Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I couldn’t dance, of course. And when I saw my regular physician, he didn’t mince words. I likely wouldn’t be able to dance professionally anymore. But I waited in New York for three months. I went to physical therapy and got a second, then third opinion. I did everything I could to salvage my career, but they told me it was unlikely.
“Then I got an email from The Arsehole, letting me know that he’d have to leave the country for a little while but not to worry because he’d be home soon, and we’d resume our romance.”
That email has been burned into my retinas. I can’t unsee it.
“He’s a delusional fuckface,” Beckett says, scowling.
“Absolutely, yes. But more than that, his calm exterior terrified me. He was unpredictable, and I’d become scared of living on my own. I ended up staying with Connor after that night. I was afraid of everything, and I hated it so much. So I decided to move.” His eyebrows climb in surprise.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. He took away everything I had sacrificed my life for. Dancing was the very essence of me, Beckett. Every element of my life was wrapped up in that world and those routines. I loved it. And he took it away. I couldn’t … I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t live so close to what I used to have and what I’d never have again. He’d won. But I refused to give him that victory. How could I stay if he could still find me?”
“Oh, Irish. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” And the pain in his voice is evident. This man is one of the good ones.
“Don’t be. This town has been a balm for me. I’m healing. Growing confident again.”
“What made you decide to move here?”
“I’d been here a few years prior with some friends for a winter getaway. We couldn’t ski because it was in our contracts that we couldn’t do anything that might break bones, but we came out to enjoy the snow, and I loved it here. It stayed with me. And when I realized I had to leave New York, Bitterroot Valley immediately came to mind.
“Connor wanted me to go back to Ireland, and Mik is still in denial and thinks I’ll be back in New York any day now to resume my place as prima ballerina, but they’re both wrong. This is where I want to be.”
“And Riley?”
“Oh yes, I almost forgot. Well, after the middle-of-the-night incident, Connor wanted to get me one of those attack dogs that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, that aren’t to be pets, but only fierce guard dogs, like for presidents and such.”
“I might have had the same reaction,” he admits with a grin.
“I didn’t want that. If I have an animal living in my home, I want them to also be my friend, and I want to be able to trust them with children and other animals. So we compromised. Riley is a Bouvier. He’s been highly trained as an alert dog, so if someone approaches me from behind like you did after the pub that night, he’ll alert me. He’s always on the lookout. I don’t typically let people pet him because he has to be aware that most people aren’t to be trusted. I work on his training every day. But in return, he’s sweet and good company for me, and we trust each other. I got him just before I moved out of New York.”
“I’m glad you have him, Irish. That was a good decision. Since you’ve been here, has The Asshole reached out to you?” he asks.
“No. But I changed my email address, my phone number, everything. I didn’t leave a forwarding address with the ballet company or with my building. Mik or Connor would see to having anything sent to me, and it’s been long enough that nothing really comes to me through New York anymore. I’m not hiding here. I haven’t changed my name or anything, but I didn’t make it easy for someone to find me, either. Who would think to look for me in Montana? No one.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He brushes my hair behind my ear, and his fingertips drift down my jawline to my neck. “And now I know why you didn’t want to give me your number. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable when I didn’t take no for an answer, and if you want me to go, I will.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. Trust me, if I’d been angry or put off, I would have told you to go feck yourself without thinking twice about it. I’m not shy in that regard, not anymore.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words might have just made my ovaries explode.
I glance over at where Riley’s lying on his bed. He’s sleeping soundly, which is unusual for him when anyone other than the two of us is in the house. Dogs see more than humans, so if Riley trusts this man, that’s almost all the reassurance I need.