“He’d make time.”
He probably would. Teller was another tenacious Bailey, but even he’d given up on me. “We don’t have much in common anymore. It’s not like I can haul a canoe anywhere.”
“Why can’t you canoe?”
Because I’d gotten tired of how many accommodations I needed to do what used to come so easy. “Same reason as hunting. Uneven ground and a bulky canoe make my knee upset.” My whole left side.
Sadness filled her eyes, and instead of my ire rising toward her, I was upset with myself. I had the strongest urge to earn so much more than sadness from her. I could canoe if I wanted. I might need to book another massage afterward, or take a few more over-the-counter pain meds, but I could do it. If it was a short trip from car to shore. And if the shore wasn’t terribly rocky.
I missed the fun. I missed laughing with my friends. I missed trekking anywhere I wanted. As always, thoughts of Eli crowded around my wants and guilt took over. My mood wasn’t the only one that changed.
Summer’s demeanor had shifted to melancholy. Did something about our conversation remind her of her wedding? She shook her head. “I need to take a bath.”
“Leave the dishes. You cooked. I’ll clean up.” It was the least I could do for letting my resentment show when she’d stuck with me for support.
She kept her head down and nodded. Then shescurried from the room, the hem of her beachy dress fluttering.
I tipped my head back. I was the asshole brother. I shouldn’t have brought up that day I’d seen her and Boyd. Eli hadn’t been a saint but he’d never made her feel bad about herself or her circumstances.
I put away the leftovers and loaded the dishwasher. I was about to go sit on the couch but changed course to my bedroom. She might want to watch TV, and she didn’t need to be afraid of another outburst from me.
When I passed the bathroom, the water was running but I caught an unmistakable sound. Quiet weeping.
My chest was flayed open. She was crying. I’d made the broken bridecry.
Goddammit, the sooner the roads were cleared, the better she’d be getting off my land and back to her family. I’d never lay a hand on her, but making her cry didn’t make me much better than her crappy ex.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jonah
I came in from the shop to make a sandwich out of the roast Summer had cooked two nights ago. My stomach had been rumbling for the stuff all morning. I didn’t usually bother with breakfast. I preferred to get lost in my work, but staying in the shop all day made me antsy when Summer was in my house.
The snow was cleaned off the concrete pads in front of the garage and the shop. My driveway was clear. The wind had diminished to a light breeze. All we were waiting on was the roads to get cleared. I took my gear off and found Summer on the couch. Again. Just like yesterday.
She’d gone fromDie HardtoFinal DestinationtoTwister. An eclectic mix. Now she was onLegally Blonde, curled up in the same corner of my couch, wrapped in a throw quilt Mom had made me when I’d first moved in.
Her blond hair was sticking out, toopale from what I was used to. Her hair was like her shampoo. A hint of strawberry. Not that I’d paid attention, but the rare times I’d caught a glimpse of her roaming through town, she’d looked different. She’d been more polished with each sighting. Her hair was lighter, her nails always done instead of plain, and her clothing looked more and more city and less like the jeans and T-shirts she used to run around in.
A younger Summer had always appeared ready to run the distillery or jump on the back of a horse. Present-day Summer was a step away from the investment banking world of her douche ex.
A younger Summer had come to my hospital room, dressed like an angel in a loose white top, skin-hugging blue jeans, and well-worn cowboy boots. She’d sat on the edge of my bed and put her hand over mine. At the time, I’d been going through brutal physical therapy on that arm. She’d sat on my left side, and she hadn’t been afraid to touch me or look me in the eye. She’d been properly sympathetic and absolutely gorgeous. The grief and anguish in her eyes had matched my own. Her skin had slid against mine, a slice of heaven in my fog of pain. I had only wanted her to keep touching me. My fingertips had tingled with the urge to stroke her. The guilt and shame had staggered me. So I’d turned into an absolute prick and run her off.
The movie finished and she scrolled through a list for more.
“Find anything good?” I asked to fill the silence between us. After our dinner together the other night and her cry in the bathroom, she’d been subdued.
I did not like a subdued Summer.
She lifted a shoulder. “Do you want to watch something?”
I wanted to see her smile. I wanted to hear her laugh. It’d been so damn long since I’d heard her laugh.
I wasn’t exactly a comedy connoisseur. I played all kinds of music in my shop and sometimes I listened to podcasts and the news. “Know any funny shows?”
Her blank stare stayed on the TV. “No.”
If I was the one who’d put out her fire, I’d never forgive myself. “Douchebag didn’t believe in comedy, so you gave it up too?”
