Southern Seducer (North Carolina Highlands 1)

I don’t want to suffer alone.

“I can’t say I know what being a new mom is like.” I take a gulp of cider. It’s more whiskey than mixer, and it marks a trail of fire down my throat. A warning? “But I do know depression.”

That startles her. She sits up, pretty eyes going wide.

“Beau,” she says, grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze, sending a zip of electricity up my arm. “My God, I’m sorry. I knew something was going on with you. Talk to me. Tell me everything.”

“I think it’s been happening for a while—the depression—but I was kind of in denial about it, you know? All my life, I’ve been able to crush whatever I set my sights on. Whatever I asked of myself, I could do it. But after a while, I couldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” she replies, sipping her cocktail. “I’m pretty sure my depression started the second that stranger’s sperm hit my egg.”

“I would’ve given you my sperm.”

“Dude, not everyone is thirsting for your man seed, okay?”

I hate it when she calls me dude, but I still laugh. “My ‘man seed’? You’ve been reading historicals, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Some romance, some Shakespeare, some good Sarah Dunant stuff about the Borgias. My point is, I think I’ve been depressed for the past year. But it took my daughter’s doctor pulling me aside for me to actually acknowledge it and do something about it.” She looks at me. Really looks. Eyes like the surface of the lake, liquid and clear and dark. “What are you doing about yours? The depression. How are you treating it? Please say you’re treating it.”

“Jesus, have a little faith in me. Of course I’m treating it. I take my meds religiously. I go down to Asheville once a week to see a behavioral therapist. She’s been helping me with some coping strategies.” I don’t mention the neurologist I’m seeing or the physical therapist. The occupational therapist and the researcher, too, at Duke University. I’ll tell Annabel everything later when she’s better and back on her feet. “Keeping a regular schedule also helps. Exercising, too, seems to relieve a lot of my symptoms. Some days are harder than others. For a while, the world really felt like a joyless place,” I continue, sipping my cider. “And the irritability I felt with everyone and everything…”

“Oh yeah. I thought that being depressed meant you, like, couldn’t get out of bed, you couldn’t function. I’ve been functioning—I mean, my baby is still alive, so that’s something—but I’ve just felt like I’m always on the verge.”

I meet her eyes, and my heart ties itself in a knot. I know exactly what she’s talking about. Always feeling like you’re on the edge of an emotional cliff. Like a puff of wind or an annoying email or a stupid fight with your brother could send you hurtling over the edge.

I’m trusting her with this. The same way she’s trusting me with her shit.

Heaven help me, but I’m really, really struggling not to cross any lines. I’ve never been one to want what I can’t have, so that’s not what this is—me wanting Annabel just when I can’t touch her. I’ve always wanted her. I guess…I don’t know. Maybe facing a future that’s suddenly become much darker has made me realize just how much I appreciate the light.

I’m drawn to it—Annabel’s light. Her radical, almost magnetic honesty.

Her sense of humor, which still shines through despite everything going on inside her head.

Yep, I’m fucked.

Chapter Six

Beau

Looking away, I close my eyes. I’m being stupid. This is just my depression talking. Or my dick.

Either way, I’m not gonna listen. This is real life, not a fucking Coldplay song.

“I’m sorry, Beau,” I hear her say. I feel her eyes on me, and when I open my own and drink her in, I can’t breathe for a few seconds. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, and I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Untangling my hand from hers, I hand her a cookie. “It’s not your fault. At least we’re in it together, right?”

“Right,” she says, letting out a little moan of pleasure as she takes a bite. I dig my fingernails into my palm. “I’m proud of you for getting treated. And for trying. That’s one of the hardest things when you’re depressed. Just trying. I don’t want you to have to try alone. I want to be there for you. Every step of the way.”

See? See how awesome and kind and genuine she is?

“You get it.”

Her eyes flash again. “Why do you sound so…conflicted, I guess, when you say that? Like me understanding is a bad thing?”

Shaking my head, I deflect. “I just hate that you’re feeling this way, too.”

“Hey. We’ve got each other’s backs. Same as we did when we were in Intro to Academic Writing together.”