Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Kinsley
Brakes screech. A bright light blinds me. Fast forward time to the moment they eased me out of the medically induced coma. All I hear are beeping machines. My body is a deadweight thanks to the medication coursing through my veins. I can feel the scratchy hospital gown against my skin. Smell the antiseptic aroma.
It makes me sick.
"Kinsley! Wake up!"
Tristan's voice tears my consciousness from the scene playing in my head. Instead of smelling the pungent antiseptic, I can smell the lingering scent of Tristan's coconut vanilla candle. I feel my soft blankets and the sweat drenching my body.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I run a hand through my sweaty hair. I survey the room. Relief floods through me, allowing my shoulders to relax. Fear relaxes its grip on me.
I'm not in the hospital, having post-accident injuries treated.
Wiping away a damp strand of hair from my forehead, I smile weakly at Tristan.
"Thanks," I say. "For waking me up."
"No problem," she replies. Her Scottish accent is prominent. I failed to notice it on Saturday because my mind was so scattered.
Despite our awkward first meeting, the second one went okay. Tristan and I spent the day together yesterday. We sat around the dorm room and talked. Mariana joined us later in the day. We then ordered pizza.
Neither of them pressed for information about why I was crying Saturday. The topics stayed pretty mundane. There was banter about hockey. Discussions about which programs we're in. Tristan's majoring in psychology. Mariana in political science. They were surprised about me being in vet school. Not too many people make it into the program.
Although we get along well, I plan to keep them at arm's length. The pieces of my heart are fragile. Thinking relationships could sew them back together is an illusion. One that will harm me in the end.
Besides, I could never replace Mads.
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Tristan glances out the window. Minimal light seeps through the glass. When I look at the clock, I see it's five-in-the-morning. An hour before our alarm was supposed to go off.
I can't prevent myself from feeling guilty.
"That was quite the nightmare," Tristan says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Talking is the best way to solve problems. Especially internal ones that cause turmoil. But I'm not ready to tell her what happened. I don't know if I ever will be. The effects of PTSD have given me the inability to trust. To open up to others.
"No," I reply, shaking my head. "I'd rather not."
"Okay," she says. Her voice is soft. "I'm here if you ever need me."
