Model Exposure
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His brother’s death may not have been suicide. It might have been murder.
Ollie’s world unraveled the day his brother died, and he’s been trying to recover ever since. Entrenched in his brother’s business, his new relationship with Kade, and a whirlwind of crazy cases, he hasn’t had to face the grim past. Except now things are coming to light that expose his childhood as one big lie.
Nathan’s death might have been murder—possibly by someone close to him. A betrayal that sent Nathan into a spiral, and Kade is on the same path, losing his grip on reality. Ollie is desperate to find answers, for his past, the lies of his youth, the loss of his brother, and a way to save Kade.
Can Ollie put together the pieces of the mystery in time to keep Kade from self-destructing?
“It’s PTSD, Kade,” Jolanda, reaffirmed. “The depression and anxiety are just symptoms of the larger problem.”
Every day for more than half a year, I had watched my lover, Ollie, suffer from depression and anxiety, thinking I understood. I’d been so wrong. Now after two months of constant appointments and several medications, I was still unable to shake the overwhelming feeling of dread. Never mind that I’d told Jolanda, my therapist, every last bit I could remember from my days being held captive by my father. Sometimes my brain just took over for me, shutting down or switching to autopilot. This last time, unlike the many times of my youth, it wasn’t about my sexuality. Instead he’d just tried to convince me Ollie was dead and it was all my fault. I often woke in a cold sweat, terrified, until I found Ollie beside me, alive and safe.
“And not going away,” I told her. Or letting up. Sometimes the smallest thing could have me fighting tears or so overwhelmed with sadness I could barely breathe. It was terrifying just how much I worried about stupid things. Like where Ollie was every second of the day, even when I knew he was home or with Britney or Sophie or just in the other room. Or if someone was watching me, waiting to swoop in and abduct me again. “I’m not normal.”
“Is anyone?” Jolanda asked.
“Not normal for me.” It was getting harder to hide it from Ollie.
“You’ve been through a lot, Kade. How about giving yourself some time to heal?”
“Shouldn’t I have gotten this from serving?”
“Did you ever feel as helpless while serving? Have as much to lose?”
I hated the way she volleyed questions back at me when she already knew the answers. “No.” The truth was, while I’d been serving my country, I’d had nothing to return home to. Now I had so much.
“Give it time.”
“Ollie needs me.” He was healing from a major stroke. He had blackouts, memory loss, and sometimes a complete bipolar change of his emotions. He needed me to be solid so he could heal.
“There’s no reason you can’t be there for Ollie while you’re healing. You both need to take it slow,” Jolanda said.
“He needs me to be solid. His rock.”
“And you need him to be yours. Why can’t it be an exchange? Don’t you trust him?”
Of course I trusted him. The only time I could breathe anymore was when he was in the room with me. It was irrational and I knew it was irrational. I just needed to figure out how to set aside this horrible dread. Moving beyond the depression, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion seemed impossible. Like the weight of an elephant on my chest, it never let up.
“Have you told him how you feel? Your fears?”
“No.” Ollie knew I had PTSD, but not how badly I struggled with it.
“Because you’re worried how he’ll react?”
“His brother killed himself because of PTSD. You don’t get how that messed him up.” Only she did, because she treated him too. I sighed. “Sorry. You get it. I know you do.”
“Nathan Petroskovic died from an illness,” she pointed out. “The means are irrelevant.”
I swallowed back bile at the thought. He’d died because he hadn’t been strong enough to keep fighting. What if I couldn’t handle the weight of it anymore? It had only been a few months. What if this continued for years? I wasn’t sure I was strong enough. Fuck.
She let me stew a little longer before saying, “You come to me for help. A cure. An instant fix. You know I can’t give you any of those things.”
I knew I had to work for those, and they were all intangible things, which made it so much harder. “So I’m stuck?”
“I will always be here for you. But maybe it’s not me you need.”
“I can’t talk to Ollie about this.” He’s not strong enough.
Fuck. Where had that thought come from? He was the strongest person I knew. He’d been living with this god-be-damned monster of depression and anxiety on his back his whole life. What did that say for me that I couldn’t handle it for a few months?
“What do you fear he’ll do if you tell him just how bad off you are right now?”
Leave me. Oh God, I’d really fall apart. I was only holding it together because I went home to him every day, curled up on the chaise with him, cuddled on the couch with him and our cat, Newt. Ollie’s smile, the subtle turn of his head, the way he canted his hips when he leaned against the counter to talk to me…
“How about a challenge for this week?”
No. I wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not to tell him.
“Tell him one hard truth each day.” She put her hand up when I began to protest. “Doesn’t have to be about him, or even about you. It could be: Climate change is fucking us up right now. Or you hate the color orange. Just one hard truth. Each one should be easier to say than the last.”
“I need him,” I whispered.
“I know. So start small. Tell him you’re worried. Or that you hate a pair of shoes. Just talk to him. Shutting down is not going to benefit either of you. I think a lot of your anxiety about him leaving is simply because you’re not talking to him.”
“Okay.” It sounded easier than I was sure it was. “I just wish…” That I’d been born to a different family. That my head hadn’t been fucked with by my father and a chemical cocktail. That I could see into the future to know that admitting I was broken to Ollie wasn’t going to tip him over the edge.
“Baby steps.”
“Okay,” I agreed. It was somewhere to start.