No judgment. Then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
Trust him.
That was what my heart was telling me.
My head was a different matter. My head had learned to be cautious.
Trust him.
Sometimes, my therapist once said, you have to take a leap and the net will appear. Perhaps this was one of those times.
I drew in a deep breath. “I lied to you, Brad. I wasn’t in London during my junior year, but if I tell you where I was, you have to promise to never tell anyone.”
He covered my hand with his. “I promise, Daphne. You can tell me anything.”
Another deep breath. “All right. Here goes.” Pause. “I spent most of my junior year in a psychiatric hospital.”
His eyebrows twitched, but at least he stopped himself from looking completely surprised. “Why, baby? What happened?”
“Honestly, there’s a lot I don’t remember. But my diagnosis was severe anxiety and depression.”
“Did you…try to…”
I heard the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. “No. I didn’t try to commit suicide.”
“Thank God. I can’t bear to think of you in that much pain.”
I smiled weakly.
“Why don’t you remember a lot of it?”
“Mostly because of the medication. That’s what my therapist says.”
“What kind of meds did they have you on?”
“I…don’t know, really. It was like trudging through a thick fog sometimes. I was in a dark place.”
He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Your choice of yellow as your favorite color is making more sense to me now.”
“I love the sun,” I said. “I like to watch it rise when I get up in time. There’s nothing more beautiful than the dawn of a brand-new day.”
He reached toward me and trailed a finger over my cheek and jawline. “I think there’s one thing in the world that’s more beautiful than a sunrise.”
I warmed and turned my cheek into his hand. His touch gave me so much comfort—more comfort than my mother’s embrace. Even more comfort than a sunrise and a new day.
Scary, but in a good way.
Fate.
Always fate.
My therapist would question my thought process, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind.
Brad Steel was my destiny.
“Do you still see your therapist?” he asked.
“No. I saw him all last year. He said it was cool for me to go to college. I have his number but haven’t needed to call. He said I could use the university counseling center if I need to.”
“But you haven’t needed to,” he said.
“No, but school hasn’t even begun.”
“True.” He smiled. “Do you still feel depressed sometimes?”
“I get sad, but everyone does. It’s just regular sadness, not the depression I went through before.”
“And medication?”
“Not anymore.”
“Did your doctors ever figure out what caused your depression?”
“It’s hereditary. My mother suffers from it as well.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
I smiled. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or so people tell me.”
“I think that’s true,” he said. “If it didn’t, no one would live after the bad stuff.”
I hadn’t lied to Brad. I’d never considered suicide. In fact, I didn’t even remember the worst of my depression. One day I woke up in a hospital and had no recollection of how or why I’d gotten there. That was what bothered me the most. I felt good now, and I was optimistic about life. I was optimistic about Brad. But that lingering fear in my mind that I’d never remember such an important part of my life disturbed me.
Dr. Payne had said I probably had a repressed memory. My mother assured me I was okay. I’d failed a test at school and then a couple girls had bullied me and punched me a few times, all of which sent me into depression. I didn’t remember any of it, but it certainly sounded like something that would depress a person, although I’d always been an excellent student. The girls who bullied me had apparently both moved away by the time my senior year rolled around. Not that I wanted to confront them, but if I could have at least seen them, maybe I’d remember the trauma.
