Late November

Baltimore, Maryland

The night was kept at bay by the lights shining down from two street lamps. The poles were far enough away that pockets of shadows fell between them. Cindy stared at those pockets, wishing she could run into the darkness and hide.

She looked down at her hands, watched with a hazy detachment as they curled into fists and rested along her thighs. Her palms were damp, she could actually feel the cold clamminess coating them. And if she looked even closer, if she spread her hands out flat instead of fisting them, she was certain she'd see her fingers trembling.

This is a bad idea.

The thought raced through her mind for the hundredth time. It was a coherent thought, not muddied and confused like the ones she'd been having the last few months. Cindy knew she should take comfort in that much, at least. And she would—if she didn't know for a fact that this really was a bad idea.

"You ready?"

She glanced over at Maggie, tried to read her friend's thoughts through the shadows. But she couldn't, and not just because her face was mostly hidden in the surrounding darkness. Maggie kept her face carefully neutral now. At least, she tried to. Tried to hide the worry and concern and even those oh-so-brief spurts of impatience she felt. But Cindy was slowly, so slowly, getting better, and it was becoming easier for her to see what her friend was feeling.

Just like she was slowly starting to feel like herself again. Not sharp, clear feelings. No, whatever she felt was still a little muddied, the edges smooth and dulled. But she was feeling. And right now she felt…anxious.

Or was that nothing more than a byproduct of what was going on with her? She frowned, thinking, trying to detach and analyze.

Both, she decided. A byproduct…and natural anxiety. She took a deep breath, intent on nodding, then shook her head. "Maggie, this is a bad idea. I don't think I can do this."

Maggie was silent for a few long seconds, studying her. She shifted in the driver's seat and rested her arm against the steering wheel. "You don't think you can physically? Or you don't think you can because you're afraid?"

Cindy frowned, her mind sorting out the words, studying the differences. She sighed and shook her head again. "I think both."

"Are you sure?"

The tone of Maggie's voice—an odd combination of concern and impatience—almost made her smile. Almost. But she hadn't made it quite that far yet. She'd get there eventually.

At least, that's what the doctor told her.

"Cindy? Which one is it?"

"Afraid. Mostly. I think."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to jump on Maggie's offer. But she couldn't, not if she wanted to get over this and try to live some kind of normal life. Or as normal as could be expected now. She wasn't stuck in the gray darkness anymore, wasn't quite as lost in the nothingness as she was before. But it was a battle, a constant battle. And it would be so easy to just let go, to disappear back into the nothingness.

To stop living.

No! No, she didn't want to do that again, didn't want to go back there. But she didn't know if she wanted to go forward yet, either. At least, not here.

This wasn't her first outing. She had her weekly sessions, of course, and her doctor appointments. And she'd been to the store—early in the morning, with Maggie, when it wasn't quite so crowded. She'd even gone to get her hair done. Well, she had tried. That hadn't gone quite as well as she thought it would. But this was her first time out in a large crowd. The nerves and butterflies and…and anxiety were to be expected.

That's what her psychotherapist had told her. And Cindy knew enough to expect it. But knowing it and experiencing it were two different things.

"Cindy?" Maggie's voice was soft, understanding. Cindy looked over but her face was still cloaked in the shadows. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No." Cindy shook her head, took one deep breath then another. "No, I can do this. I need to do this."

"You're sure?"

No, but she didn't have a choice, not if she wanted some semblance of a normal life. It was a party, a private party at a sports bar. Her stomach clenched and her lungs squeezed, making it hard to breathe. No, she couldn't think of it that way. Thinking of it that way made the anxiety worse.

Yes, it was a sports bar. But it was closed to the public tonight and since the party was a private one, it wouldn't be that crowded. One of Dillon's teammates was retiring or something. Maggie thought it would be a good opportunity for Cindy because it was more controlled.

