Fear of Falling

them, but Dom was insistent to the point of demanding.
    “Why do my fears need to be irrational?” I snapped.
    Dr. Evelyn Cole raised a brow and scribbled a note on her pad. “Do you think your fears are rational?”
    “I think they’re understandable considering…I’m not saying they’re altogether healthy, but I don’t think they are irrational. I don’t put anyone in danger with them.”
    Dr. Cole scribbled another note. “You don’t put yourself in danger?”
    I looked at her incredulously. “Of course not. If anything, I am careful to a fault.”
    “By isolating yourself.”
    “I don’t isolate myself. I just keep a certain distance from people in order to remain…safe. There are things people do not need to know about me. If they did, I’d be alone anyway.”
    “And Kenneth? Is that why you broke it off with him? Because he was getting too close?”
    “Kenneth let himself fall for someone who is incapable of love. I told him not to. I warned him that I couldn’t get serious with him or anybody else. He wanted more of me than I was willing to give. More than I can give him or anybody else.”
    Dr. Cole chewed the end of her pen and puckered her brows. “And you think by holding back, by making yourself emotionally unavailable, that you are protecting yourself? That your…episodes won’t be an issue?”
    “That’s exactly what I am doing,” I murmured, yanking the thread on my shirt and snapping it. I took a deep breath and dropped my chin to my chest. “If Kenneth knew just how damaged I really am, just how neurotic my past has made me, he wouldn’t stay. He’d call me crazy and abandon me. And he’d be justified to do so. I am doing him a favor. He doesn’t need someone like me bogging him down with a laundry list of issues.”
    “And how do you know he’ll run? How do you know he won’t stay with you in spite of your fears?”
    I looked the psychiatrist dead in her eyes with all the conviction I could muster. “Well…that’s the one risk I am willing to take.”
    After leaving my weekly appointment, I headed straight to Dive for my first day of training. Of course, this wasn’t a coincidence. I had purposely scheduled my visit with the good doctor to precede my first day of work to help combat the anxiety. But once I spied the marquee as I pulled into the parking lot, I felt ill. Clammy palms, mouth as dry as sand and heartbeat heading into dangerous territory.
    “Oh no, not here. Not now. I can do this. I have to do this.” But even my inner monologue wasn’t convincing.
    I counted down from ten, desperately trying to psyche myself up enough to leave the safety of my vehicle. I had worked plenty of jobs before without severe incident. I had played the role of a normal, sane young woman for many years and had succeeded for the most part. There had been hiccups. There had been roadblocks. But I survived them. I had my friends to help me get by one day at a time. Things were fine.
    Right?
    So why the hell was I freaking out inside my car in 100 degree heat over a certain inked bartender that gave me goose bumps whenever I simply thought of his name?
    Blaine .
    God, why couldn’t he have been named something less sexy? Like Mortimer? Or Buford? Because for a name like Blaine to be attached to someone as gorgeous as that scary-beautiful man was downright cruel.
    Dammit, I should have done 20.
    I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and took a series of calming breaths to slow my heart rate. I knew I was being ridiculous. This was just a guy. Nothing was special or different about him. He represented something that I could never have: a serious relationship, companionship, trust…love. I had to keep reminding myself of that fact. Blaine needed to remain at a distance, especially now that we would be working together.
    I made my way into the bar, greeted by the soft sounds of classic rock playing over the sound system. A cozy, familiar feeling filled me, comforting my nerves. I really did like it here. Maybe it was nostalgia from the music paraphernalia adorning the walls. Or maybe it was the faint smells of lemon-scented wood polish and crispy-fried comfort food from the bar’s kitchen. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the man behind the bar, grinning at me in a way that made his chocolate-brown eyes look like warm pools of decadence. Whatever it was, whatever made my head swim with uncertainty, it didn’t keep me from smiling back at him.
    “Hey, roadrunner. Good to see you