Page 76 of Lucky Shot

“Look, I tend to overthink things. Like . . . a lot. Then I freak out and when I do I freak out, it’s in a big way.”

“Like take a commercial plane home kind of way?”

“No. Yes.” She sighs and then says, “Yes.” Then pauses. “I’m calling to—I’m sorry. Okay? I just wanted to thank you for inviting me into your world. Thank you for letting me step outside of my life for the night and feel special. Thanks for . . . just thanks.”

“I didn’t do it so you’d thank me.”

Her silence has me wondering if she’s still there, but the phone says she is so I give her the moment to do whatever she needs to do. “Trust is an issue for me, so is abandonment, but that’s a shit ton of baggage I prefer to keep zipped up and padlocked most days. Just know I appreciate you showing up at the airport. I appreciate you caring . . . even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The break in her voice kills me. The courage I’m sure it took her to make this call even more so.

But why do I scare her so much? Why do I push her boundaries when I’ve made sure to paint within them?

Because the woman doesn’t let anyone in. She’s a loner on purpose. She has Martin and her girlfriend, Suri . . . but no one else has come around. She’s alone most days, and if I consider what the media has painted of her past, I can understand why she is that way.

Fuck. How did I not see that sooner?

As a man who rarely thinks about his words before he speaks, I take a moment to think about these. “I like being around you, Whitney. That’s not a bad thing.”

“In my world it is,” she says softly and with a timidness that I’m not used to from this confident, no-nonsense woman.

I hate this.

I hate that whatever I’ve done makes her sound like this.

I try to get her back. “I promise to stay in my lane so long as I can be in the one next to yours. How’s that?”

She laughs through the nerves peppering her voice, and the sound makes me smile. “This isn’t a you thing. It’s a me thing.”

“Obviously, because I’m perfect,” I tease.

This time her laugh sounds way more resolute. “I’ve wanted things my whole life, Hardy, whether it be a family, a guy, a chance, a home to belong to, and all I’ve ever known is that it doesn’t happen for me. Nothing does. So it’s way easier to step back when I begin to hope and if you can’t understand that, then point proven.”

Her words hit me harder than she’ll ever know. I too, understand that notion in my own, skewed way.

“I understand, Whitney.”

And so many of our interactions make sense.

Hurt before you get hurt yourself.

Push away before the person leaves you.

Sleep beside a man, but bail in the morning before shit gets too real.

Funny how I understand that all too well. May have done it my fair share of times myself.

But through it all is that one single notion—the defiance, the resistance, her choice to leave New York on her own. It’s because she likes me too.

And maybe she just can’t see that yet.

“I have to go now,” she says. “Thanks for taking my call.”

“Whitney.” I fight the urge to keep her talking and on the call.

“Good night.”

And before I know what I want or don’t want to say, the call is over. She’s gone. And I’m left with a half pint of lager beside me and way more than I want to think about milling around in my head.