Logically, I knew that she was a grown woman who didn’t need protection. Academically, I knew that she didn’t need me moving next door to her to keep her safe. But my brain wasn’t the one calling the shots right now.
My career had been built on my gut instinct. When I was on the back of a bull there was no time to think. I had to trust myself. It was something that I had always done and always regretted when I didn’t.
For example, the ride that cost me my career would never have happened if I’d trusted my gut. I’d pulled a muscle in my shoulder earlier in the week and even though I’d been cleared to return to “normal activity,” I’d known that it was too soon to get on the back of a two-thousand-pound beast. Especially Punisher. His wrecks were legendary. But I’d allowed the promise of another win and the threat of a chink in my reputation of never missing an event to cloud my judgment.
Up until the last second, before the gate opened, my gut had been telling me to stop. I had ignored it and given the nod to open the chute. Two painful surgeries, countless hours of PT, and a career down the drain later, I was paying the price for it.
The problem with this situation was that my gut was telling me this was the right thing to do. It was my head that was trying to talk me out of it. What good could come from this living situation, besides the obvious: that I didn’t want to be a grown man who was moving back in with his parents?
My phone rang and when I looked down, I saw that it was Kurt and I thought about not answering. I knew that I should. But there was something stopping me.
Before the incident, I’d always faced things head-on. Well, except for one glaring exception. I’d never dealt with my feelings for Olivia. But other than that, I’d never put things off or tried to avoid things. Even if they were uncomfortable. Even if there was conflict. I handled my shit.
But ever since I woke up in that hospital bed, something had shifted in me. At first, I figured it was just because all of my focus and energy had been devoted to walking again. I’d ignored all other aspects of my life. Now that I’d achieved that, I really didn’t have any excuse for dodging phone calls.
“Fuck it.”
“Yeah,” I answered. It wasn’t my friendliest greeting but since I’d wanted to answer by asking, “What the fuck do you want?” I figured it was a happy compromise.
“You’re in Wishing Well.”
Kurt didn’t sound like he was asking a question, so I remained silent. I had no idea how he knew where I was, but it wasn’t like I was trying to keep it a secret.
“How long are you planning on staying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you planning on telling me where you were?”
“It looks like I didn’t have to.” It irritated me that he knew now. I’d always been a private person.
“I only know because your mom posted pictures of you on Instagram at some event.”
Great.
“When are you coming back?”
I looked at the duplex and thought about Olivia coming home alone. “I don’t know.”
“What about your physical therapy?”
“I’m fine.”
“I spoke to Dr. Leach. He said that you are at about sixty percent of your potential recovery. But, if you stop treatment, your progress won’t just stall, you actually have a very good chance of regressing. Which you know can happen anyway, even if you do everything you’re supposed to. You are walking now, but if you don’t keep up with your sessions, it increases the chances of your condition deteriorating. If that happens, the results could end up being irreversible.”
My jaw clenched and I closed my eyes as my head fell back against the headrest. I didn’t want to go to anymore PT sessions. Dr. Leach had told me the same statistic, but I’d figured that sixty percent was fine. If there was no way that I’d ever be able to ride again, what was the point of continuing them? That had been my thinking. But I must have blocked out the part about losing the mobility that I’d gained.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
Kurt continued, “If you’re going to be there indefinitely, I’ll find someone in the area and set it up. Also, I got a call from the pharmacy that you didn’t pick up your last refill.”
“I told you, I hate that shit.” I’d been on the meds when it was absolutely necessary but now, I could handle it. And I’d seen what getting addicted to pain killers could do in my sport. They were addictive. I’d seen opioids ruin some of my friends’ and colleagues’ lives. There’d even been bull riders that had ended up taking heroin and overdosing. I wasn’t going out like that. Not that I had much of a life left, but I’d be damned if anything was going to have control over me.
It was probably why my feelings for Olivia had scared the shit out of me.
I thought I heard Kurt mumble something about me a being a stubborn SOB before he sighed, “Whatever, but Reed, one more thing.”
“What?” I snapped, more than ready for this conversation to be over.
“When I call, answer your fucking phone.”
With that not-so-friendly instruction, he hung up. Part of me felt like an asshole for ignoring him, but another part of me didn’t feel anything at all. It was strange that I could feel so numb, and so angry, and in so much pain, and hopeless, and apathetic all at the same time.
Dr. Leach had suggested I go talk to someone. He’d said that with all the changes that my body was going through it was normal for my brain to need help as well. It was true, I didn’t feel like myself, but why in the hell would I? I wasn’t myself.
Although, now that rodeoing had been taken away from me, I wasn’t even sure who I was. So how could I know if I felt like myself?
Headlights shone behind me, bouncing off my rearview mirror. For a split second, I thought that it might be Olivia coming home from her date.
What would she think about me being parked here?
Would she think I was stalking her?
Would I care if she did? At least I’d know if she walked in alone or invited the stranger in.
And what if she did? What was I supposed to do with that information? Nothing. I couldn’t do jack shit with that information.