None of that would matter if Cindy didn't move. She nodded one more time, silently reassuring Maggie—or maybe herself—then reached for the door handle and pushed it open. Cold air washed over her, oddly settling her.

She could do this. One step at a time. She could do it.

Maggie moved beside her, giving her a reassuring smile as they walked across the gravel lot. Stones crunched beneath their feet, the sound crisp and somehow alive. Or maybe Cindy was just hearing things with a new perspective now. Or maybe it was the new medication. If she were still on the old one, she wouldn't be feeling anything. What had Maggie called her? A zombie.

And she had been right. But part of Cindy wondered if maybe that wouldn't be better. Just turn into a zombie and stay holed up and wither away and…

She gave herself a mental shake. That wasn't her thinking, it was this…this thing going on with her. And God, she couldn't even say it. Not yet. Not even when it explained so much.

They reached the door, thick heavy oak with an ornately designed lead glass window. Cindy frowned as she studied it, thinking it didn't quite match her idea of what a door to a sports bar would look like. Then she shook her head again, knowing she couldn't trust her mind.

She didn't know if she'd ever be able to trust her mind again.

The thought filled her with a sudden sadness, sharp and painful. She must have made a sound because Maggie looked over at her, concern etched on her face. She placed a hand on Cindy's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You okay?"

Cindy tried not to jerk away from the touch as she nodded. "Yeah. Fine." She took another deep breath, held it to the count of five, and slowly released it. "I'm fine."

Maggie studied her for a few seconds then dropped her hand and reached for the door. Cindy watched as she pulled it open, waited for the panic and fear to wrap around her as music and laughter drifted out to the sidewalk.

Her shoulders hunched around her ears, her back stiffening as the first fingers of icy panic scraped along her spine. A heavy weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes, took several long deep breaths, forced her mind to focus on calming images like her therapist suggested.

Crystal blue water.

Fine white sand.

Smoky blue eyes fringed with dark thick lashes.

Cindy's heart slammed into her chest as another fear descended on her—one that had nothing to do with what was going on with her. Oh God, why hadn't she thought about that before? She should have asked Maggie if he'd be here. Of course he'd be here. She should have realized that before ever agreeing to come tonight.

Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe she could ask Maggie to take her home. She didn't want to see Ethan, not like this.

No, that wasn't quite true. She wanted to see him, had wanted to see him ever since she got back from the trip this summer. But she didn't want him to see her. Not like this. What if he came up and talked to her? What if he wanted to know what had happened? What if he asked why she never called him back, all those times he'd left messages? She couldn't tell him, not when it made her look weak and pathetic. She didn't want to see sympathy or pity or something even worse in his eyes when he found out.

But it was too late because Maggie was already guiding her through the open door, into the dimly lit entranceway of the sports bar. Then she was pulling another door open and the music and laughter became even louder, filling her ears, her lungs, her mind. Cindy hesitated, closed her eyes and fought to control her breathing, fought to stay steady and not run out into the street. The scream building in her chest finally subsided, the buzzing in her ears receding.

She felt Maggie's stare on her, turned and gave her friend a small nod. Cindy wanted to smile but she couldn't, not quite yet. In a few minutes, maybe, once she adjusted to the noise and people.

It wasn't quite as loud or as crowded as she thought at first. No, that had been her mind, playing games again as it twisted the reality into something scary. She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs, filling them with the scents of savory food. Her stomach rumbled at the smells. She clapped a hand against her belly and looked down, the sound and sensation startling her as she realized she was hungry.

No, she wasn't just hungry. It was more than that: she wanted food. She actually wanted food.

"You okay?"

Cindy turned to Maggie, a small smile—a real smile—spreading across her face. "I'm hungry."

Maggie blinked and Cindy was certain her friend was going to ask her if she was okay again. The words and their implication must have registered with her, though, because suddenly Maggie was smiling, too. She wrapped an arm around Cindy's shoulder, pulling her in for a side hug, then stepped back and laughed.

