“I’m not going to be with her.” Stepping forward, I reach for the only person I want to be with.
I want to pull her into my arms and show her, but she holds up her palm to stop me.
I stop.
Her head turns, and her pretty blue eyes blink up to mine, teasing. “But you’re a breast man.”
“I’m your man.”
“Maverick…”
“Dove.”
I want to growl and rage against these forces pulling us apart. Instead, I close my hand over hers, lifting it to my lips.
“I love you,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She blinks rapidly, looking down, and I think the only thing that could hurt worse right now would be her tears. She doesn’t cry.
She inhales slowly before looking up at me and forcing a smile. “It would make things easier if we didn’t.”
“Nothing’s easy without you.”
“I’d say the opposite. Because of me, everything’s hard.”
“I do hard things all the time.” I enclose her hand in both of mine. “Besides winning the Cup, there’s only one thing I want. And I won’t stop until I have them both.”
She steps forward, rising onto her toes as she places her hand on my chest. Her fingers curl in my shirt, and I bend down so she can kiss me.
“I…” She places her hand on my cheek, sliding her thumb down my bottom lip to my chin, a wistful expression in her eyes. “I want you to have everything you want.”
I don’t know if she realizes it, but her words have made me more determined than ever.
27
DOVE
“In conclusion, the strongest contenders to counteract the detrimental effects of this fungus are raised beds, cross-breeding with more resistant species, or as a last resort, complete soil replacement.” I shift to the final slide of my presentation. “Replacement remains the least desirable option as it’s the most costly and does not preclude the possibility of leftover ribosomes, which would start the cycle all over again.”
My final slide shows the three options in bubbles around a brown peach tree in the middle. I stand, staring at the image, my heart heavy in my chest.
It’s my unofficial last day of school. I’m presenting my final exam thesis in front of the small graduate committee Dr. Smithfield helped me assemble in January. They’re all aware of the situation I’m facing at home—which is not to say they’ve cut me any slack.
I’ve worked my ass off in this independent study,learning everything I could about mycology, specifically plant diseases caused by fungi.
I’ve met the goals I set for myself when I came here. I’ve found solutions. I’ve also learned how long these solutions require to take effect and how much they cost to implement.
Time and money. Two things in short supply back home.
“Thank you, Dove.” Dr. Smithfield steps up beside me, holding his hand toward the door. “Now, step into the hall so we can talk about you.”
Polite laughter follows his remark, and I manage to give him a warm smile. I’m not worried about what they’ll say. This small committee has been more than generous to me with all of their knowledge.
They know what’s driving my research. They work with farmers all the time, and their compassion is genuine. It’s just so far away… like everything it seems.
Hockey season grinds on for the guys. The playoffs started mid-April, and they’ve been going nonstop ever since, advancing, moving forward, getting closer to the Cup.
Gina explained how it works to me, since it’s the first year I’ve paid attention. For most of the teams, hockey season ends mid-April. Only the best sixteen teams keep going through elimination rounds until it gets down to one final winner.
