Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Her laugh was warm and light in the afternoon breeze. “Please do.”
“I’m definitely attracted to Alex. There’s just something about him that has its hooks in me. I can’t decide if it’s because he’s reckless or because he’s hot.”
“Or because he’s not interested,” she teased.
I thought back to the day in my office when his eyes had bugged out of his head as I’d stepped out of the shower. I’d felt his gaze like a caress.
The sexual attraction went both ways. That much had been clear. I just wasn’t sure if Alex had any interest in doing something about it.
And I wasn’t sure if I did either.
“Maybe so. But…” I hesitated, wondering if I was ready to confess the rest of what was in my head to a near stranger.
Kaidee let go of my hand and wrapped her arm through mine to get closer. “I’m a good friend, Judd. Talk to me. It’s okay that this isn’t going to be more than that, but I like you. And I’d love to be your friend.”
I put my hand over the one on my arm. “I had an online relationship a few years ago. It was intense and happened when I was overseas for work.”
“Go on. What happened?”
The trail wound through a grove of lodgepole pines, their straight trunks filtering the afternoon sunlight into shifting patches of gold on the forest floor. To our left, the mountainside dropped away toward the valley where Legacy sat tucked between rolling hills, the town’s rooftops barely visible through the trees. A mountain creek trickled somewhere nearby, its sound growing fainter as we climbed higher into the foothills of Slingshot Mountain. The air was thin and clean, with that particular Montana clarity that made every detail—from the lichen on the bark to the distant snowcapped peak—stand out in sharp relief.
“I fell in love with him. A complete anonymous stranger. We chatted over a period of a year before I was in a very bad accident.”
She glanced up at me. “Max told me you were injured in a fire. I assumed it was on a job.”
I shook my head. “The accident overseas wasn’t a fire,” I said. I knew Kaidee had seen the burn scars on my arm, but I didn’t offer an explanation. Recounting one tragic accident was enough for a single afternoon. “There was a mortar strike at the air base where I was doing contract work. The building I was in partially collapsed. I was knocked unconscious, among other injuries, and evacuated to Ramstein in Germany for treatment. They ended up keeping me under sedation for a while. When I finally started coming out of it, I had memory and brain fog issues from the blast and head injury, I was in pain and all kinds of therapy, and I didn’t have access to a cell phone or the internet.”
“So he had no idea,” she whispered, understanding and empathy in her voice. “Poor guy. And, shit, poor you.”
I nodded. “It took me four months just to get back on the message board, let alone fully recover. By then, his account was gone. Completely closed. I had no way of contacting him.”
“Damn. You didn’t know where he lived? Where he worked?”
I gave a single headshake. When I’d told Max about DrunkenPoet, he’d asked those questions and more. But how do you know he’s even real, Judd? How do you know he’s who he said he was?
He hadn’t understood that our anonymity had been part of the draw at first.
I wasn’t supposed to give out personal information while I was working overseas in the first place. But hiding behind our usernames, DrunkenPoet and I had told each other things that were hard to talk about with others. His love of poetry. My desire to have a family. Our favorite places—Montana for him, in my own place for me. Our daydreams and worries and triumphs. I’d felt known and understood in a way I never had before.
Later, I think holding back that information felt kind of like a game. One that made us look forward to the day we’d meet in person like we were kids looking forward to Christmas, with the promise of a happy surprise to keep us going through the last few months of my contract.
And in retrospect, it had been criminally fucking stupid.
When I’d gotten out of the hospital in Germany to find DrunkenPoet’s account deleted, I’d have given anything to go back in time and get his phone number, his address. Hell, even just his name.
But it had been too late.
“The only real identifying details I’d picked up from our year of chatting came down to these few clues: his family owns a farm in California that he works for, he graduated college a couple years before we met, which means he’s probably in his late twenties, and he’s close with his family but doesn’t want to be a farmer like they are.”