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“Yeah,” I answer curtly and push through the door.
“Do you want to stop and make an appointment before–”
“No, Luna.” I cut her off with my ready-made answer. “Get off my ass about therapy,” I grumble as we stride briskly down the hall, only for me to slow our pace as we get halfway to the exit because my leg is fucking killing me.
“You know I’m going to keep asking.” She shrugs a shoulder with a sigh, acclimating to our slower speed without a hitch.
“And I’m going to keep shutting you down.”
“Why?” she asks, this time with a locked jaw, and I know I’ve gotten under her skin with that one.
“You tell me why,” I rebuff as I push through the exit door where a cool, overcast April afternoon greets us. “Tell me why you want me to talk about all the shitty things in my life to someone?” I stop and turn to her, releasing her hand when we reach the truck.
“Because talking can help,” she holds her hands out, making the same argument she does on a daily basis. “Especially with a professional who can guide you through–”
“And you know this because you’ve gone to therapy so many times?” I challenge her, leaning in with my eyebrows raised.
“No, but my–,”
“Then save it, Luna!” I bark, cutting her off again as I turn away and wrench open the driver’s side door. She doesn’t respond except to whip around in the other direction and make her way to the passenger side. She gets in beside me, her brown eyes displaying a quiet fury as they stare straight ahead.
We drive home in the loudest silence I’ve ever endured. It makes my blood run hotter and my grip on the wheel has a hum traveling up my arm. We make it about halfway down the eight-mile country road before I can’t take it anymore.
“Are you going to let this go?” I ask.
Luna is quiet for a moment and I see her worry her wedding ring around her finger in my peripheral as she blinks out the front windshield.
“The therapy or the marriage?” she asks quietly, and I admit, that was a curveball answer I didn’t see coming. The state of our marriage is something I’d gotten comfortable not thinking about, just like the other issues in my life. I don’t even know how many days have passed since she gave me that dare.
I huff out a long breath through my nose, squeezing the wheel again before releasing. “Look, Luna, I…” I don’t even know what to say. “Just… I already go to physical therapy like I’m supposed to. And by the way, I can obviously drive myself now like a big boy,” I gesture at myself doing just that. “You don’t have to come with me to make sure I don’t crash the truck,” I snip out, irritated.
“I come with you to make sure you go,” she mumbles.
“Well, you don’t have to,” I stress to her. “You have my word; I’ll go without you having to hover.
“Fine,” she bites out hard, and the low growl in her voice almost scares me. We put another mile or so behind us before she finally speaks again. “Jackson wanted you to come by the shop. Could you just drop me off at home please?”
I give a stiff nod on the outside as I turn off the main drag, but on the inside, I’m feeling a small but welcome twinge at the way she said home.
I pull into our driveway and keep the engine running as Luna pushes open her door and slides out. Turning around, she places a hand on the door but before shutting it, looks at me with a stone-cold stare.
“Just one question… How has not talking about your issues with someone been working for you?”
That unexpected blow hit me square in the diaphragm and knocked me so off kilter I’m too dumfounded to give a response. Instead, I just return her glare, engaging in some strange standoff before she seems to take my silence as the answer she wants and unceremoniously slams the truck door closed.
* * *
I swingthe truck into the auto shop’s small lot and throw it in park. I sit stewing for a few beats before angrily beating my fist against the wheel several times in a row. Letting out a brisk growl, I run a hand through my hair and over my face before taking a couple of breaths and exiting the truck.
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I amble through the garage and into the office doorway where I find Jackson standing behind the desk and straightening a few papers.
“What’s up?” I mutter in greeting, and he looks up.
“Hey, Kaleb,” he acknowledges one more time before putting the papers in a folder.
“Luna said you wanted to see me?” I ask, and I inwardly bristle at how awkward this feels. I own this small business, yet I feel like I’m being called to the principal’s office.
“Yeah,” he straightens up and comes around the desk. “Right, so West is up in Indy, finding a part for the Callaway’s Dodge 4x4, but this was his idea…” he pauses and I actually feel my brows go up.
