After a two-hour flight, we land at Reno International airport. Unlike the other times since Wes bought the house in Tahoe, my car isn’t in the parking lot. When we pick up the rental, Wes makes a passing comment that he should just buy a car. He suggests going to town and checking out the dealerships. If he can’t find anything suitable, we’ll order something in Denver and have it brought to Tahoe. He’s ridiculous, but I remain quiet.

I’m not sure why is it that I’m not talking. Is it because my body continues to tremble in fear? Maybe it’s because I’m afraid that I’ll tell Wes more than I want to confess. I’m on the verge of breaking down and this time I might say more than I should. There’s nothing coherent I could share with him that doesn’t involve my old life. My mind is stuck in the past.

It’s like a horror movie continues to play in my head on repeat. No one is there to push the stop button, to take the disc out of the player or to unplug the cord. I relive every day, every scene, and every word. Every night I fought, and once I lost the battle, I tried to disassociate. But most nights it was impossible.

The road lies before us like an asphalt ribbon. One that has been worn over time. A white line runs down the center, relatively unbroken. I admire the evergreens and whitewashed boulders. Ponderosa pines, California redwoods, and Douglas firs tower over us. For a moment, I wish I could be like either one of them. An unmoving rock that withstands seasons and disasters. But if given a choice, I’d rather be one of the trees. No matter the season or the circumstances, they retain their foliage.

Most evergreen trees lose their leaves, but they do it gradually—not many notice those changes. I’m more like a seasonal plant that dries if it’s too hot and loses her shit with some gusty winds.

We continue going forward. I fiddle with the radio, finding the 90s alternative station that Wes loves. I close my eyes, holding onto the quartz bracelet he gave me, counting while listening to “6^th Avenue Heartache” by The Wallflowers. The guitar screeches while Jakob Dylan talks about the homeless guy who used to live right below his window and life in the big city. It goes on about how the weight of the world is crushing him.

The singer sees people around him, yet he’s alone. This isn’t the kind of song I was expecting to hear while trying to find my footing. I can relate so much to it. I’m surrounded by evergreens, yet I feel like the last dandelion that’s about to lose its seeds. Even when I have Weston Ahern by my side, there are days that I feel lonely and out of place.

If I could, I would stay in Tahoe for the rest of my life. It’s surrounded by everything that I love. The clarity of the lake that’s nestled amidst the Sierras where I can stay hidden forever. With the log cabin architecture and the mom-and-pop businesses, the inviting small-town feel makes me want to stay here forever.

“Enough with the sadness,” Wes changes the radio station.

I snort as “I Feel Like I’m Drowning” by Two Feet begins to play. It’s as if the radio stations know my mood. He ends up finding some electronic tune I’ve never heard on one of the pop stations that I always avoid because they keep playing the same popular songs over and over again. They remind me of Shaun, that was his favorite music. He liked to listen to it while … my stomach becomes queasy.

“Stop the car,” I order. “I can’t breathe.”

I hold my stomach gasping for air. His voice, the music, her pleas. I can hear them all inside my head.

“We’re almost there,” he pushes the pedal lowering the windows and turning on the air conditioning to the max. “Breathe, Abby. You’re with me, remember.”

As we arrive at the house, I open the car door and end up throwing up in the grass.

“Abby.”

Wes holds my hair back while I heave.

“Sorry,” I say. Tears pour down my cheeks.

I sit back in the grass, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and Wes drops right by my side.

“This isn’t normal,” he mumbles. “How can I help you?”

“I’m fine.” My voice is shaky.

His fingers are in my hair, and I flinch from the pain and embarrassment. He touches my scalp, and I’m sure he can feel the scabs. I close my eyes, bend my legs, and rest my forehead on top of my knees, hugging myself tightly. Wishing I could disappear. Now he knows that I’m back to hurting myself.

“Abby.” His voice cracks.

He’s hurting; I can feel it in my heart. I want to channel some courage, find the brave Abigail Lyons who could withstand any pain, but I remain motionless.

“Are you two okay or just making out on the grass?” Sterling’s voice comes from somewhere around us. It has a hint of mockery.

“Fuck off,” Wes says, his voice shaking with fury.

“That’s disgusting, Terry, stop,” Sterling says. “You don’t eat human puke!”

I lift my head opening my eyes to find a tiny gray dog with pretty blue eyes who is fighting Sterling’s hold.

“Hey,” I greet him.

He stares at me and then looks at Wes.

Wes’ eyes narrow and his eyebrows pull together. “Since when do you have a dog?”

“It’s a long story,” he answers, extending his hand toward me. “Come on, Abigail. You look like shit. I’ll get you some Perrier water.”

Hesitant, I allow him to help me off the ground. I stare at the grass, trying to figure out what is happening to me. I swallow the bile in my throat, take a deep breath, and finally find my stupid strength.

“I’m just going to take a shower,” I announce, walking ahead of them.

This time Wes walks right behind me. My plan is to close the bathroom door to avoid talking to him.

“You’ve never been this …” his voice trails as I speed to the bathroom.

But the man whose long legs are used to running five miles a day catches up to me and holds the door open.

“We have to talk about what happened, Abigail,” he says firmly. “It’s killing me to see you like this. You’re hurting yourself again.”

Am I supposed to tell him that I feel like someone is following me? That’s delusional. If he finds out what happened to me he’s never going to see me in the same way.

“I need to take a shower,” I say in a frail voice I barely recognize.

“Change your clothes. Let’s go swimming,” he orders. “In the meantime, I’m calling the office. We’re staying here for the next couple of weeks.”

“We don’t have to stay longer than the weekend,” I say, but in reality, I want to thank him and ask him to make this my permanent address.

“You have a company to run,” I protest, knowing how hard it was for him to move his schedule for today and Monday.

A part of me regrets this trip while the other is already relaxing knowing that I’m physically safe. If only I can convince my mind that I’m not in danger.

“You’re more important than the company,” he says softly. His hand caresses my face and I close my eyes for one moment, letting my guard down.

Suddenly, his muscular arms envelope my body. Those big hands draw circles on my back, he whispers in my ear loving words. “I will never let anything happen to you again,” he assures me. “No one will hurt you—not even yourself. We’re going to work through this, Abby.”

I let myself believe that he can fix it the way he does with everything else. Will he be able to erase those bitter, painful moments?

“We should rest,” he offers.

I don’t fight him. We walk toward the bed, and we lay on top of it. He taps my arm rhythmically as he counts. My head rests on top of his chest. I listen to his heart and close my eyes, concentrating on the soothing sound and his voice.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he mumbles, kissing the top of my head. “I’ll give you all I can. My soul, if that’s what you need to be whole.”

The sadness in his heart breaks me a little more, and it upsets me too, because I know I’m the one bringing him down. For him, I should stop this nonsense. As my eyes begin to close I promise myself to be stronger for him. I want to be a redwood tree or a big boulder that he can lean on.