Wild Warrior (The Weavers Circle 2)

Baer’s expression sobered in a flash, and he straightened from where he’d been leaning his shoulder against the wall. He gently placed one hand on Wiley’s shoulder and squeezed. “Wiley, why didn’t you say so? Of course I’ll take you to your appointment. Your health is extremely important to me. We are not fucking around with that shit. You hear me? If you need anything for your health”—he paused and lightly touched Wiley’s temple, silently indicating his mental health rather than saying it out loud, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted Dane to know—“I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me immediately. No matter what.”

Wiley nodded because he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. Rocking on the balls of his feet, Wiley gave in to the urge and launched himself into Baer’s arms, hugging him tight. Baer didn’t make him feel awkward or broken. With just a few words, he showed that he was right there for him. His own grandmother had struggled with his illness at times. She understood the need for meds and appreciated the fact that they helped, but she had trouble with the therapy, sometimes saying it was just a bunch of nonsense.

But Wiley knew it worked, even if it just reassured him that he was on the right path.

“I will. I promise,” Wiley finally managed, his face pressed against Baer’s shoulder.

Baer’s strong arms closed around him and tightly squeezed. A gentle kiss was pressed to the top of his head, and Wiley had to blink back tears. “Good.”

Reluctantly, Wiley stepped out of Baer’s arms so they could settle on a time to leave. Baer updated Dane that he was stepping out with Wiley. The handyman smiled and reminded them to be careful. Baer disappeared into his room for a quick shower while Wiley pulled his stuff together before wandering out to the Jeep.

Baer joined him a few minutes later in clean clothes, his wet hair neatly brushed. Keys jingled in his hands, and he smiled broadly at Wiley. The Jeep was in the garage, and Wiley wrung his hands nervously in his lap as the garage door opened and let in light. “Thanks again. I thought about skipping it, but like I said, it helps.”

“No problem at all,” Baer said, driving the Jeep onto the long, gravel driveway. “How long have you been dealing with this?”

Wiley looked out at the moss-covered trees, his mind full of painful memories. “Since I was a kid. It used to be a lot worse, but my grandmother got me into therapy early. Once we figured out what was going on, we were able to start dealing with it. Took a long time to get the meds right and even now, I have to change them sometimes when my body gets used to a certain one. It builds up a tolerance.”

Baer’s brow furrowed and his eyes darted to Wiley briefly before moving back to the winding road in front of them. “The medication stops it?”

“Not entirely, as you well noticed. I still have phobias and anxiety issues I have to deal with, but I’ve found cognitive behavioral therapy and exposure response prevention helps a lot. And I’ve been working with my therapist for years. She really knows me.” He paused and chuckled. “She knows when I’m trying to bullshit her or myself. She totally calls me out on it. She’s really easy to talk to.”

“I’m glad you’ve got someone you can talk to like that.”

“Yeah,” Wiley said with a happy sigh. “She’s good at keeping me grounded and feeling balanced. With everything going on, I thought it would be a good idea to keep this appointment.”

“Definitely,” Baer said in a no-nonsense tone that only made Wiley smile. He loved that Baer was taking his health seriously. That he didn’t have the “just get over it” mentality that so many people did toward mental illness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner. With everything going on, I completely forgot.”

“I’d rather you do what you need to do.” Baer reached across and grabbed Wiley’s hand, squeezing it, then returning his hand to the steering wheel. “Please don’t hesitate to tell me if there’s something you need. I’m the one who got you into this mess, after all.”

“I’m happy to be involved. I’m having the time of my life.” Wiley paused and frowned at the dashboard in front of him. “You know, other than dealing with things trying to kill everyone. That part’s a bummer.”

Baer snorted. “No doubt.” He glanced at Wiley as he stopped at a stop sign. So far, Wiley’s experience with Baer’s driving had been more about sliding through the stop areas. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you have to count stairs?”

Wiley shrugged. “I get this overwhelming fear that something bad will happen if I don’t. It’s hard to explain, but the fear is debilitating. No amount of therapy seems to help with this one, and like I told you before, my therapist thinks it has something to do with my mother’s death.”