Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
At every moment of our rescue, I had focused on the patient and doing the job to the utmost of my ability. How dare he call my professionalism into question.
“Name one thing I did wrong.” My voice sounded low and accusatory.
He hesitated but persevered. “You were staring at my ass while I was rigging anchors.”
Heat flooded my face because he wasn’t wrong. “I was observing your technique as I approached the scene!”
“Bullshit.” He stared at the road with nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching. “Look, I get it. You’re having your little experiment, but some of us are here to work.”
“Experiment?” The word came out strangled. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Married guys looking for some action on the side,” he said without looking at me. “I’m not interested in being someone’s dirty little secret.”
I stared at him, my brain struggling to process what he’d just said. It snagged on one word. “Married?”
“Don’t play dumb, Tommy. I was there, remember?” He pulled the truck into the lot by our cabin and shifted into Park before throwing the door open and striding toward our cabin.
I stumbled after him, legs shaky from the adrenaline crash and low blood sugar. “What?”
“Married, asshole!” The words exploded out of him as he yanked the cabin door open. “As in, you making vows to the woman who was wearing the Bride sash while standing next to you in that lobby. Ring a bell?”
My world tilted sideways. All this time, all the cold shoulders and professional distance—he thought I was married. He thought I’d kissed him while engaged to someone else… and then married her anyway.
“Foster,” I said slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t get married.”
He went very still, shoulders rigid. “What?”
“I called off the wedding. That morning, after—” I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Kari gave me an ultimatum—marry her that day, or we were done. I chose done. I thought you knew.”
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant sounds of birds in the trees through the cabin’s open windows. Foster’s face went through a series of expressions—confusion, disbelief, and something that might have been hope before he seemed to catch himself.
His hands slowly unclenched. “You called it off.”
“Yes.”
Foster’s breath came out in a rush. “Jesus, Tommy.” He raked both hands through his hair, pacing to the window and back. “All this time, I thought—”
“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t let me explain—”
“You tried to tell me?” His voice cracked. “When?”
I stepped closer. “The other night, in here. You kept cutting me off, saying we should keep it professional.” Frustration bled through my words. “I wanted to explain everything, but you made it clear you didn’t want to hear it.”
Foster tossed the keys on the nightstand and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck. I thought—Jesus, I thought you were married. I thought you were just looking for some guy to screw around with while your wife was back home.”
“I would never do that,” I said, surprised by how much his assumption hurt. “I’m not that kind of person.”
His eyes met mine, something raw and vulnerable flickering there. “You’re the kind of person who kisses someone else, on the eve of his fucking wedding.”
Foster’s accusation punched the breath out of me. I moved to the edge of my bed and fell onto it, accidentally dropping my water bottle and watching it roll under Foster’s bed.
The feeling of the blankets under me reminded me how tired I was. I wanted to crawl under the covers and sleep for twenty-four hours. But that wasn’t an option. I was still on the clock.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, forcing myself back up and over to the drawers to grab clean clothes. If I sat on the bed any longer, I’d pass out. And if I stayed here trying to defend myself to him anymore, I’d lose all self-respect.
When I reached for the bathroom doorknob, I felt Foster’s big body step up behind me. “Tommy, wait.”
I didn’t turn around. “Wait for what, Foster? You obviously don’t know me, and I get it. I’d probably think the same thing about me if I were you. But I’m not a cheater. Well, maybe it would be more accurate to say I’d never cheated on anyone until that night, and I thought I did a pretty damned good job of keeping myself from doing what I actually wanted to do with you.”
“I thought you were married,” he repeated, his voice softer now.
I turned to face him, noticing something desperate in his expression, like he was trying to rewrite six months of assumptions in real time.
The weight of our misunderstanding settled between us. All the walls Foster had built, all the professional distance—it had been based on a lie. On assumptions neither of us had bothered to correct.