When the truck that I recognized as Bentley’s drove around me and into the driveway, I knew that the time to mull over my decision had expired. This was a bad idea. Nothing good could come from me living next door to Olivia. It would be pure torture. I’d had enough of that the last few months.
I opened the door and shifted so my feet were on my running board. As soon as I put weight on my legs, my back screamed with pain. Three days of driving hadn’t done me any favors. If I was going to be in town for a while, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to continue my treatments here. I held my breath as I lowered one foot and then the other down onto the pavement. I used the door for balance and support and noticed that I was holding on so tight my knuckles were white.
I was white-knuckling it just getting out of my vehicle. This was my life now. And I needed to figure out how the hell I was going to navigate it without the distraction of living next door to Olivia.
As I slowly walked up the driveway, my chest still constricted from the searing pain, my plan was to thank Bentley for offering to let me stay but explain that I didn’t think it was a good fit. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out.
“I think you’re going to like the place!” Bentley either didn’t notice my hesitation or he was ignoring it as he walked up the front path and opened the door.
I didn’t say a word as I followed behind my friend as he gave me a tour of his condo. The entire place was furnished, which was a bonus for me since all of my belongings fit in three storage bins. There were stairs, which wasn’t ideal, but if I went up and down slowly, I could manage. He explained that Olivia’s condo was the exact layout just flipped. And that the shared walls were in the kitchen and master bedroom. Which meant, not only would I be living next door to her, I’d be able to hear if she had overnight guests because we sha
red a bedroom wall.
“So that’s about it.” He said as we walked back downstairs. “There’re towels in the closet and I think the place is still stocked with basics like toilet paper and shit. And anything you need; Liv is right next door.”
Bentley was so trusting. If he had any idea the feelings, thoughts, and wet dreams I’d had about his baby sister, I’d be the last person he’d want living next door to her.
When he handed me the keys, I said a simple, “Thanks.”
“Seriously, man, thank you. You’re doing me a favor. Knowing that you’re here gives me a peace of mind that I haven’t had in months, since I moved in with Maisy.” He put his hand on the door but turned back. “Oh, before I forget, I wanted to ask you if you’d be my best man?”
“Me?” I’d been close to Bentley, but so was Travis Briggs, not to mention there was Brady, Bentley’s older brother. “What about Brady?”
“Brady’s a dick,” Bentley stated firmly.
He wasn’t lyin’. “What about Travis?”
Travis had always been our friend, but when I got to high school, I’d hung out more with Jackson, Travis’s brother, since I’d finished my diploma in two years instead of four and had been in the same classes with him. Also, we’d bonded over a shared desire not to end up in Wishing Well. And he’d come to all my events to shoot. At the time, he’d wanted to be a photographer for National Geographic.
“I flipped a coin between you and Travis, he called heads, it landed on tails.”
The coin flip, I had to smile. When we were kids, that’s the way we made any big decision. Like whether we should allow girls (aka, Olivia) in the tree fort, if we should play video games or ride bikes, what toppings we’d get on our pizzas. You know, the major life decisions.
A crease appeared on Bentley’s forehead. “But if it’s too much, don’t worry about it. I know that you’ve been through a lot lately and if it’s too much, I totally understand.”
“No, man. Of course. I’d be honored.”
“Great. Maisy will be happy. She talked to Liv tonight, so now our wedding party is locked down.”
“Olivia?”
“Yeah, she’s going to be the maid of honor.”
Great. So now I was living next door to Olivia, and in just a few months I’d be standing at the alter with her. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 6
Olivia
“You don’t have to be ready to do something; you just have to be brave.”
~ Maggie Calhoun
Before I even opened my eyes, I could feel hot breath on my neck, and I knew I was not alone in my bed. As my heavy lids lifted, I felt the distinct sensation of a wet tongue licking me.
“Morning, Channing.” I lifted my shoulder to block his access to my bare neck.
Hearing his name was all the encouragement Channing Tatum, my one-year-old yellow Labrador retriever, needed. He hopped on top of me as I lay flat on my back in bed and coated my face in morning kisses.
I giggled and turned my head to the side, lifting my hand to intercept some of the slobbery affection.
“Stop,” I protested weakly. There were definitely worse ways in the world to wake up than kisses from Channing Tatum.
“Do you need to go potty?” I asked as I pushed up to a seated position.
Channing jumped onto the floor and ran to my bedroom door and back again. If I only had half the energy that my dog did in the morning, I’d be unstoppable. Unfortunately, I’d never been a morning person.
I’d read so many books that said a common trait successful people had was that they were up before sunrise and had a fixed morning routine. I was disciplined in most aspects of my life, but mornings were not my thing. It didn’t matter what I did, or what time I went to bed, I’d never been able to get up before the crack of dawn. I’d tried, so many times, to change my circadian rhythm, but it had never worked. I’d sleep through alarms no matter how many I set. But now, thankfully, I had a living, breathing alarm clock that didn’t have a snooze button.
I glanced at the clock and saw that it was a quarter till six in the morning. My eyes were blurry as I sat on the side of my bed and slid my feet into my slippers. I stood and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My bedhead was out of control and I had a crease in my left cheek.
