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I nod and work my jaw, wanting to say something else. The perfect words to erase this strain between us. A magic phrase to transport us back to joking about her messy bedroom or her pickle “sandwiches,” no impossible feelings between us.
At a loss, I turn and walk toward my place, refusing to glance over my shoulder, but I swear I feel Jo’s eyes on me as my heart tries to race back to her.
chaptertwenty-two
Callahan
I knock out my last chest presses on the gym bench, grunting through the pain. It takes all my strength to heave the weighted bar to its stand, another few deep breaths before I can lift myself to sitting.
The twenty-four-hour gym is mostly empty this early on a Sunday. Exactly how I like it. Quiet time to push my body and blank my mind, but the second my pulse ebbs, this week’s torturous mantra fills my head—traitor, traitor, traitor. Followed succinctly byJolene, Jolene, I wish you were mine, Jolene.
Pretty sure there’s a song like that.
I grab my towel and gym bag, shower and change into my work T-shirt and jeans, then head to Lennon’s property. I park at his old barn. Practically leap from my truck and jog inside. Mom’s partially finished bookcase is waiting where I left it. A gift I’m thrilled to work on for her, and a desperately needed outlet for me.
I get to work right away, cutting the plugs for the screw holes, sawing any overhangs. I methodically sand the shelves. Steady motion and smooth strokes, only pausing to chug water and wipe the sweat dripping into my eyes.
My phone chimes, notifying me that this portion of my jam-packed morning is done. If I hadn’t bartered with Javier to help renovate his bathroom, I’d be gearing up for a fun soccer match. But helping Jo’s business is worth it. Especially when playing sports with her would only exacerbate my pathetic pining.
Bleary-eyed from today’s heat and exercise, I leave Lennon’s property, glancing briefly at his rural home. He’s probably still in bed at this hour, cuddled up with Maggie, but there’s a blanket and two empty wineglasses on his porch. Remnants of their evening last night, likely.
Envy slams into me.
I’m so damn happy for him. For all my brothers who are as in love as I hoped they’d be, but I’m starting to realize my heart is so full of Jo—adventurer Jo, tree house Jo, late-night-talk Jo, messy-in-my-home Jo, cooking-for-each-other Jo—I’m not sure there’s room for anyone else. In time, I’ll grow out of these intense feelings. At least, I better fucking grow out of them.
Unfortunately, that growth won’t happen while she’s living in my house. And until I help her navigate the larger issue she’s having with the bar.
Maybe this will be the last thing I do for her. Help her climb out of the rut she’s in, then step back. Stay occasional friends. Make room for another woman in my thoughts and heart.
I park on Javier’s street and text Sandra, who’s been looking into the lease at Jo’s bar for me.
Me: Did your contact at the lawyer’s office come through?
As usual, dots bounce with an immediate reply.
Sandra: Reading her file as we text.
Me: And? Any loopholes in her lease?
Sandra: She doesn’t have a lease.
I frown at her message, wondering if that was an autocorrected reply.
Me: What do you mean?
Sandra: It’s the opposite of having one.
I shake my head. As clever and discreet as Sandra is, she makes me work for her intel.
Me: Specifics, please.
Sandra: Her lease ran out. She’s friends with her landlady. They have a lady’s agreement now.
Me: What’s a lady’s agreement?
Sandra: The same thing as a gentleman’s agreement, but with ladies.
I chuckle. Of course it is.
