Lukas rolls his lips together, hiding the smile trying to come through. “Yeah, of course.” He nods and takes a step toward me. “She and I go to Misty’s every Thursday for dinner. It’s close to my dad’s station.”
“I know where it’s at.” I nod. “Been there once.”
“Oh, okay, yeah. Well, if you decide you’re okay with what I’m askin’, meet us there this Thursday. But if you decide you don’t want to, then don’t come and I’ll know.”
This Thursday?
That’s only three days away.
A weight presses down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.What the fuck is going on?How isthiswhat I’m dealing with today?
He wants to move in…with me. A thirteen-year-old boy who’s only met me once, who just lost his dad, wants to move in with me. And what, I’ll just take care of him?
That’s nuts.
“Please, Remi,” he says after a moment. “Please think about it for real. I promise I’ll behave. You won’t even notice I’m there.”
“I highly doubt that.” I snort. “But I will, I promise. Give me a few days, and I’ll have an answer for you.”
His eyes light up, and he finally lets that smile spread across his face. “Thank you! Thank you so much.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s a yes!” I call out as he’s scurrying off. I’m guessing toward the bus stop.
Lukas doesn’t bother to turn around or respond, simply flashing me a thumbs-up as he disappears around the corner.
Grabbing my phone out of my pocket, I pull up the first number that comes to mind—the person I’ve always gone to when shit gets crazy. My best friend, Hollis.
Me: Dude, you will not believe what just happened to me at the firehouse. I need to talk to you about it and get my head on straight. Meet me for a beer tonight after my shift?
Two
Gentry
Checking the time on my watch, I heave a sigh as I continue to run through the list of everything that still needs to be done before the day is over. It’s a long one, and sitting in this fucking room isn’t helping to get any of it completed.
It’s a quarter till one.
My appointment was at noon.
But if I was even five minutes late, I would’ve gotten an earful from Peggy, the receptionist, as soon as I got here, and probably would’ve had to reschedule.
It’s bullshit. And a waste of my time.
A few minutes later, there’s finally a knock on the door a moment before it pushes open and Dr. Kroye strolls in. He’s been my doctor for the last ten or so years, when he took over the practice once his father retired. Dr. Calvin Kroye Sr. had been my physician since I was a boy.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Moore,” he greets, taking a seat on the round, spinning chair in front of the computer in the corner. “It’sbeen a while since we saw each other last. I was surprised to see your name on the schedule.”
I grumble by way of response, wanting to get this over with so I can get back to the ranch. It’s not a lie or an exaggeration that ranchers and farmers typically don’t go to the doctor unless they’re dying or something has been chopped off. I can think of a dozen other things I could be doing right now other than sitting on this uncomfortable bed with the crinkling paper in this room that’s entirely too cold and white. I didn’t want to make this appointment to begin with, and I wouldn’t have, had it not been for the fact that the pain in my hands and wrists isn’t going away and it’s becoming seemingly harder to do what I need to do every day.
After Dr. Kroye asks me a series of questions, that the nurse already went through when I got here, he spins in the chair until he’s facing me, and folds his hands together, letting them hang between his knees as he levels me with a stare.
“Look, Gentry. I’m gonna give it to you straight because I know you’re antsy to get out of this office.”
“Please do,” I mutter.
“You’ve been hard on your hands for decades. You’ve put in a lot of years on that ranch, and your body has carried more weight and done more work than most people can imagine. The kind of pain you’re feeling doesn’t just ‘work itself out.’ Your body is telling you it’s time to adjust how you’ve been going all this time.”
“What do you mean, adjust? That ranch is my livelihood."
