I can’t forget the fact that he wants a family, and I could never give that to him. My eyes water and that heaviness in my chest is back again just thinking about it. I smack the tears away, now pissed off about what was taken from me. Something I never even had a say about. The helplessness of it makes me resentful. Keeping relationships casual prohibits me from ever having to think about it. Or worse, telling someone, and seeing the look of disappointment on their face. The look of having to choose to stay or leave because I can’t create a family.
I can’t also forget the way his lifestyle and role at his company is way too public. It puts me in unnecessary danger of being photographed and recognized, which Bea has drilled into my head for years. She would never allow it.
Jumping down from the counter, I look around the room for my boots. I have to get out of here. I need to get my head on straight before I talk to him again. And that’s not going to be today, so I’ll do what I do best. I type out a text, keeping it brief, and cut out fast.
Can’t stay for brunch. Gotta get my day moving, big guy.
The bubbles bounce a few times, but I don’t want to wait to see what he’s going to say. Instead, I pull on my parka. It looks gorgeous outside, but when I opened the door earlier, it was fucking freezing.
My phone vibrates.
Henry
Don’t you dare leave, Pixie. I’m not finished with you yet.
How do I respond to that?
With an ache in my chest, I splash water on my face and find some soap to wash away any remnants of makeup I had on from last night. Then I swipe an extra toothbrush from under his sink and brush away the taste of espresso and my reckless decisions.
I call a Lyft, hoping it’ll be Gracie and not loudmouth Lenny to pick me up, and then text him back.
Bye, baby.
46
Henry
This morningI thought I’d wake up and just find more ways to pleasure the woman who has permeated every single one of my thoughts, but that wasn’t what happened. Yesterday, I had a face full of blonde hair and a warm body draped on top of me. Snoring. Her mouth open, and a bit of drool on my chest. Even sleeping, my Pixie can make me laugh.My Pixie.But this morning, she wasn’t there. When she left yesterday before I returned home, I realized she was starting to freak out about the words we said to each other. Her stubborn ass is going to fight this. In all of the years I’ve known her, the one thing I know best is that she’s a fighter. She’s going to fight me on this, on us. Which just means that I need to figure out how to make it so she can’t. The fact that she wants all of it and with me, we would need a plan. Some things in my life, outside of her, need to change.
You had better be at my house tonight, Pixie.
G
I can’t tonight.
Whatever you’re doing, you come to my house when it’s over.
It’ll be too late. I have plans with Ev. I’m just going to stay at my place.
You got away with that bullshit yesterday. I’m sleeping next to you tonight. I don’t care if it’s in your bed or mine.
What bullshit?
Whatever excuse you created in your beautiful brain as to why you weren’t shaking underneath me last night. Or screaming my name in the shower this morning.
She doesn’t respond to the last text. She’s working up to pushing me away again.
My Jeep struggles to make it up the rest of my dad’s driveway. Late last night, a few more inches of snow fell, making it so that a clean coat is draped over whatever had melted. The sun today will melt just enough to create a good layer of ice. Not the most ideal board, ski, or bike conditions, but also nothing new in Strutt’s Peak.
As I hop out and nearly bite it on my way to the front door, I recognize Callen Muldowney's cruiser parked off to the side, in front of the garage. He’s been having coffee with my dad more frequently lately. I’m not stupid; there’s only so much the town Sherrif would need to discuss with someone from my company, and anything important enough would happen at the office and not at my dad’s ranch. But the reality is, I have no idea what kind of relationship they have. It could be the fact that Callen’s dad and mine raised their families next door to one another. Both without partners. For years, we’d be at David and Callen’s ranch as often as we’d be at our own.
I give a shout as I walk through the front door. “Dad, you here?”
“Kitchen,” he yells back.
I make my way through the great room and around the corner to the kitchen. A space I’m very familiar with since I tend to spend more time cooking in it than my dad ever does. Callen sits at the counter, holding a cup of coffee in full uniform, and greets me with a big smile.
“Callen.” I give him a handshake and back slap.