He’d kissed her, for God’s sake.
He poured himself another coffee and wandered through the kitchen, aimless. He’d wanted to be a hermit, to go somewhere isolated and alone to work things out in his head. And it had been fine for a few months. He’d popped into Jeremy’s on occasion, and Tori made sure he wasn’t too solitary. He hadn’t come to any conclusions, but at least he’d been able to stop pretending that he was okay. He didn’t have to go through the motions for anyone. And if he wanted to fall apart, he was free to do so without being watched by friends, colleagues and even the press.
Now he was getting a bit of cabin fever. Maybe it was the June weather. The days were warmer and things were really starting to grow. Tulips and daffodils had come and gone in his perennial beds, and the hostas were showing their broad, striped leaves. Now other perennials he couldn’t name were sprouting in his flower beds, along with weeds. There was some kind of leafy plant growing in a clump behind the house that he had no idea what to do with.
He could garden, he supposed. Just because he never had didn’t mean he couldn’t.
But not today. Today was bleak and rainy, a gloomy cover of cloud hanging over the coast while rain soaked into his green lawn. He looked at the lighthouse and wished the light was there, flashing into the distance. Instead, it just looked cold and neglected.
There was the section of platform where Jessica’s foot had gone through, scaring him to death.
The railing that wasn’t safe, either. How easily she could have lost her balance and gone through it. His heart seized just thinking about the possibility.
The hand holding his coffee paused halfway to his lips as a scene flashed into his head.
A scene. With characters, and danger and a question only his writer’s brain could answer. Did she fall or was she pushed?
Excitement zipped through his veins. He took his coffee and headed straight for the den and his laptop. This time when he booted up, he didn’t bother opening email or his browser. He went right to his word processing program and started typing.
When he looked up later, two hours had passed, his coffee was cold, his brain was mush and he was equal parts relieved and scared.
He could still write.
He could maybe move on.
And he was still carrying guilt with him. Only this time he didn’t want to feel guilty for doing something that used to be as natural to him as breathing.
After saving the document, he heated his coffee in the microwave, looked at the time and
grabbed a muffin from a plastic container on the kitchen counter. He’d missed lunch but he didn’t care. He’d written. Maybe not a lot, but it was a start. And he was standing in his kitchen with two-hour-old coffee, a just-okay blueberry muffin and no one to share his excitement with.
He could call Jeremy, but Jeremy worried too much and would tell Tori, who would ask too many questions in her quest to be helpful. Besides, he wasn’t sure either of them would truly get it. He thought about Cole, who totally understood loss and moving on, but who was a workaholic who scheduled his recreation time like part of his to-do list. Bran wasn’t close with his own family, and the last people he wanted to talk to about making this kind of a step were his in-laws. They loved him. He loved them. But their relationship was so painful now, tinged with grief and regret. They hadn’t spoken since he’d moved into the house.
He picked up his phone and sent a text instead. It said simply:
I wrote today!
There was no immediate answer, so he finished his muffin, pondering more about the kernels of the story he’d begun. Right now he had only a scene. He wasn’t even sure who the villain was, or the story question. There was no outline, no solid plot. But there was something. There was a victim and a suspicious death, and that was definitely something to a mystery writer.
His phone vibrated on the countertop, making a loud noise in the silence. He picked it up and saw it was Jess, replying to his text.
That’s wonderful! Happy for you!
And she truly was. He knew because she understood.
His thumbs paused as he tried to come up with a suitable response.
It is because of you. I have a dead body at the bottom of the lighthouse. Not sure if she was pushed or if she fell. All because you scared the heck out of me last week.
The phone vibrated in his hand.
I’m trying not to be alarmed by any of that. Seriously, congrats on catching a glimpse of your muse. Give her time to come back to you slowly. Accept what she offers you. Soon you will be good friends again.
His heart warmed. She had such a way of putting things, of seeing the good side, of offering hope. And that was something he hadn’t expected to have for a very long time.
Still, she was right about one thing the other day. Writing a scene was one thing. Moving forward on a personal level was something he was not ready for. Her question had rocked him to the soles of his feet. No, he hadn’t been thinking of Jennie when he’d kissed Jess. And that had hurt him deeply. He didn’t ever want to forget the woman he’d loved. The mother of his child.
He didn’t want to fall in love again, either. If he’d learned anything, it was that life was precious and nothing was guaranteed. He’d loved Jennie, loved their son with all his heart. He’d promised to do better for them than his father had done for him. And then he’d done the exact same thing: he’d put work ahead of his family. And the consequences were devastating. He never wanted to go through that again.