Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I open my eyes. “It could work,” I say out loud.
Zach cocks his head at me.
“It could,” I say, “if I don’t fuck it up.”
I walk back out through the studs, past the place where the fireplace will go. The stones are stacked outside, waiting to be set. Just like me.
I head back to my truck, heart pounding now with something that feels like hope. I’ve got a full tank of gas and nothing left to lose.
“Feel like a road trip?” I say to Zach.
Time to drive to Boulder. Tabitha will get there several hours ahead of me, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.
And this time, I’m not letting her walk away.
Just as I’m about to leave, something shifts.
A soft crack behind me—sharp, almost like a tree branch snapping. I turn my head instinctively and scan the half-finished porch.
And then—
Crack!
Blinding pain explodes across my skull.
The world tilts.
Spins.
A sharp yap. I think it comes from Zach.
A support beam—one of the unfinished braces—lies on the ground beside me, splintered at the edge. I don’t remember falling. Just the jolt. The white-hot sting.
My knees gave out.
I hit the dirt hard, my cheek pressed into the gravel, blood pooling warm beneath me.
The last thing I think about before everything fades is her name.
Tabitha.
One
Tabitha
Funny.
The drive from Boulder to the Western Slope was beautiful.
Wild.
Going the other direction?
The sky, once wide open, narrows. The air gets heavier, almost like it knows I’m carrying something I didn’t have on the way there. The little towns I thought were so quaint a few days ago now look worn down. The silos and grain elevators aren’t rustic anymore. Instead they seem dull and gray. The neon sign for the diner with the D burned out doesn’t make me smile this time. Instead, it only reminds me of everything falling apart.
I should be excited—I am excited—about the surgical seminar. I’m honored to have been chosen, even though someone had to drop out for me to get a spot. After the month-long workshop, the fall semester will begin, and I’ll get back into the rhythm of classes.
That’s what I’m meant to do.
This is the life I chose, the life I’ve fought for, and I can’t afford to get distracted.
But he’s still there, in the back of my mind.
Henry Simpson.
His voice. The way he looked at me—if only once or twice—like maybe I was the one thing in his world that made sense. And then the way he pulled back, like it was all too much.
I keep telling myself it’s better this way. I have enough on my plate. I have an entire career to build, a future that doesn’t leave room for heartbreak. But the knot in my stomach doesn’t care about logic. It tightens every time I replay how I fell asleep curled into him.
Then I woke up alone this morning.
He’s probably already convinced himself I was nothing more than a summer mistake.
I grip the wheel tighter, force myself to focus on the road ahead. The seminar starts tomorrow. New faces, new challenges, the reminder that I belong in medicine, not with a man who can’t let himself be loved.
Still, my chest aches. Because for a split second, I thought Henry Simpson might be worth the risk.
It’s early afternoon when I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex in Boulder.
I kill the engine and sit in silence for a moment. Everything seems different somehow. I exit the car, grab my bag from the trunk, and step out into the warm Colorado sun.
My apartment is on the third floor. I trudge up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. In my apartment, the quiet is even more pronounced. It’s like stepping into a void.
I should feel at home here, surrounded by my medical textbooks, my ridiculously organized notes. This is where I’ve planned my future, where I’ve dreamed of the great surgeon I will become.
But the quiet wants to smother me. I feel empty.
Only days ago, this space felt like a haven, my sanctuary amid the commotion of medical school.
Now?
It feels foreign.
Except it’s not.
It’s the same as it’s always been.
I’m the one who’s changed.
My desires, my expectations, my needs have all been upended.
I drop my bag on the floor with a thud. It reverberates through the apartment, mirroring my own state of mind. Echoing and unsettled.
“Cut it out,” I tell myself out loud.
I take the bag into my bedroom and unpack, piece by piece. Each item reminds me of what I left behind on the Western Slope, especially when I get to the gifts for Angie. Something borrowed and something blue. I never got the chance to give them to her.
The periwinkle-blue lace panties.
Identical to the ones Henry ripped off me…
After the bag is empty, I wander into the kitchen. I open the refrigerator…
Nothing. No leftovers, no half-eaten containers of takeout. Only a jar of pickles and a carton of milk past its expiration date. I close the door with a sigh.