Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
It’s going to be a long week.
CHAPTER 11
AUTUMN
Ithought I’d thrown out the old emotions that had bogged me down for so many years, but boy, did they come barreling back with the mere mention of a date.
Shoving my hand in my pocket, I rub the pad of my thumb over the token and take a few sobering breaths to pull myself together and remember who I am. I’m a Season. We don’t run away from our problems. We face them head-on.
Sometimes I think I can still hear my dad’s voice, the little pep-talk phrases he’d toss out when he knew we needed to hear them. A talented former football player given four girls to coach through life . . . or at least that’s how it should have been. He and my mom should still be here. They were good and caring, their hearts wide open to help anyone in need, and us.
I stare out the window, spotting leaves determined to change early, intermingling with evergreens, reminding me that seasons of life change just as the trees do. How long has it been? Twelve years since I heard their voices, since I last saw them, and was wrapped up in a warm hug that enveloped me in my mother’s scent. I was fourteen and “too big for hugs,” pulling away too soon. If only I could go back for one more of her hugs. I miss my parents so much that the hole in my heart only grows bigger instead of healing.
Healing . . . Brandon. I’m here for him. Either I can do this job or I can’t, but this in-between isn’t going to cut it.
Releasing a breath, I drop the offense that tensed my shoulders and go to check on him. I don’t know why I suddenly feel nervous, but I bite my lip and enter the living room. “Brandon?”
The couch is empty and the kitchen vacant. I look at the front door and find it still bolted. The wind whistles, pulling my attention to the glass door that’s cracked open. I walk with care, not wanting to bother him if he needs a break from me, which would be understandable from my earlier reaction. Embarrassment bites into my stomach. So unprofessional.
Reminding myself he’s only a patient is turning out harder than expected. We have history, and it’s frustrating that he can’t remember it. If he did, we could talk through things, lay everything out, and deal with it. Instead, I’m bottling up old feelings like it’s my job. It’s not. Taking care of him is.
I find him on the large deck out back, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his spine nice and straight, putting him at his full height. Broad shoulders span wider than I remember from high school, but it’s the way his muscles flex from the minutest of movements that keeps my eyes glued to them. I was always a sucker for a great body, and his isn’t just great. It’s incredible, easily rivaling the landscape beyond him as the more spectacular view.
I crack the door open. The screech of the hinges draws his eyes over his shoulder to me. He turns away again before I have a chance to step outside. When I do, I take another breath to brace myself for the affront I deserve and come to stand next to him. Keeping my eyes ahead, I try to give him the room he needs without fully invading it with my feelings.
Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on the wide wood railing and looks over at me. “This isn’t going to work.” I open my mouth to protest but shut it to allow him to say what he needs. It doesn’t stop the bitter swallow that makes this feel like a breakup. “I’m an easygoing guy, and usually I get along with everyone. But you . . .” He looks out toward the ocean with the gradient layer of clouds hovering over it. I love seeing it from this new perspective. I just wish it was under better circumstances. His gaze shoots my way. “I can’t get a read on you. Sometimes you smile like this isn’t the worst job you’ve ever been on, and other times, it’s like you’ve been sentenced to the guillotine. But sandwiched among those extremes, you seem to fluctuate between aggravation, anger, and a comfort that only comes from knowing someone. We don’t know each other, so you see why it’s a mindfuck for me to figure out what’s going on.”
I take in the words, but it’s his eyes that tell me what I needed to hear. A sincerity I didn’t expect shines bright. “I can see why that’s confusing. That’s a lot of emotions.” I don’t turn away despite the urge to do so. My gut tells me to fight through my needs and keep eye contact with him. “I’m sorry. I’ve not made this easy. There’s stuff in my life that I carried onto this job and have taken out on you.” Was it a long time coming? Maybe, but that wasn’t the time to lose my cool. “You didn’t deserve me taking it out on you earlier.”