He slid his glasses on, then moved to open the back door of the cab. Belladonna hopped in and settled on her bed. Lennon helped me up, then went around to his own seat and started the truck.
“I’ve thought a lot about what you said before,” I began before I lost my nerve, “about using the hallucination to protect yourself from getting hurt.” Too much.
“I have, too,” Lennon said. “I get that it hurt you—why you were angry.”
“And I understand why you felt that way. You didn’t know me, not really. It was all new.”
“That’s true, but I’ve reflected a lot, and it’s because I care so much that I allowed my fear to win. I mean, if it hadn’t mattered what you thought of me—if you’d rejected me for not being able to protect you—then I never would have created such an intense scenario.” He looked over at me at the stoplight, his expression stern. “I was wrong, really wrong to treat you that way. I should have been honest much sooner. I’d apologize again, but I don’t think you’d like that.”
“I wouldn’t.” I pulled in a breath and let it out as Lennon accelerated. “I think intimacy—emotional intimacy—means letting you into my unattractive thoughts as well. Sometimes they’re petty or ruthless or…just not nice.”
“But they’re real, and we all feel them.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And because they’re real, they need to be acknowledged.”
“That’s what I’ve done, Vivi. I had scary thoughts—bad ones that hurt you. I’m not proud of that. I hope you can forgive me.”
“I do forgive you. Now, I need to say this: It’s not your mom, who I adore. It’s not your fame, athleticism, money, or even your hot-as-hell body. I’m here, right now, for who you are, Lennon.”
He snatched my hand from my lap and kissed each of my knuckles. “I won’t let you down, Vivi.”
We drove in silence for a while, and gradually the traffic lessened. “I’ve never been up here. Where are we?”
“Outside the city limits,” he said. “Near Tomball.”
“Still going to the brewery.”
“Yep.”
“Um…Lennon?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t really like beer.”
“I know. The brewery has hard cider, if you want to try that, as well as some wines from the hill country. And of course they have water, sweet tea—there are a lot of options.”
“Thank you,” I said.
He smiled. “Sure. I hope you like this place. A former teammate started it a couple of years ago with his older brother. He was a K-Nine handler in the army before he was medically discharged.”
“Oh, wow. That sounds like a lot to unpack,” I murmured.
“Yeah. Arlo was a great winger, but he kept getting hurt. I met his brother, Tobias, at a cookout we had a few years back. The guys were discussing what business they should go into after Arlo retired, and Stolly suggested making a low-alcohol beer that actually tasted good. Stol was being a dick, but the idea was a good one. Then Tobias asked me if I could help him track down his former K-Nine.”
“You do that for a lot of people.”
“I enjoy the work, and I have help. In fact Camden Grace recently got in touch with me.”
My jaw dropped. “The country music star? That Camden Grace?”
He nodded. “He wants to set up a foundation that focuses on reconnecting retired service animals with their handlers, as well as creating a service-dog program specifically for veterans.”
“That’s amazing.” I touched my chest. “What a beautiful idea. And I’m assuming you’d help with more than just physical ailments? You’d want to work with vets’ mental issues as well. Because there are a lot of those—from PTSD to depression, anxiety, you name it—that combat can cause.” I blew out a breath. “And cancers. War seems to kill even after the bullets stop.”
Lennon gripped my hand. He raised it to his mouth and kissed my palm. “You are absolutely perfect.”
My fingers curled around the lingering warmth from his lips. “No, I’m not perfect, and I don’t want to try to be. It would be exhausting.”
