Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “No, I looked it up when I learned Lake likes owls. He sent me a picture of the owl box.”
With a pleased smile, his father turns to his son again. “Like I said, a keeper.”
This time, Lake meets my gaze and he looks…a little bit sad.
* * *
When we’re back in the car, after Lake showed me the bird sanctuary at his father’s insistence, the mood feels heavy again. Awkward. I wonder if Lake and I can return to the way we were—friendly, supportive, playful—before I dropped the we can’t do that again rule.
I don’t know, but as he pulls out of Cozy Valley, the wooden sign for the town with an illustrated squirrel curled up asleep in the V fading in the rearview mirror, I ask the inevitable question. “How long has it been since he left the property?”
Lake lets out a heavy sigh. “About five years.”
“Did something happen? I did a little research into agoraphobia and learned that sometimes there can be a triggering event.”
“You researched it?”
I nod. When he told me his dad was keen on him dating, I figured we might eventually meet. “I wanted to understand him better. And you.”
Lake seems to sit with the info for a minute or two as he drives. I try to read his expression, but his gaze is focused on the road. “He was in a car accident. It was his fault. He hit someone. A woman, but she’s fine. Just minor bruises, but it was enough for him to not want to drive again.”
My chest aches with sympathy for everyone involved. “Understandable.”
“He retreated. Had serious PTSD over it. Would not get in the car. But he liked to walk. And Gavin, Clem, and I thought he was getting better, going for walks on the property. He liked to go with Heather and me,” he says on a rough swallow. “It was nice to see him outside. Then Heather was killed by a car, and that was it. Instant. He shut back down because the world is ‘unsafe.’”
“Oh, Lake,” I say, my heart sinking like an anchor in the ocean. “That’s so hard. I’m so sorry he has to deal with that. And you.”
“Yeah me too. I wish…”
“That you could help him?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I give that some thought, trying to find an answer. “Sounds like he has a lot to unpack. So many things wrapped up in each other.”
“I try to encourage him. Ask him if he wants to join me with the birds and Gavin with the horses. But he never does.”
My throat tightens with emotions. “Clem said it’s been a while. I know she hoped he would go to her bookstore at one point.”
“That was hard for her. Not being able to share the grand opening with him. To just show him pics.” He exhales, long and steady, like he’s releasing some of the pain. “I felt some serious hope for a while, but then it was just gone. And this is now his normal.”
My heart hurts for Lake, like there’s a deep bruise on it. I wonder if this has to be the norm. If there are other things to be done. But I know, too, these conversations take time, and that he would have tried everything he could think of to help his father. “I appreciate you sharing that.”
He gives a tight nod as he drives. “I don’t really talk about it much. Not with the guys. But, um, thanks for being cool about it.”
“Of course.” I replay the last convo, grateful we could share. Maybe this is our new normal? “I feel like we’re friends. Like we can talk about things.”
It’s only when the word friends makes landfall that I remember how Jameson broke up with me, how that word cut to the bone. “I don’t mean it like let’s just be friends,” I say backpedaling.
His brow knits. He stays quiet though.
“I just mean,” I continue, trying to fix things, “that we are. That I want to be.”
And I don’t know if I’m helping anything at all.
His shoulders seem to tense, and he swallows, but then says, “Friends.”
But we don’t talk much the rest of the drive.
And I don’t know if that means we are or aren’t friends.
By the time we finally drive by the Welcome to Evergreen Falls sign, we haven’t even talked about why we’re here. Not the candy we’re picking up for my sister or the road trip the bride couldn’t make.
And why it’s one of the five things you should do before you say I do.
31
BITE ME
LAKE
If I’d thought surviving a penalty kill was hard, it’s got nothing on this road trip. Being in close quarters with a woman who smells like flowers and all your fantasies, and not being able to tell her you think about her all the time is more brutal than being undermanned on the ice.