Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“Ty’s still at work, but he said to do whatever you think Sleet needs.”
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
“How is Tyler doing?” How much does Reed know about what happened?
He shrugs. “Lookin’ forward to the racing season.”
“Right.” It is what he lives for, after all. “Come on, let’s fix those dogs.”
* * *
I’m halfway down the driveway when I spot the truck approaching from the other direction.
The tension in my body intensifies as the distance closes and Tyler’s handsome face comes into focus. The lane is too narrow to pass one another like strangers on the road. We’ll each have to maneuver along the edges to squeeze by. And because I’m an adult and here on business, I open my window.
Both trucks crawl to a stop, our doors aligning perfectly, our side-view mirrors inches from colliding. I note how Tyler’s chest rises with a deep inhale, as if he’s preparing himself for an uncomfortable conversation.
I let my eyes touch his for a brief second before I have to look away, the pain too raw. “I’m pretty sure Airi just has a mild sprain. I left some anti-inflammatories. If it doesn’t get better within the week, you’ll need to bring him in for an X-ray.” In my attempt to sound professional, I end up sounding robotic. “I stitched up a jagged tear on Pope’s leg. The rest just needs to be kept clean and monitored for any abscess. I’ve left antibiotics and painkillers, and Reed knows what he’s doing.” The benefit of having a living spreadsheet of information on every dog—I knew how to mix the prescriptions ahead of time.
“Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” I hate that mixed in with my swirl of disappointment, hurt, and anger is foolish yearning. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I know better. “Cory will send you the bill tomorrow morning.”
“Marie—”
“I’m not pregnant,” I blurt out. “In case you were wondering.” With that, I lift my foot off the brake and begin rolling forward.
“Wait, Marie. Please.”
The pleading quality in his tone slips past my defenses, softening a heart I’ve never learned how to harden. I hesitate for two seconds before I let my foot fall on the brake.
A high-pitched squeak sounds as Tyler backs up his truck until our windows are aligned again. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you already told me that.” My anger is solidifying in my throat, forming a prickly lump.
“Can you at least look at me?”
After a beat, I meet his eyes, and the golden pools that shine with regret make my chest ache.
“I swear, this is the last thing I was looking for when I moved here. But then I kept running into you, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. I still can’t.”
A twinge of satisfaction stirs inside me, knowing I’m not the only one struggling.
“I didn’t think I’d ever feel anything for another woman. Definitely not so soon.” His voice bleeds with sincerity. “That night at your place? I wanted to give you everything you want.”
“I don’t want a sperm donor, Tyler.”
He flinches. “Come on, Marie, you were there. That’s not what that was.”
A single tear slips down my cheek as countless intimate touches and sighs and cries flitter inside my head. “I don’t know what it was anymore. Besides a huge mistake.” Born from desperation and desire, on both our parts.
He smooths a hand over his bristly face. “If I’d met you ten years ago …”
Before he met his wife is what he’s saying.
But would I have been enough, even then? This is what happens when someone hurts you—you begin to doubt everything they say.
His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I have a lot of things to work through still, and it’s not fair to you if I can’t be all in. I see that now, and I understand if you don’t want to wait around for that day.”
How long will it take for Tyler to make enough room in his heart for someone else to stay?
It could be years.
It could be never.
It could be tomorrow, with someone who isn’t me.
And I know myself too well.
I take a deep breath, knowing what I have to do. “Call Don Childs. He might not be as flexible as I am, but he’s good—”
“No, Marie.” Tyler’s face twists with unhappiness. “I still want you as my vet.”
“It’s not going to work.” I can’t go down this road again. “And this friendship of yours, Tyler? I don’t want it, either.” This time when I take my foot off the brake, he doesn’t call after me.
I keep the tears from spilling until I’ve tucked his gate key into his mailbox and climbed back into my truck, and then I don’t hold them back any longer. The sooner I let myself break, the sooner I can start putting myself back together again.