"Then we need to get you a plate." Maggie glanced around the bar, frowning. "Where do you want to sit?"

Cindy followed her gaze and immediately knew what her friend was thinking. Several long tables filled with heaping trays of food lined the back wall. That's where the delicious smells were coming from. But there was a crowd gathered in front of them. Knots of people gathered in groups of two to five mingled in front of the food and around more tables. Some were occupied, some were simply covered with empty plates and glasses.

Cindy took a step forward then stopped as the weight on her chest reappeared. A wave of heat fell over her, causing sweat to break out on her forehead and on her palms. The heat was immediately replaced by a rush of icy panic. No, she couldn't step through the crowd, couldn't bear the thought of pushing through the knots of people. Not yet.

She glanced to her left, the weight on her chest easing as she studied the empty booths and tables on the other side of the large room—away from the crowd. She chewed on her lower lip then glanced over at Maggie with an apologetic look. "Is it okay if I sit over there?"

"Yes, of course. I was thinking the same thing." Maggie grabbed her elbow then quickly released it. Had she noticed the way Cindy stiffened at the touch? She must have but she didn't say anything as they moved across the room. She paused between a table with six chairs and an oversized booth placed against the outside wall, the silent question clear on her face.

Cindy moved toward the table then stopped and looked around her. She wouldn't be as noticeable if she sat at the booth. But if anyone joined them, she'd be blocked in. A surge of panic flared through her at the thought and she quickly pushed it away. Nobody would be joining them, especially if they couldn't see her. And it wasn't like she really knew anyone here. No, she'd be safe enough in the booth.

She slid onto the bench then glanced behind her and sighed in relief when she realized the back was effectively hiding her from anyone's view. Maggie tossed her bag onto the opposite bench.

"I'm going to go tell Dillon we're here and grab some food. What do you want?"

"I—" Cindy stopped, her mind suddenly blank. What did she want? When was the last time she'd even thought that way regarding food? She laughed, the sound rusty and a little brittle. "I'm not sure. Everything?"

Maggie gave her a small smile of understanding. "I'll pick something out. How about to drink?"

"Just water. Or maybe iced tea if they have it."

"Got it. Are you going to be okay over here by yourself?"

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I can get Dillon to get the food and come back to wait with you if you want."

Cindy blinked back tears at the understanding in Maggie's voice. She understood. Maybe not everything, not the details, but she understood. And she didn't judge. Not like her mother seemed to judge her lately, watching her with suspicious glances all day, who suddenly didn't seem to know what to say to her or how to act around her. Cindy couldn't blame her, though. How could she, after what had happened with her father?

"I'll be fine," she repeated. Maggie offered her another smile then walked away, leaving Cindy alone in her isolated corner.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to relax. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, after she ate, she might want to mingle. No, not mingle. It was too crowded for that. But maybe she could sit sideways on the bench and watch, pretend she was part of everything going on.

Sorrow fell over her, the weight of it heavy on her shoulders. Was this what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life? Watching from the sidelines, confined to the role of spectator? Feeling but not feeling because the feelings were all wrong?

Her doctor said no. She had reassured her, said things would get better with time. The medication would help, as would the therapy. Cindy was already getting better, or so her doctor said. She could wake up tomorrow as her old self.

But there'd been a hundred tomorrows and she still wasn't her old self. She might never be her old self again. Worse, the tomorrow she was waiting for might come, only to be ripped away a few months or even years later.

Cindy didn't know if she could handle that, not if it was anything like what happened when she came back from Maggie's wedding trip. Where would she be now if not for Maggie's interference?

Would she have become like her father?

She closed her eyes and pushed the thought away. She couldn't think like that. Those were dangerous thoughts. Self-defeating and harmful. So she took a deep breath, tried to force her mind inward as she focused on the exercises her therapist had given her.

Crystal blue water.

Fine white sand.

Smoky blue eyes—

No, don't think about that. Not now, not here.

Crystal blue water.

Fine white sand.