Distraction (Club Destiny #8)
Nicole Edwards
PROLOGUE
Three years ago, November…
“TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED.”
Sarah Fulton paced her therapist’s oversized office, past the small settee where hundreds of butts had been planted over the years, her hands flexing repeatedly—open, closed, open, closed—nerves rioting uncontrollably. As she made another hasty turn on the beige shag carpet, she shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to release the nervous tension that had consumed her ever since last night.
Last night. Had it really only been hours, not days or months, since her entire world had been altered once again?
“Sarah?”
“I’m trying,” Sarah muttered. “Give me a minute.”
“Take as long as you need.”
Right. As long as it was within the allotted hour, then she was golden. Otherwise, she would have to come back and relive this again until she was … cured? No, that couldn’t be the right word because Sarah knew that she would never be cured of all the jumbled emotions that had been warring within her for years.
Recent events certainly hadn’t helped steady her in any way.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah dropped onto the edge of the forest-green cushion and stared at her hands. “He called me last night.”
“He who?”
Sarah looked up into the compassionate brown eyes watching her intently. “Dylan Thomas.”
“Your friend,” Elaine, Sarah’s longtime therapist, confirmed.
“Yes.” Though after last night, Sarah wasn’t so sure that was an apt description of their relationship.
“Did you expect this?”
She shook her head. “He was the last person I expected to call me.” Heck, she would’ve sworn the president of the United States would’ve called her before Dylan did.
“What did he say when he called?”
Leaning against the too-firm cushioned back of the sofa, Sarah attempted to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy. Hell, this conversation wasn’t easy.
“He sounded sad,” Sarah explained, looking anywhere but at Elaine’s face. “There was something in his voice. A longing, I guess. It was so intense my heart cracked open at the sound.”
“What do you think made him sound that way?”
Well, that was easy. “Yesterday was the anniversary of his wife’s death.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”
“No.” Sarah shifted. “She’s been dead for eight years.”
“And he’s still sad?”
The question was merely an inquiry, Sarah knew. Elaine wasn’t suggesting that Dylan should or should not still be sad after all these years. Since Sarah understood the grief he experienced, she knew there wasn’t a specific amount of time for wounds like that to heal. They scabbed over eventually, became less painful over time, but there would forever be a scar, a reminder.
“He’s had a really hard time with it, yes.” Elaine didn’t say anything, so Sarah continued, “I should’ve known better, but when he asked if he could come over, I said yes.”
“Were you bothered by the fact that he called?”
“No.” Surprised, yes. Bothered, no.
“What was the first thing you thought when you saw it was him on the phone?”
Sarah studied her short nails. She’d been biting them again, a nervous habit she’d picked up several years ago.
“I was…happy?”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
Sarah shrugged. She honestly didn’t know.
“Do you think that’s why he wanted to come over? Because he’s having a hard time?”
“Yes. No. Maybe.” Sarah sighed heavily. “Originally I kinda thought so. It was the anniversary of his wife’s death. Maybe he needed someone to talk to, or just needed to be around someone.”
Although eight years might’ve seemed like a long time to some people, Sarah could see how the memories that still lingered could be enough to make even the strongest person feel desolate. So, Sarah had come to the conclusion all on her own that Dylan’s dark mood had to do with that.
“If he wasn’t sad, would you have said yes to his coming over?”
“Probably.” Sarah fidgeted, her gaze snapping to Elaine’s. “Okay, yes. I would’ve said yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for him, even though I know I shouldn’t.”
“Always is a long time,” Elaine noted.
“We dated in high school,” Sarah added, swiping her hand over her frizzy blond hair. For whatever reason, she hated her hair today, wished it was longer, less curly.
“You care for him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Sarah found herself nodding. She did care for Dylan.
“But you don’t think you should?” Elaine questioned.
Sarah shook her head. “He’s broken, and the absolute last thing I need is to try to help someone else when sometimes it’s all I can do to keep myself together.”
“Have you been thinking about Paul?”
Sarah studied her fingernails, fighting the urge to fidget at the mention of her dead husband’s name. “Yeah. More so since last night.”
“And what are you thinking about?”
This was the part Sarah hated. Talking about Paul. Remembering her life with Paul. Even three years later, she still wondered why her husband had … killed himself. Why he’d left her.
“I feel guilty,” Sarah admitted.
“Because your friend called?”
“No.” Not exactly.
Elaine jotted something on her notepad, then looked up at Sarah. “And did Dylan come over?”
Sarah nodded. And that was the reason for her guilt. She remembered waiting for him to arrive. Every minute that passed had felt like an eternity.
“Was that what you wanted?”
“Yes.” That was the simplest answer. Even looking back on all that had happened, Sarah knew in her heart that she’d wanted Dylan to come over.
“And what happened when he got there?”
Sarah relaxed as best she could and closed her eyes, reliving the night before all over again. She couldn’t give Elaine all the details, but that didn’t stop the memory from overtaking her.
A sudden knock had Sarah’s breath lodging in her chest as her gaze slammed into the wooden barrier of her front door. She studied it momentarily, as though she could somehow see through the varnished wood to what lay beyond. No matter how much she wished she had x-ray vision, Supergirl she was not.
Knowing it would be rude to leave Dylan standing outside in the cold and drizzle that’d descended upon them unexpectedly, dropping the temperatures of the late November evening, Sarah willed her heart to slow and leisurely made her way across the room, wiping her sweaty palms on her leggings and exhaling sharply. Her cold fingers fumbled with the deadbolt, but she managed to turn it, her hands trembling as she reached for the knob. Another deep breath and Sarah slowly pulled it open.