I want to argue, but the truth is I'm in no shape to drive. The whiskey's hit harder than usual tonight, probably because I haven't eaten anything since the coffee and bear claw Lucy brought me this morning.
Lucy, who somehow managed to get me to eat breakfast for the first time in months.
Lucy, who looked at me like I might be worth saving.
Lucy, who's going to leave.
"You know what the worst part is?" I tell Gabriel as we head for the door.
"What's that?"
The night air hits my face like a slap, sharp and clean after the smoky warmth of the bar.
"Lucy. She makes me want to be better than I am."
"And that's bad because?"
I stop walking and look at him, this man who wears authority like armor and probably hasn't let anyone close enough to hurt him in years.
"Because wanting things you can't have is the fastest way to destroy what's left of yourself."
Gabriel considers this. "Maybe. Or maybe wanting something worth having is the only way to become the kind of man who deserves it."
"Jesus, when did you become a philosopher?"
"About the same time you became the local heartbreaker with questionable life choices." Gabriel's smile takes the sting out of the words. "Get some sleep, Colt. Tomorrow's going to come whether you're ready for it or not."
He walks away, boots echoing on the empty street, leaving me standing alone under the streetlight like some country song cliché.
In the distance, I can see the lights of my clinic, warm and welcoming in a way they never were before Lucy started working there.
Three days. She's been in my life for three days, and already I can't imagine it without her.
Which is exactly the fucking problem.
I start walking toward home, each step a small victory against the whiskey and the gravity of my own self-pity. The night air cuts through the haze, sharp with the bite of late March in Montana. Winter's last cruel kiss before spring takes hold.
By the time I reach the clinic, my head is clearer but my chest feels heavier.
I climb the external staircase that leads to my apartment above the clinic. The metal steps are slick with eveningfrost, and the whiskey makes everything feel slightly off-kilter.
Tomorrow, Lucy will walk through that door with her bright smile and her organizational magic and her way of making everything better just by being there.
And I'll spend another day pretending that I'm not falling for someone who's going to leave.
My boot catches on the fourth step, and I go down hard, my knee slamming against the metal grating with a sharp crack that echoes in the cold air.
I lie there for a moment, waiting for the pain.
But it doesn't hurt.
That's the trouble.
Nothing does anymore.
7
Lucy
