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It’s a tad more peaceful tonight, at least, all nervousness aside.
Now that I know Carson is nothing more than an annoying guest, I can relax and focus on West and the thousand nagging questions he kicks up.
Maybe I can figure out where he goes when those bright-blue eyes fade into a dusky, restless cyan.
It has to be the war, I’m sure, and I want to help him.
I want to heal him before I leave, no matter how ridiculous that sounds.
And if he does, if I can give him that, will I leave him at all?
I mean, I’ll have to head back to D.C., and as hard as it is to imagine carrying on a distance thing...it wouldn’t be impossible.
If we’re that good—if we’re more than just mind-bending sex—would he ever make a new pact?
Would he write me for real? Would he stay in touch?
Would he want me to come home someday and stay?
This time for good.
* * *
“Ow,” I mutter, jerking up with a stinging kink in my neck.
I must have dozed off. The next thing I know, it’s after three in the morning when I check my phone.
Weston’s place looks darker than ever, this dense shadow in the distance. I could’ve missed him while napping and I wouldn’t even know it.
Sigh.
Frustrated, I head to my bedroom, undress, and crawl into bed with a yawn. I’ll just have to give him the rundown about Carson in the morning.
I consider texting to make sure he’s home, but I don’t want to wake him. Nor do I want to become one of those girls—the fluttery social butterflies who get so clingy they send guys running like their butts are on fire.
The next morning, when I’m up and caffeinated, I’m excited to see Hercules at the fence, grunting a hello as I walk across the lawn. I’d checked on him yesterday evening with Faye, and though he was up and walking around, he still hadn’t been quite his usual perky porker self.
He’s Mr. Congeniality this morning, mushing his adorable black snout between the boards before I arrive.
“Good morning to you, too, big guy!” I say. “Glad you’re feeling better. You really gave us a scare the other morning.”
He grunts affectionately, trotting toward his feed trough as if to say, less talk, more food. This belly wants to make up for lost time.
Laughing, I dump the bowl’s contents over the fence.
I’m surprised to see feed in the trough.
It wasn’t there last night when I was over with Faye, meaning Weston already fed him this morning...and that means he’s home.
After adding the scraps and setting the empty bowl on the ground, I walk to the back door of the house and rap at it softly.
Why do I feel so jittery?
My knock goes unanswered and the door is locked. Walking around the front, I notice his pickup isn’t in the driveway.
My heart deflates as I pull out my phone and open my contacts.
Did you already leave for work? I came by to give Herc breakfast, I text.