I’d never been one of those women who rose from bed looking rested, refreshed, and could brag, “I woke up like this.” I always looked like I’d spent the night wrestling my sheets. Which would be fun if I had a partner. Unfortunately, I’d been solo for longer than I cared to think about. Last night’s date had ended in my driveway with me telling Tyler that I wasn’t interested in seeing him again.
It had nothing to do with the nose-picking. I’d just been bored. Well, not bored, exactly. My mind had been occupied. It had just been occupied with the wrong man. Poor Tyler hadn’t stood a chance of redeeming himself from his two-strike handicap.
All during dinner, I’d been obsessing over The Return of Holden Reed, which sounded like a title for a CW television series. I wondered if he was still in town. I wondered if I’d run into him. I wondered if he’d avoid me if I did.
As I puttered down the stairs to the back door behind a rambunctious Channing, regret settled low in my belly. I should’ve canceled my date last night. At the time, I’d felt so proud of myself for not giving into my Achilles’ heel, aka Holden Reed, and leaving without even trying to speak to him. But that pride was quickly replaced with sheer, unadulterated panic, even before Tyler had made it out of the parking lot of the community center. The first stop sign he’d pulled up to, I’d wanted to jump out of the car and run back to find Holden in a dramatic fashion as if my life actually was a teen dramedy, but I’d stopped myself.
And now, I might’ve missed my only chance to speak to him.
What if he was halfway back to California?
What if I didn’t see him for another ten years?
What if the next time I did see him, he was with his girlfriend—or worse, what if she was his wife?
“Stop it,” I ordered myself.
Channing slid to a stop in front of me and looked up at me with his big brown puppy dog eyes, unsure of what he’d done wrong.
“Not you, handsome boy. Me.” I leaned down and kissed the top of his head before opening the back door.
As soon as I did, he bounded out to the grass, no memory of just a few seconds before when he’d thought I was mad at him.
Dogs lived in the moment. That was what I needed to do. For so much of my life, I’d spent days fantasizing about the future. I was always planning ahead. I had one, two, five, and ten-year goals.
My mom, who was semi-retired, and I ran the dance studio that she’d started when Molly and I were toddlers. None of my siblings had any interest in owning or operating Simply Dance, so it was mine to inherit. I’d always known that the business would be handed down to me, and I wanted to live up to the legacy that my mom had started.
I also wanted to have kids of my own to pass it on to. I’d been obsessed with that particular desire for longer than I cared to admit. I’d always wanted babies and a family.
The earliest memory I had was playing house. I’d probably logged thousands of hours doing it. My “babies” changed depending on what dolls I had, but my “husband” always stayed the same. That imaginary role had been filled when I was five years old by Holden Reed.
Part of my goal in dating was to recast it with a man that actually wanted the part. Or at least find an understudy. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to do so.
Not yet anyway, I heard the inner voice/eternal optimist (that sounded a lot like my mother) say in my head.
I rubbed my unfocused eyes as I started the coffee maker. Before I could grab my mug, I heard my text alert on my phone. A yawn claimed me as I lifted my phone and read it. It was from Maisy. I would say that it was early for a text from my friend, but unlike me, she was an early riser.
Maisy: Lunch. Spoon. Noo
n.
She probably wanted to go over wedding plans now that I was officially her MOH. I was excited that she and Bentley had finally gotten together, and they were both so happy. I’d never admit this out loud, but I’d been closer to Bentley than I even was to Molly.
My brother and I had always had a very special relationship. He’d even bought the adjoining unit of my duplex after I’d moved in. He’d said that he’d done it because he’d liked the layout of my condo, but I always believed the real reason was because he knew I’d been nervous to live on my own.
He’d lived next door to me until he’d moved in with Maisy. Now the unit was empty, and I had a feeling he hadn’t sold it or got a renter because he was worried about what sort of neighbors I’d have. He kept talking about putting a fence between our backyards, but as of now, it was just one open space.
Channing pawed the back door, telling me that he was ready to come inside. After letting him back in and feeding him, I poured myself a bowl of dry cereal, which in my opinion was the only way to eat it, and a steaming cup of java. As I lowered down in my kitchen nook to snack on my Cheerios and sip my coffee, my phone alerted me with a ding. I’d matched someone on the latest dating website I’d signed up for, Love at First Click. As much as I wished that I could deactivate my profile, I knew that would not be wise. If I wanted to find someone, this was the price I had to pay.
Pushing down the dread that started to rise up in me like bile, I opened the app and saw that I had forty matches to go through. As I sipped my coffee, I swiped through my potential soulmates and did my best not to compare each and every one of them to Holden Reed.
The problem with that was the more I tried to not compare them, the more I thought about him. And that was a subject my brain didn’t need any encouragement obsessing over. Last night certainly hadn’t helped me in that department. I had brand-new source material to pull from. My mind filled with visions of his soulful eyes, chiseled jaw, sculpted arms, and muscular chest.
And those were just his physical attributes, which were nothing compared to his wit, intelligence, ambition, tenacity, intensity, and passion.
Educating Holden (Wishing Well, Texas Book 11) Page 4