Page 3 of Lucky 14

My Girl: Hey, I’ve been working through a lot of things in therapy over the last few weeks. Some things I haven’t told you about. It’s hard to talk about. My therapist thinks it would be best for me to focus on myself right now.

I stare at the screen. Text bubbles pop up again.

My Girl: I’m sorry if this is sudden. I’ve been feeling like this for a while, but I just didn’t know how to say it. Plus, I didn’t want to fight about it. Because I do care for you, Oakley. I just...things are hard right now. My therapist helped me realize I can’t be the best person until I prioritize myself.

My hands shake. What’s going on? We just fucked? It’s hard to look at the screen with how much my hands are shaking. I know she’s not breaking up with me right now. And through text?

My Girl: I’ll be staying with my mom for a few days so that I can get things sorted in my head. I’ll get my stuff later.

When did it get so hot in this car? I crack a window, trying to suck air into my tight chest.

Why is Poppy running from me when I’ve become exactly what she wanted? I’ve kept my hair long for her, I’ve shared my phone password, and I’ve given up meat on Fridays. And none of it felt like a burden. I do it because I care.

Rage makes my vision tunnel on the steering wheel of my car. I suck in some deep breaths.

Fear. It’s gotta be fear. Poppy’s just afraid. She literally said it in the text. Also, she’s told me she has commitment issues.

Because I love her, I won’t let her run.

Poppy is mine. Not anyone else’s. She’s letting fear cloud her vision. Letting a therapist tell her I’m not good for her. I wonder what else the therapist said about me? Did the therapist tell her that because I have a temper, I’m not a safe person?

I pound my fist into the leather wheel, barely feeling the impact.

News flash, I’m perfectly safe. I’m perfect for Poppy. You know why? Because I have more than enough love to give.

This fucking therapist doesn’t know that.

What if the therapist is a man? And just as hot as the one at the front desk?

Suddenly, I have to see him. Have to know what he looks like. My hands shake as I try to swipe out of my tracking app. It takes a few swipes, and I cuss. Why won’t the damn thing work?

I quickly find the website and scan the available therapists. Initial scan shows none of them are men. Slowly, I suck in a breath and look closer. Most of them are older women, and I feel my heartbeat slowing. I run across a picture of a younger woman in her late twenties. Immediately, I know Poppy would be drawn to her. She’s pretty, gorgeous even, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. There’s a patch of lighter skin on her forehead, and the hair that comes from that spot is white-blonde, standing out against the rest of her golden hair. Poppy would want to be friends with her. She definitely wouldn’t pick any of the older women with her mommy issues.

I glare at the screen. So this is the girl who thinks she can get between my girl and me.

How dare she? How fucking dare she?

Violent thoughts flicker across my mind, then, just as quickly as they’re there, they vanish. Because it’ll be okay. I’ll show Poppy the way.

My shoulder jerks.

Nothing will get between us. Not Poppy, not her supposed issues, and not this know-it-all therapist.

Nothing.

CHAPTER TWO

Strappy heels were a mistake.

My foot slides off the slick side of the heel, dropping me suddenly. Scrambling, I wave my arms to catch my balance and look around to see if anyone saw.

A woman quickly glances away, getting out of her car and walking up to the same bar I’m heading toward.

Cool. Cool, cool, totally fine.

I keep walking, realizing that the click click sounds draw more attention than I want at this exact moment, but I manage to make it to the bar and get seated outside.

Nerves twist my stomach, and I bite my lip. This is literally just drinks with a friend, why the hell does it feel like a bear is chasing me?