“How can you even joke about that?” I ask, appalled.
“I’ve lived with it for a decade. I’ve come to terms with everything both injuries entail.”
Right, and I’m only just now learning about it. I’m sure he doesn’t need or want my panic over an old injury he’s mostly healed from. Except he now has some disease in his back that is causing him pain.
“What did the doctor say about your back? Can you do something to help it? Reverse it?”
“We’re doing injections. Think stem cells but a little different, once a month to try to regenerate the area and promote better healing. It’s really fucking cool, actually.”
“You’re ridiculous, but I’m glad there’s a treatment. And that you are getting help,” I add.
He’s still holding my hand as we both get quiet. There’s so much running through my head, but the one voice that’s yelling the loudest is that I want to move forward.
“I don’t know that we can be anything more than friends,” I tell him. “I want to be friends—well, I want to try—but we need to stop sleeping together. It’s muddling my head and my feelings, and I want to be one hundred percent sure if we choose to move past friendship, in the long future, that it’s because our friendship is strong enough. I know we’re banging in the bedroom.” He bursts out laughing, and I join him.
“I get your point,” he says. “Friends would be amazing, honestly. And I’ll follow your lead on everything.” His eagerness tells me I need to keep my head on straight and not get distracted by his Arlo-ness.
“Well, I should try to get to bed early. I’ve got a lot to work on tomorrow.” I not-so-slyly attempt to end the entire conversation.
“Right, of course. Thank you. For everything.” He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, squeezing the hand he’s still holdingbefore standing up.
He doesn’t turn around as he walks to the door, just locks it before he shuts it behind him. I listen to the sound of his truck leaving before the ping of my phone distracts me.
Unknown:
What did I tell you about being with other men?
A picture of Arlo kissing me on the cheek no more than five minutes ago accompanies the text, and sheer panic hits my chest.
Me:
FUCK OFF.
I screenshot everything before blocking the number, my hands shaking the entire time. I know better than to antagonize someone like that, but my impulsive reaction to being scared took over. The two-second sense of control felt good before I realized I probably did more harm than anything.
Shit, I’m going to have to tell Arlo about this if whoever it is escalates.
Chapter 19
Arlo
It’s been three days since Rina and I decided to work on our friendship—well, she decided, and I was willing to go along with anything if it meant having her in my life again.
We haven’t seen each other since, and I’m jonesing for some time with her.
“I’ll be back after lunch,” I tell Audrey as I walk out of the office and head across the street to Grind Time.
“Arlo! Where have you been hiding?” Willow asks from behind the counter as Oakley looks up when she calls my name.
“Sheriff.” He nods, and I roll my eyes. It’s now a game that he doesn’t call me Arlo. An argument we’ve had since he moved here. It’s like pulling teeth to get him to call me Arlo. After the Lennox incident, he conceded but now calls me Sheriff to piss me off.
“Your usual today?” Willow asks, chipper as ever, and it starts to grate on my nerves. It’s not her fault I had a rough therapy session last night and everything seems to be getting to me today.
“Umm, yeah, and whatever Rina usually gets.” I should know what she drinks, but avoiding each other for a decade only allows for so much information.
Willow arches an eyebrow at me with a smirkon her face.
“Not a word, Will,” I quip.
